And tied me on a palfrey white.
The palfrey was as fleet as wind,
And they rode furiously behind.

They spurred amain, their steeds were white:

And once we cross'd the shade of night.
As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,
I have no thought what men they be;
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain entranced I wis)
Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey's back,
A weary woman, scarce alive.

Some mutter'd words his comrades

spoke :

He placed me underneath this oak;
He swore they would return with haste;
Whithe they went I cannot tell-

I thought I heard, some minutes past,
Sounds as of a castle bell.

Stretch forth thy hand" (thus ended

she),

And help a wretched maid to flee."

Outside her kennel the mastiff old Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. The mastiff old did not awake,

Yet she an angry moan did make! And what can ail the mastiff bitch? Never till now she utter'd yell Beneath the eye of Christabel. Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail the mastiff bitch?

They pass'd the hall, that echoes still,
Pass as lightly as you will!

The brands were flat, the brands were dying,

Amid their own white ashes lying;
But when the lady pass'd, there came
A tongue of light, a fit of flame;
And Christabel saw the lady's eye,
And nothing else saw she thereby,
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leo-
line tall,

Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall.

"O softly tread," said Christabel,
My father seldom sleepeth well."

Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare,
And, jealous of the listening air,
They steal their way from stair to stair,
Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,
And now they pass the Baron's room,
And still as death, with stifled breath!
And now have reach'd her chamber
door;

And now doth Geraldine press down
The rushes of the chamber floor.

The moon shines dim in the open air,
And not a moonbeam enters here.
But they without its light can see
The chamber carved so curiously,
Carved with figures strange and sweet,
All made out of the carver's brain,
For a lady's chamber meet:
The lamp with twofold silver chain
Is fastened to an angel's feet.

The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But Christabel the lamp will trim.
She trimm'd the lamp, and made it
bright,

And left it swinging to and fro,

While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below.

O weary lady, Geraldine,

I pray you, drink this cordial wine!
It is a wine of virtuous powers;
My mother made it of wild flowers."

"And will your mother pity me,
Who am a maiden most forlorn?"
Christabel answered -"Woe is me!
She died the hour that I was born.
I have heard the gray-hair'd friar tell,
How on her death-bed she did say,
That she should hear the castle-bell
Strike twelve upon my wedding-day.
O mother dear! that thou wert here!"
"I would," said Geraldine, “she were!"

66

-

But soon with altered voice, said sheOff, wandering mother! Peak and pine!

I have power to bid thee flee."
Alas! what ails poor Geraldine?
Why stares she with unsettled eye?
Can she the bodiless dead espy?
And why with hollow voice cries she,
"Off, woman, off! this hour is mine-
Though thou her guardian spirit be,
Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me."

Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue-
"Alas!" said she, "this ghastly ride-
Dear lady! it hath wilder'd you!”
The lady wiped her moist cold brow,
And faintly said, ""Tis over now!"

Again the wild-flower wine she drank:
Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright,
And from the floor whereon she sank,
The lofty lady stood upright:
She was most beautiful to see,
Like a lady of a far countrée.

And thus the lofty lady spake:
"All they who live in the upper sky,
Do love you, holy Christabel!
And you love them, and for their sake
And for the good which me befell,
Even I in my degree will try,
Fair maiden, to requite you well.

But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.”

Quoth Christabel, "So let it be!" And as the lady bade, did she. Her gentle limbs did she undress, And lay down in her loveliness.

But through her brain of weal and woe
So many thoughts moved to and fro,
That vain it were her lids to close;
So half-way from the bed she rose,
And on her elbow did recline
To look at the lady Geraldine.

Beneath the lamp the lady bow'd,
And slowly roll'd her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud
Like one that shudder'd, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and full in view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side-
A sight to dream of, not to tell!
O shield her! shield sweet Christabel!

Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs;
Ah! what a stricken look was hers!
Deep from within she seems half-way
To lift some weight with sick assay,
And eyes the maid and seeks delay;
Then suddenly, as one defied,
Collects herself in scorn and pride,
And lay down by the maiden's side! -
And in her arms the maid she took,
Ah well-a-day!

And with low voice and doleful look
These words did say:

"In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,

Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!

Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow,

And found'st a bright lady, surpassing: fair;

And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,

To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.

SEVERED FRIENDSHIP.
[Christabel, Part II.]

ALAS! they had been friends in youth:
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorn; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain
And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining-
They stood aloof, the scars remaining.
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between; —
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been

YOUTH AND AGE.

VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — Both were mine! Life went a-maying

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young! When I was young?-Ah, woeful when! Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and

Then!

This breathing house not built with hands,

sorrow;

But vainly thou warrest,

For this is alone in

Thy power to declare,

That in the dim forest Thou heard'st a low moaning,

O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along:
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather,

When Youth and I lived in't together.

Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O the joys that came down shower-like
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!

Ere I was old? Ah woeful ere,
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
Youth! for years so many and sweet,
Tis known that thou and I were one;
I'll think it but a fond conceit
It cannot be that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled:
And thou wert ave a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black,

An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it As with a wedge! But when I look again,

It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,

Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,

Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer

I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,

Thou, the meanwhile, wert blending with my thought,

Yea, with my life and life's own secret

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad!

Who called you forth from night and utter death,

From dark and icy caverns called you forth,

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,

For ever shattered and the same for ever?

Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came),

Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the moun

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!

Ye signs and wonders of the element ! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky

pointing peaks,

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,

Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast

Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low

In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,

Solemnly seemest like a vapory cloud To rise before me.- Rise, oh, ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense from the Earth!

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,

Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven,

Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising

sun,

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

DOMESTIC PEACE. TELL me, on what holy ground May Domestic Peace be found? Halcyon Daughter of the skies, Far on fearful wings she flies, From the pomp of sceptred state, From the rebel's noisy hate. In a cottaged vale she dwells, Listening to the Sabbath bells! Still around her steps are seen Spotless Honor's meeker mien, Love, the sire of pleasing fears, Sorrow smiling through her tears, And, conscious of the past employ, Memory, bosum-spring of joy.