ingly.

XXXV.

'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 complainings 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 impassioned far
At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flushed, 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 deceived 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?

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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.

XXXIX.

"Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from fairy land,
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:
Arise-arise! the morning is at hand;-
The bloated wassailers will never heed.
Let us away, my love, with happy speed;
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,-
Drowned all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead.
Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,
For o'er the southern moors I have a home
for thee."

XL.

She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears— Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found,

In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each door;

The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,

Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.

XLI.

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 footworn stones;
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges
groans.

XLII.

And they are gone! ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm.

form

Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face de

form;

The beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.

JOHN KEATS.

THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA.

'RISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;

Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!

From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,

And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpets' lordly blowing,

And banners bright from lattice light are waving every where,

And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air.

Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;

Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!

you said the truth,

Andalla rides without a peer among all Granada's youth:

Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go

Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow :

Then rise--Oh! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;

Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town!"

cushion down

Why gaze ye not, Xarifa―with all the gazing town?

Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry;

He stops at Zara's palace-gate-why sit ye still-O, why?"

-"At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover

The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover?

I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,

To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!"

ANONYMOUS. (Spanish.) Translation of JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

THE DAY-DREAM.

THE SLEEPING PALACE.

THE varying year with blade and sheaf Clothes and re-clothes the happy plains; Ilere rests the sap within the leaf;

Here stays the blood along the veins. Faint shadows, vapors lightly curled,

Faint murmurs from the meadows come,
Like hints and echoes of the world
To spirits folded in the womb.

Soft lustre bathes the range of urns
On every slanting terrace-lawn,
The fountain to his place returns,

Deep in the garden lake withdrawn.
Here droops the banner on the tower,
On the hall-hearths the festal fires,
The peacock in his laurel bower,

The parrot in his gilded wires.
Roof-haunting martins warm their eggs;
In these, in those the life is stayed.
The mantles from the golden pegs
Droop sleepily. No sound is made-
Not even of a gnat that sings.

More like a picture seemeth all,
Than those old portraits of old kings
That watch the sleepers from the wall.

Here sits the butler with a flask

Between his knees, half-drained; and there The wrinkled steward at his task;

The maid-of-honor blooming fair, The page has caught her hand in his; Her lips are severed as to speak;

His own are pouted to a kiss;

The blush is fixed upon her cheek.

Till all the hundred summers pass,

The beams, that through the oriel shine, Make prisms in every carven glass,

And beaker brimmed with noble wine. Each baron at the banquet sleeps; Grave faces gathered in a ring. His state the king reposing keeps: He must have been a jolly king.

All round a hedge upshoots, and shows At distance like a little wood; Thorns, ivies, woodbine, mistletoes,

And grapes with bunches red as blood:

All creeping plants, a wall of green

Close-matted, burr and brake and briar And glimpsing over these, just seen,

High up, the topmost palace-spire.

When will the hundred summers die,

And thought and time be born again, And newer knowledge, drawing nigh, Bring truth that sways the soul of men? Here all things in their place remain, As all were ordered, ages since. Come care and pleasure, hope and pain. And bring the fated fairy prince!

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

YEAR after year unto her feet,
She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purple coverlet,

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown; On either side her tranced form

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl; The slumb'rous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broidered coverlid Unto her limbs itself doth mould, Languidly ever; and, amid

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Her full black ringlets, downward rolled Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm, With bracelets of the diamond bright. Her constant beauty doth inform

Stillness with love, and day with light. She sleeps; her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirred

That lie upon her charmed heart. She sleeps; on either hand upswells

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest; She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.

THE ARRIVAL

ALL precious things, discovered late,
To those that seek them issue forth:
For love in sequel works with fate,
And draws the veil from hidden worth.
He travels far from other skies-

His mantle glitters on the rocks-
A fairy prince, with joyful eyes,

And lighter-footed than the fox.

LOVE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,

Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!

She leaned against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listened to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air;

sang an old and moving story— An old, rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed
The lady of the land.

I told her how he pined-and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,

Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
And she forgave me that I gazed

Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely knight,

And that he crossed the mountain-woods,

Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once

In green and sunny glade,—

There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a fiend,

This miserable knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death,
The lady of the land;

And how she wept and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain-
And ever strove to expiate

The scorn that crazed his brain;-
And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay ;—

His dying words-but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long!

She wept with pity and delight-
She blushed with love, and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved; she stepped aside-
As conscious of my look she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,
She fled to me and wept.

She half inclosed me with her arms;
She pressed me with a meek embrace;