MONASTIC VOLUPTUOUSNESS

Yet more,— round many a Convent's blazing fire

Unhallowed threads of revelry are spun;

There Venus sits disguised like a Nun,—

While Bacchus, clothed in semblance of a Friar,

Pours out his choicest beverage high and higher

Sparkling, until it cannot choose but run

Over the bowl, whose silver lip hath won

An instant kiss of masterful desire —

To stay the precious waste. Through every brain

The domination of the sprightly juice

Spreads high conceits to madding Fancy dear,

Till the arched roof, with resolute abuse

Of its grave echoes, swells a choral strain,

Whose votive burthen is — “OUR KINGDOM‘ S HERE! "