Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, Flit like a ghost away!"-"Ah, gossip dear, and implores Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; We're safe enough; here in this arm chair sit, Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddlebook, As spectacled she sits in chimney-nook. They are all here to-night, the whole But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she bloodthirsty race! XII. told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Tears, at the thought of those enchant Hildebrand; He had a fever late, and in the fit He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: ments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. XVI. Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not Sudden a thought came like a full-blown a whit More tame for his gray hairs-Alas me! rose Flushing his brow, and in his painèd flit! heart A casement high and triple-arch'd there Soon trembling in her soft and chilly nest, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:Oh for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, XXXIII. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, mute, The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. XXX. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd; While he from forth the closet brought a heap In Provence called “La belle dame sans mercy:" Close to her ear touching the melody ;Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: He ceased-she panted quick-and sud denly Her blue affrayèd eyes wide open shone: Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth gourd; sculptured stone. "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tunable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: How changed thou art! how pallid, chill and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complain ings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go." XXXVI. Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odor with the violet,— Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes moon hath set. XXXVII. 'Tis dark quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" 'Tis dark the iced gusts still rave and beat: "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceivèd thing;— A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, unpruned wing." XXXVIII. "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil-dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and quest, A famish'd pilgrim-saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest, Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. That night the baron dreamt of many a |