grace,

131

Whose passing-bell may ere the mid

night toll;

Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,

Were never missed." Thus plaining, doth she bring

A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;

So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal

or woe.

Which was to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide

Him in a closet, of such privacy
That he might see her beauty unespied,
And win perhaps that night a peerless
bride,

While legioned fairies paced the coverlet,

And pale enchantment held her sleepy

eyed.

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,

the dead."

bud again.

133

Which when he heard, that minute

did he bless,

Open thine eyes, for meek Saint Agnes' sake,

closet crept,

Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hushed carpet, silent,

doth ache."

Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be,

He played an ancient ditty, long since mute,

In Provence called, "La belle dame sans mercy";

Close to her ear touching the melody: Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan;

He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly

Her blue affrayéd eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone.

Hereyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expelled

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;

While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep,

Who knelt, with joinéd hands and

piteous eye,

Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly.

"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even

now

Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,

vermeil dyed?

And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;

Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide,

Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flagon by his side:

The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,

But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide;

The chains lie silent on the foot-worn stones;

rest

After so many hours of toil and quest, A famished pilgrim,- saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest

Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well

To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.”

hinges groans.