13 1 He cursed thee and thine, both house 16 Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not More tame for his gray hairs-Alas me! Flit like a ghost away."-"Ah, gossip1 We're safe enough; here in this arm- And tell me how"-"Good Saints! not Follow me, child, or else these stones will He follow'd through a lowly arched way, And as she mutter'd "Well-a-well-a- He found him in a little moonlight room, "O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom When they St. Agnes' wocl are weaving 14. "St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve- To venture so: it fills me with amaze Eve! God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle2 time to grieve." 15 Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, 18 Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond 'rous riddle- 19 book, As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchant- And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 20 Never on such a night have lovers met, 23 Since Merlin paid his demon all the monstrous debt.1 "It shall be as thou wishest," said the dame: All cates and dainties shall be stored there Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frames Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." 24 25 26 '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 deceived thing; A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing." "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil-dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my 1 wild appearance 2 Wine from the vine yards of the Rhine. 2 A fermented drink made of honey, water, etc. Upon a Sabbath-day it fell; 5 From wholesome drench of April rains; And, on the western window panes, The chilly sunset faintly told Of unmatur'd green valleys cold, Of the green thorny bloomless hedge, 10 Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge, Of primroses by shelter'd rills, 1 tapestry hung on the walls The beads of a rosary, which are counted as the Aves, or salutations to the Virgin Mary, are uttered. And daisies on the aguish1 hills, Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell: The silent streets were crowded well 15 With staid and pious companies, Warm from their fire-side orat 'ries; And moving, with demurest air, To even-song, and vesper prayer. Each arched porch, and entry low, 20 Was fill'd with patient folk and slow, With whispers hush, and shuffling feet, While play'd the organ loud and sweet. 25 The bells had ceas'd, the prayers begun, And Bertha had not yet half done A curious volume, patch'd and torn, That all day long, from earliest morn, Had taken captive her two eyes, Among its golden broideries; Perplex'd her with a thousand things,30 The stars of Heaven, and angels' wings, Martyrs in a fiery blaze, 35 Azure saints in silver rays, Moses' breastplate,2 and the seven The winged Lion of Saint Mark,* And the Covenantal Ark," Bertha was a maiden fair, Far as the Bishop's garden-wall; Until the dusk eve left her dark Upon the legend of St. Mark. From plaited lawn-frill, fine and thin, She lifted up her soft warm chin, 55 With aching neck and swimming eyes, And daz'd with saintly imag'ries. |