And forest dell; yet not a trace betrayed
The lover's haunts, ne'er were the footsteps marked
Of this mysterious fair.

DON MANUEL.
The spell is broke!
And all shall be revealed: now list my tale:--
'Tis five months flown,--my father yet controlled
The land, and bowed our necks with iron sway;
Little I knew but the wild joys of arms,
And mimic warfare of the chase;--
One day,--
Long had we tracked the boar with zealous toil
On yonder woody ridge:--it chanced, pursuing
A snow-white hind, far from your train I roved
Amid the forest maze;--the timid beast,
Along the windings of the narrow vale,
Through rocky cleft and thick-entangled brake,
Flew onward, scarce a moment lost, nor distant
Beyond a javelin's throw; nearer I came not,
Nor took an aim; when through a garden's gate,
Sudden she vanished:--from my horse quick springing,
I followed:--lo! the poor scared creature lay
Stretched at the feet of a young, beauteous nun,
That strove with fond caress of her fair hands
To still its throbbing heart: wondering, I gazed;
And motionless--my spear, in act to strike,
High poised--while she, with her large piteous eyes
For mercy sued--and thus we stood in silence
Regarding one another.
How long the pause
I know not--time itself forgot;--it seemed
Eternity of bliss: her glance of sweetness
Flew to my soul; and quick the subtle flame
Pervaded all my heart:--
But what I spoke,
And how this blessed creature answered, none
May ask; it floats upon my thought, a dream
Of childhood's happy dawn! Soon as my sense
Returned, I felt her bosom throb responsive
To mine,--then fell melodious on my ear
The sound, as of a convent bell, that called
To vesper song; and, like some shadowy vision
That melts in air, she flitted from my sight,
And was beheld no more.

Chorus (CAJETAN).
Thy story thrills
My breast with pious awe! Prince, thou hast robbed
The sanctuary, and for the bride of heaven
Burned with unholy passion! Oh, remember
The cloister's sacred vows!

DON MANUEL.
Thenceforth one path
My footsteps wooed; the fickle train was still
Of young desires--new felt my being's aim,
My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turns
His wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky,
With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star;--
So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence,
My hopes and longings centred all. No sun
Sank in the western waves, but sm