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For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, | Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book,
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,
Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst
“I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!" “Get hence ! get hence ! there's dwarfish Hilde- Quoth Porphyro; “0, may I ne'er find grace brand;
When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, He had a fever late, and in the fit
If one of her soft ringlets I displace, He cursed thee and thine, both house and land Or look with ruffian passion in her face ; Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me! flit ! Or I will, even in a moment's space, Flit like a ghost away!”. “Ah, gossip dear, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, We're safe enough ; here in this arm-chair sit, And beard them, though they be more fanged And tell me how
ints, not here, not than wolves and bears.' here;
XVIII. Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
“Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul ?
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing, He followed through a lowly arched way,
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll ; Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume ;
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, And as she muttered “Well-a — well-a-day!”
Were never missed.” Thus plaining, doth she He found him in a little moonlight room,
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro ; Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. “Now tell me where is Madeline,” said he,
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, “0, tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
That Angela gives promise she will do
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. Which none but secret sisterhood may see, When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously.”
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,
Him in a closet, of such privacy
While legioned fairies paced the coverlet,
“It shall be as thou wishest,” said the dame; Feebly she laugheth in the languid moong “All cates and dainties shall be stored there While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambour Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
Her own lute thou wilt see ; no time to spare, Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
Save wings, for heaven. Porphyro grew faint : The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." taint.
Anon his heart revives ; her vespers done, So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; The lover's endless minutes slowly passed : The dame returned, and whispered in his ear
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one ; To follow her ; with aged eyes aghast
Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees ; From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,
Half hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hushed and Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, chaste;
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is
fled. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, Her faltering hand upon the balustrade,
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away ; When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware ;
Flown like a thought, until the morrow-day ; With silver taper's light, and pious care,
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain ; She turned, and down the aged gossip led
Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray; To a safe level matting. Now prepare,
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed!
As though a rose should ut, and be a bud again. She comes, she comes again, like a ring-dove frayed and fled. XXIII.
Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced,
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, Out went the taper as she hurried in ;
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died ;
To wake into a slumberous tenderness ; She closed the door, she panted, all akin
Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, To spirits of the air, and visions wide ;
And breathed himself; then from the closet crept, To uttered syllable, or, woe betide !
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept, Paining with eloquence her balmy side ;
And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo!- how As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
fast she slept. Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stilled in her dell. XXIV.
Then by the bedside, where the faded moon
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set
A table, and, half anguished, threw thereon Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, O for some drowsy Morphean amulet !
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: Ånd diamonded with panes of quaint device, lanumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone :
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. &ad twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings.
And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered ; Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Anel threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd; As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon ; | With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon; 0, leave me not in this eternal woe,
For if thou diest, my love, I krow not where to go."
At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star On gclden dishes and in baskets bright
Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose ; Of wreathed silver. Sumptuous they stand
Into her dream he melted, as the rose In the retired quiet of the night,
Blendeth its odor with the violet, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. – Solution sweet ; meantime the frost-wind blows “And now, my love, my seraph fair awake ! Like love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite ; Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."
'T is dark; quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet;
“This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline !" Thus whispering, his warm, unnervéd arm ’T is dark ; the iced gusts still rave and beat : Sank in her pillow. Shailed was her dream "No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! By the dusk curtains ; - 't was a midnight charm Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. Impossible to melt as iced stream :
Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies; Though thou forsakest a deceived thing; It seemed he never, never could redeem A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, unpruned wing." From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes ;
XXXVIII. So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies.
“My Madeline ! sweet dreamer ! lovely bride!
Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest be,
dyed ? He played an ancient ditty, long since mute,
Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest In Provence called “La belle dame sans mercy” ; After so many hours of toil and quest, Close to her ear touching the melody ;
A famished pilgrim, - saved by miracle. Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan ;
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest, He ceased — she panted quick — and suddenly Saving of thy sweet self ; if thou think'st well Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone;
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. Upon his knees he sank, pale assmooth-sculptured stone.
They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall !
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide, Her eyes were open, but she still be held,
Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep.
With a huge empty flagon by his side ; There was a painful change, that nigh expelled
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, The blisses of her dream so pure and deep; At which fair Madeline began to weep,
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns ; And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; The chains lie silent on the footworn stones ;
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide ; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep.
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to moveor speak, she looked so dreamingly.
And they are gone ! ay, ages long ago
These lovers fled away into the storm. “Ah, Porphyro !” said she, “but even now
That night the baron dreamt of many a woe, Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,
And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Made tunable with every sweetest vow ;
Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear ;
Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old How changed thou art ! how pallid, chill, and Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face deform ; drear !
The beadsman, after thousand aves told, Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold. Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!
THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, JEANIE.
Do like a golden mantle her attire ;
And being crowned with a garland green,
Her modest eyes, abashéd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare, That thou wad aye be mine!
Upon the lowly ground affixéd are ; And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie,
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, And by that kind heart o' thine,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, So far from being proud. That thou shalt aye be mine?
Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,
That all the woods mayanswer, and your echo ring. Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands,
And the heart that wad part sic luve ! Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see But there's nae hand can loose my band, So fair a creature in your town before ? But the finger o' Him abuve.
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, Adorned with Beauty's grace and Virtue's store ? And my elaithing ne'er sae mean,
Her goodly eyes like sapphires, shining bright, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, - Her forehead ivory white, Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.
Hercheekslike apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite, Her white arm wad be a pillow for me,
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, Fu' safter than the down ;
Her paps like lilies budded, And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind Her snowy neck like to a marble tower ; wings,
And all her body like a palace fair, And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun'.
many a stately stair Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve !
To Honor's seat and Chastity's sweet bower. Come here and kneel wi' me !
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze, The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,
Upon her so to gaze, And I canna pray without thee.
Whilst ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring. The morn wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new
Is in the loved one's merged ;
O, never by love's own warm art And thou maun speak o' me to thy God,
So cold a plea was urged ! And I will speak o' thec.
No!- hearts that love hath crowned or crossed, ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Love fondly knits together;
But not a thought or hue is lost
That made a part of either.
It is an ill-told tale that tells
More conscious of his own;
That, mid love's warm, clear weather, Some angel she had been.
Together tend like climbing flowers, Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire, And, turning, grow together.
THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY.
Such fictions blink love's better part,
Giver of all things fair, but fairest this Yield up its half of bliss ;
Of all thy gifts, nor enviest. I now see The wells are in the neighbor heart
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself When there is thirst in this :
Before me; Woman is her name, of man There findeth love the passion-flowers Extracted : for this cause he shall forego On which it learns to thrive,
Father and mother, and to his wife adhere ; Makes honey in another's bowers,
And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.' But brings it home to hive.
She heard me thus, and though divinely
brought, Love's life is in its own replies,
Yet innocence and virgin modesty, To each low beat it beats,
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the sighs,
That would be wooed, and not unsought be And every throb repeats.
won, Then, since one loving heart still throws
Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired, Two shadows in love's sun,
The more desirable ; or, to say all,
Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned :
My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower
I led her blushing like the morn : all Heaven,
And happy constellations on that hour MINE eyes he closed, but open left the cell Shed their selectest influence ; the earth Of fancy, my internal sight, by which
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ; Abstract, as in a trance, methought I saw, Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape Whispered it to the woods, and from their Still glorious before whom awake I stood ;
wings Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took
Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy shrub, From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, Disporting, till the amorous bird of night And life-blood streaming fresh ; wide was the Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star wound,
On his hill-top, to light the bridal lamp.
When I approach Under his forming hands a creature grew, Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair, And in herself complete, so well to know That what seemed fair in all the world seemed Her own, that what she wills to do or say
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained All higher knowledge in her presence falls And in her looks, which from that time infused Degraded, wisdom in discourse with her Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before,
Loses discountenanced, and like folly shows; And into all things from her air inspired Authority and reason on her wait, The spirit of love and amorous delight.
As one intended first, not after made She disappeared, and left me dark ; I waked
Occasionally ; and, to consummate all, To find her, or forever to deplore
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure : Build in her loveliest, and create an awe When out of hope, behold her, not far off, About her, as a guard angelic placed.” Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned With what all earth or Heaven could bestow Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aught To make her amiable. On she came,
In procreation common to all kinds, Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen, And guided by his voice, nor uninformed So much delights me, as those graceful acts, Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites :
Those thousand decencies that daily flow Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, From all her words and actions, mixed with love In every gesture dignity and love.
And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud :
Union of mind, or in us both one soul; “This turn hath made amends ; thou hast Harmony to behold in wedded pair fulfilled
More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear. Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign,