XIV. "St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve- And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, 120 125 XV. Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told XVI. Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem XVII. "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace 140 145 When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, If one of her soft ringlets I displace, Or look with ruffian passion in her face: Good Angela, believe me by these tears; 150 Or I will, even in a moment's space, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears.". XVIII. 66 Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? 155 Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth she bring 160 That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. XIX. Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide 165 That he might see her beauty unespied, And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, While legion'd fairies paced the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. 170 Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. XX. "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 175 On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience kneel in prayer XXI. So saying she hobbled off with busy fear. 180 The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear 185 From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. XXII. Her faltering hand upon the balustrade, 190 Old Angela was feeling for the stair, With silver taper's light, and pious care, She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled. XXIII. Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No utter'd syllable, or, woe betide! 195 200 But to her heart, her heart was voluble, 205 As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell. XXIV. A casement high and triple-arch'd there was, Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, 210 215 A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. XXV. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, 220 She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: — Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. 225 XXVI. Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, 230 But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. XXVII. Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, 235 Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day : As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. XXVIII. Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, 240 245 To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breathed himself: then from. the closet crept, 250 And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!-- how fast she slept. XXIX. Then by the bedside, where the faded moon XXX. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, 255 260 In blanchéd linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd; 265 With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spicéd dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. 270 |