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But with the incorruptible
Corruption might not rest;
The lonely chapel's stone-paved floor
Received the ejected corse once more,
In robes funereal drest.
So was it found when morning beamed;
In solemn suppliant strain
The nuns implored all saints in heaven,
That rest might to the corse be given,
Which they entombed again.
On the third night a watch was kept
By many a friar and nun;
Trembling, all knelt in fervent prayer,
Till on the dreary midnight air
Rolled the deep bell-toll "One!"
The saint within the opening tomb
Like marble statue stood;
All fell to earth in deep dismay;
And through their ranks she passed away,
In calm unchanging mood.
No answering sound her footsteps raised
Along the stony floor;
Silent as death, severe as fate,
She glided through the chapel gate,
And none beheld her more.
The alabaster couch was gone;
The tomb was void and bare;
For the last time, with hasty rite,
Even 'mid the terror of the night,
They laid the abbess there.


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