| 
          
            
              | 16. Monksfor another small Album
 |  
              | {48}(With lines on hinges to fit
                it.)
 |  
              | WHY dear Cousin,
 |  
              | why |  
              | Ask for verses, |  
              | when a poet's |  
              | fount of song is |  
              | dry? |  
              | Or, if aught be |  
              | there, |  
              | Harsh and chill, it |  
              | ill may touch the |  
              | hand of lady |  
              | fair. |  
              | Who can perfumed waters |  
              | bring |  
              | From a convent |  
              | spring? {49} |  
              | "Monks in the olden
 |  
              | time, |  
              | "They were rhymesters?"— |  
              | they were rhymesters, |  
              | but in Latin |  
              | rhyme. |  
              | Monks in the days of |  
              | old |  
              | Lived in secret, |  
              | in the Church's |  
              | kindly-sheltering |  
              | fold. |  
              | No bland meditators |  
              | they |  
              | Of a courtly |  
              | lay. |  
              | "They had visions
 |  
              | bright?"— |  
              | they had visions, |  
              | yet not sent in |  
              | slumbers soft and |  
              | light. {50} |  
              | No! a lesson |  
              | stern |  
              | First by vigils, |  
              | fast, and penance |  
              | theirs it was to |  
              | learn. |  
              | This their soul-ennobling |  
              | gain, |  
              | Joys wrought out by |  
              | pain. |  
              | "When from home they
 |  
              | stirr'd, |  
              | "Sweet their voices?"— |  
              | still, a blessing |  
              | closed their merriest |  
              | word; |  
              | And their gayest |  
              | smile |  
              | Told of musings |  
              | solitary, |  
              | and the hallow'd |  
              | aisle. {51} |  
              | "Songsters?"—hark! they answer! |  
              | round |  
              | Plaintive chantings |  
              | sound! |  
              | Grey his cowlèd
 |  
              | vest, |  
              | Whose strong heart has |  
              | pledged his service |  
              | to the cloister |  
              | blest. |  
              | Duly garb'd is |  
              | he, |  
              | As the frost-work |  
              | gems the branches |  
              | of yon stately |  
              | tree. |  
              | 'Tis a danger-thwarting |  
              | spell, |  
              | And it fits me |  
              | well! |  
              | Oxford.
 December, 1829.
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