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They knelt their last, they sang their last; for deep the king hath sworn, The silent cells should strangely change before the coming morn: The cloister'd votary henceforth is free from vow or veil, Her grey robes she may doff, and give her bright hair to the gale.

And pardon be to them, if some, in their first hour of bloom, Thought all too lightly in their hearts 't was not so hard a doom; For they were young, and they were fair, and little in their shade Knew they of what harsh elements the jarring world was made.