Thou art destined for the altar, for the service of the Lord,
But if thy spirit earthward tend, take thou the steed and sword.
Ill doth it hap, when human thoughts jostle with thoughts divine,
Steel armour, better than the stole, befits a Geraldine!"
V.
"My father, thou hast truly said:—this soaring spirit swells
Beyond those dreary living tombs—yon dark monastic cells.
The cold in heart and weak in hand may seek their pious gloom,
And mourn, too late, the hapless vow which cast them such a doom:
Give me the flashing faulchion and the fiery steed of war—