Yes, all, save these meek-eyed sisters fair.
Then up rose the abbess, she sought around,
But in vain, for these gentle maids;
They were ever the first at the mass bell's sound,
Have they fled these holy shades?
Or can they be numbered among the dead?
Oh! whither can these fair maids be fled?
The snows have melted, the fields are green,
The cuckoo singeth aloud,
The flowers are budding, the sunny sheen