45, JULY, 1861***


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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.

A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.

VOL. VIII.--JULY, 1861.--NO. XLV.







  OUR ORDERS.

  Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
  To deck our girls for gay delights!
  The crimson flower of battle blooms,
  And solemn marches fill the nights.

  Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
  Drooped heavy o'er our early dead,
  And homely garments, coarse and gray,
  For orphans that must earn their bread!

  Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
  That pour delight from other lands!
  Rouse there the dancer's restless feet,--
  The trumpet leads our warrior bands.

  And ye that wage the war of words
  With mystic fame and subtle power,
  Go, chatter to the idle birds,
  Or teach the lesson of the hour!

  Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
  Be all your offices combined!
  Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
  The destiny of humankind!

  And if that destiny could fail,
  The sun should darken in the sky,
  The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
  And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!




AGNES OF SORRENTO.


CHAPTER VII.

THE DAY AT THE CONVENT.


The Mother Theresa sat in a sort of withdrawing-room, the roof of which
rose in arches, starred with blue and gold like that of the cloister,
and the sides were frescoed with scenes from the life of the Virgin.
Over every door, and in convenient places between the paintings, tests
of Holy Writ were illuminated in blue and scarlet and gold, with a
richness and fancifulness of outline, as if every sacred letter had
blossomed into a mystical flower. The Abbess herself, with two of her
nuns, was busily embroidering a new altar-cloth, with a lavish profusion
of adornment; and, from time to time, their voices rose in the musical
tones of an ancient Latin hymn. The words were full of that quaint
and mystical pietism with which the fashion of the times clothed the
expression of devotional feeling:--

  "Jesu, corona virginum,
  Quem mater illa concepit,
  Quae sola virgo parturit,
  Haec vota clemens accipe.

  "Qui pascis inter lilia
  Septus choreis virginum,
  Sponsus decoris gloria
  Sponsisque reddens praemia.

  "Quocunque pergis, virgines
  Sequuntur atque laudibus
  Post te canentes cursitant
  Hymnosque dulces personant[A]."

[Footnote A:

  "Jesus, crown of virgin spirits,
  Whom a virgin mother bore,
  Graciously accept our praises
  While thy footsteps we adore.

  "Thee among the lilies feeding
  Choirs of virgins walk beside,
  Bridegroom crowned with glorious beauty
  Giving beauty to thy bride.

  "Where thou goest still they follow
  Singing, singing as they move,
  All those souls forever virgin
  Wedded only to thy love."]

This little canticle was, in truth, very different from the hymns
to Venus which used to resound in the temple which the convent had
displaced. The voices which sang were of a deep, plaintive contralto,
much resembling the richness of a tenor, and us they moved in modulated
waves of chanting sound the effect was soothing and dreamy. Agnes
stopped at the door to listen.

"Stop, dear Jocunda," she said to the old woman, who was about to push
her way abruptly into the room, "wait till it is over."

Jocunda, who was quite matter-of-fact in her ideas of religion, made a
little movement of impatience, but was recalled to herself by observing
the devout absorption with which Agnes, with clasped hands and downcast
head, was mentally joining in the hymn with a solemn brightness in her
young face.

"If she hasn't got a vocation, nobody ever had