While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepyeyed. Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. "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 frame 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." So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware: With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed ; She comes, she comes again, like ringdove fray'd and fled. Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died : She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. "And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite : Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache." Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains:-'twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam: Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a sted fast spell his lady's eyes; So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence call'd, "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 suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; [keep; While still her gaze on Porphyro would Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, [dreamingly. Fearing to move or speak, she look'd se Of witch, and demon, and large coffin worm, Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold. January, 1819. 1820. THE EVE OF SAINT MARK A FRAGMENT 1 UPON a Sabbath-day it fell ; The bells had ceas'd, the prayers begun, Azure saints and silver rays, Bertha was a maiden fair, Dwelling in th' old Minster-square ; From her fire-side she could see, Sidelong, its rich antiquity, Far as the Bishop's garden-wall ; All was gloom, and silent all, All was silent, all was gloom, And struck a lamp from the dismal coal; hair And slant look, full against the glare. On ceiling-beam and old oak chair, The room with wildest forms and shades, Untir'd she read the legend page, Written in smallest crow-quill size Beneath the text: and thus the rhyme Men han before they wake in bliss, Whanne that hir friendes thinke him bound In crimped shroude farre under grounde: Gif that the modre (God her blesse !) And kissen devout the holy croce. Somdel of Saintè Cicilie, And chiefly what he auctorethe |