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While up the hall she slowly pass'd,

Her dark eye on the King she cast,
That flash'd expression strong;
The longer dwelt that lingering look,
Her cheek the livelier colour took,

And scarce the shame-faced King could brook

The gaze that lasted long.

A sage, who had that look espied,

Where kindling passion strove with pride,

Had whisper'd, " Prince, beware!

From the chafed tyger rend the prey,

Rush on the lion when at bay,

Bar the fell dragon's blighted way,

But shun that lovely snare!"

XX.

At once, that inward strife suppress'd,

The dame approach'd her warlike guest,

With greeting in that fair degree,

Where female pride and courtesy

:

Are blended with such passing art

As awes at once and charms the heart.

A courtly welcome first she gave,

Then of his goodness 'gan to crave

Construction fair and true

Of her light maidens' idle mirth,

Who drew from lonely glens their birth,

Nor knew to pay to stranger worth

And dignity their due;

And then she pray'd that he would rest
That night her castle's honour'd guest.

The Monarch meetly thanks express'd;

The banquet rose at her behest,

With lay and tale, and laugh and jest,

Apace the evening flew.

XXI.

The lady sate the Monarch by,

Now in her turn abash'd and shy,

And with indifference seem'd to hear

The toys he whisper'd in her ear.

Her bearing modest was and fair,

Yet shadows of constraint were there,

That shew'd an over-cautious care

Some inward thought to hide;

Oft did she pause in full reply,

And oft cast down her large dark eye,

Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh,

That heaved her bosom's pride.

Slight symptoms these, but shepherds know How hot the mid-day sun shall glow,

From the mist of morning sky;

And so the wily Monarch guess'd,
That this assumed restraint express'd

More ardent passions in the breast,

Than ventured to the eye.

Closer he press'd, while beakers rang,

While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang,

Still closer to her ear

But why pursue the common tale?

Or wherefore shew how knights prevail

When ladies dare to hear?

Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause

Its source one tyrant passion draws,

Till, mastering all within,

Where lives the man that has not tried,

How mirth can into folly glide,

And folly into sin!

END OF CANTO FIRST.

THE

BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN.

CANTO SECOND.

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