"The sun was sinking—still I layChain'd to the chill and stiffening steed;I thought to mingle there our clay;765And my dim eyes of death had need,No hope arose of being freed.I cast my last looks up the sky,And there between me and the sunI saw the expecting raven fly,770Who scarce would wait till both should dieEre his repast begun.He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more,And each time nearer than before;I saw his wing through twilight flit,775And once so near me he alitI could have smote, but lack'd the strength;But the slight motion of my hand,And feeble scratching of the sand,The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,780Which scarcely could be call'd a voice,Together scared him off at length.—I know no more—my latest dreamIs something of a lovely starWhich fix'd my dull eyes from afar,785And went and came with wandering beam,And of the cold, dull, swimming, denseSensation of recurring sense,And then subsiding back to death,And then again a little breath,790A little thrill, a short suspense,An icy sickness curdling o'erMy heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain—A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,A sigh, and nothing more.795
"The sun was sinking—still I layChain'd to the chill and stiffening steed;I thought to mingle there our clay;765And my dim eyes of death had need,No hope arose of being freed.I cast my last looks up the sky,And there between me and the sunI saw the expecting raven fly,770Who scarce would wait till both should dieEre his repast begun.He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more,And each time nearer than before;I saw his wing through twilight flit,775And once so near me he alitI could have smote, but lack'd the strength;But the slight motion of my hand,And feeble scratching of the sand,The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,780Which scarcely could be call'd a voice,Together scared him off at length.—I know no more—my latest dreamIs something of a lovely starWhich fix'd my dull eyes from afar,785And went and came with wandering beam,And of the cold, dull, swimming, denseSensation of recurring sense,And then subsiding back to death,And then again a little breath,790A little thrill, a short suspense,An icy sickness curdling o'erMy heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain—A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,A sigh, and nothing more.795
XIX
"I woke—Where was I?—Do I seeA human face look down on me?And doth a roof above me close?Do these limbs on a couch repose?Is this a chamber where I lie?800And is it mortal, yon bright eyeThat watches me with gentle glance?I closed my own again once more,As doubtful that the former tranceCould not as yet be o'er.805A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,Sate watching by the cottage wall:The sparkle of her eye I caught,Even with my first return of thought;For ever and anon she threw810A prying, pitying glance on meWith her black eyes so wild and free.I gazed, and gazed, until I knewNo vision it could be,—But that I lived, and was released815From adding to the vulture's feast.And when the Cossack maid beheldMy heavy eyes at length unseal'd,She smiled—and I essay'd to speak,But fail'd—and she approach'd, and made820With lip and finger signs that said,I must not strive as yet to breakThe silence, till my strength should beEnough to leave my accents free;And then her hand on mine she laid,825And smooth'd the pillow for my head,And stole along on tiptoe tread,And gently oped the door, and spakeIn whispers—ne'er was voice so sweet!Even music follow'd her light feet;—830But those she call'd were not awake,And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd,Another look on me she cast,Another sign she made, to say,That I had nought to fear, that all835Were near at my command or call,And she would not delayHer due return:—while she was gone,Methought I felt too much alone.
"I woke—Where was I?—Do I seeA human face look down on me?And doth a roof above me close?Do these limbs on a couch repose?Is this a chamber where I lie?800And is it mortal, yon bright eyeThat watches me with gentle glance?I closed my own again once more,As doubtful that the former tranceCould not as yet be o'er.805A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,Sate watching by the cottage wall:The sparkle of her eye I caught,Even with my first return of thought;For ever and anon she threw810A prying, pitying glance on meWith her black eyes so wild and free.I gazed, and gazed, until I knewNo vision it could be,—But that I lived, and was released815From adding to the vulture's feast.And when the Cossack maid beheldMy heavy eyes at length unseal'd,She smiled—and I essay'd to speak,But fail'd—and she approach'd, and made820With lip and finger signs that said,I must not strive as yet to breakThe silence, till my strength should beEnough to leave my accents free;And then her hand on mine she laid,825And smooth'd the pillow for my head,And stole along on tiptoe tread,And gently oped the door, and spakeIn whispers—ne'er was voice so sweet!Even music follow'd her light feet;—830But those she call'd were not awake,And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd,Another look on me she cast,Another sign she made, to say,That I had nought to fear, that all835Were near at my command or call,And she would not delayHer due return:—while she was gone,Methought I felt too much alone.
XX
"She came with mother and with sire—840What need of more?—I will not tireWith long recital of the rest,Since I became the Cossack's guest.They found me senseless on the plain—They bore me to the nearest hut—845They brought me into life again—Me—one day o'er their realm to reign!Thus the vain fool who strove to glutHis rage, refining on my pain,Sent me forth to the wilderness,850Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,To pass the desert to a throne,—What mortal his own doom may guess?—Let none despond, let none despair!To-morrow the Borysthenes855May see our coursers graze at easeUpon his Turkish bank,—and neverHad I such welcome for a riverAs I shall yield when safely there.Comrades, good night!"—The Hetman threw860His length beneath the oak-tree shade,With leafy couch already made,A bed nor comfortless nor newTo him who took his rest whene'erThe hour arrived, no matter where:865His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.And if ye marvel Charles forgotTo thank his talehewonder'd not,—The king had been an hour asleep.
"She came with mother and with sire—840What need of more?—I will not tireWith long recital of the rest,Since I became the Cossack's guest.They found me senseless on the plain—They bore me to the nearest hut—845They brought me into life again—Me—one day o'er their realm to reign!Thus the vain fool who strove to glutHis rage, refining on my pain,Sent me forth to the wilderness,850Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,To pass the desert to a throne,—What mortal his own doom may guess?—Let none despond, let none despair!To-morrow the Borysthenes855May see our coursers graze at easeUpon his Turkish bank,—and neverHad I such welcome for a riverAs I shall yield when safely there.Comrades, good night!"—The Hetman threw860His length beneath the oak-tree shade,With leafy couch already made,A bed nor comfortless nor newTo him who took his rest whene'erThe hour arrived, no matter where:865His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.And if ye marvel Charles forgotTo thank his talehewonder'd not,—The king had been an hour asleep.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,5That host with their banners at sunset were seen:Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;10And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,15And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.And there lay the rider distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail,And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.20And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,5That host with their banners at sunset were seen:Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;10And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,15And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail,And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.20
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
I
St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,And silent was the flock in woolly fold:Numb were the Beadsman's[143]fingers, while he told5His rosary, and while his frosted breath,Like pious incense from a censer old,Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,And silent was the flock in woolly fold:Numb were the Beadsman's[143]fingers, while he told5His rosary, and while his frosted breath,Like pious incense from a censer old,Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
II
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;10Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his kneesAnd back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze,Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:15Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,He passeth by; and his weak spirit failsTo think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;10Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his kneesAnd back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze,Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:15Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,He passeth by; and his weak spirit failsTo think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
III
Northward he turneth through a little door,And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue20Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;But no—already had his death-bell rung;The joys of all his life were said and sung:His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve;Another way he went, and soon among25Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
Northward he turneth through a little door,And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue20Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;But no—already had his death-bell rung;The joys of all his life were said and sung:His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve;Another way he went, and soon among25Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
IV
That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;And so it chanced, for many a door was wide,From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,30The silver, snarling[144]trumpets 'gan to chide:The level chambers, ready with their pride,Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests,35With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise on their breasts.
That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;And so it chanced, for many a door was wide,From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,30The silver, snarling[144]trumpets 'gan to chide:The level chambers, ready with their pride,Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests,35With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise on their breasts.
V
At length burst in the argent revelry,With plume, tiara, and all rich array,Numerous as shadows haunting fairilyThe brain, new-stuff'd,[145]in youth, with triumphs gay40Of old romance. These let us wish away,And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care,As she had heard old dames full many times declare.45
At length burst in the argent revelry,With plume, tiara, and all rich array,Numerous as shadows haunting fairilyThe brain, new-stuff'd,[145]in youth, with triumphs gay40Of old romance. These let us wish away,And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care,As she had heard old dames full many times declare.45
VI
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,[146]Young virgins might have visions of delight,And soft adorings from their loves receiveUpon the honey'd middle of the night,If ceremonies due they did aright;50As, supperless to bed they must retire,And couch supine their beauties, lily white;Nor look behind, nor sideways, but requireOf Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,[146]Young virgins might have visions of delight,And soft adorings from their loves receiveUpon the honey'd middle of the night,If ceremonies due they did aright;50As, supperless to bed they must retire,And couch supine their beauties, lily white;Nor look behind, nor sideways, but requireOf Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
VII
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:55The music, yearning like a God in pain,She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping trainPass by—she heeded not at all: in vainCame many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,60And back retired; not cool'd by high disdain,But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere;She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:55The music, yearning like a God in pain,She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping trainPass by—she heeded not at all: in vainCame many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,60And back retired; not cool'd by high disdain,But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere;She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.
VIII
She danced along with vague, regardless eyes,Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:65The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighsAmid the timbrels, and the throng'd resortOf whisperers in anger, or in sport;'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,[147]70Save to St. Agnes and her lambs[148]unshorn,And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
She danced along with vague, regardless eyes,Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:65The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighsAmid the timbrels, and the throng'd resortOf whisperers in anger, or in sport;'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,[147]70Save to St. Agnes and her lambs[148]unshorn,And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
IX
So, purposing each moment to retire,She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors,Had come young Porphyro,[149]with heart on fire75For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,Buttress'd[150]from moonlight, stands he, and imploresAll saints to give him sight of Madeline,But for one moment in the tedious hours,That he might gaze and worship all unseen;80Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth[151]suchthings have been.
So, purposing each moment to retire,She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors,Had come young Porphyro,[149]with heart on fire75For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,Buttress'd[150]from moonlight, stands he, and imploresAll saints to give him sight of Madeline,But for one moment in the tedious hours,That he might gaze and worship all unseen;80Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth[151]suchthings have been.
X
He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swordsWill storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,85Hyena[152]foemen, and hot-blooded lords,Whose very dogs would execrations howlAgainst his lineage: not one breast affordsHim any mercy, in that mansion foul,Save one old beldame,[153]weak in body and in soul.90
He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swordsWill storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,85Hyena[152]foemen, and hot-blooded lords,Whose very dogs would execrations howlAgainst his lineage: not one breast affordsHim any mercy, in that mansion foul,Save one old beldame,[153]weak in body and in soul.90
XI
Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyondThe sound of merriment and chorus bland:95He startled her; but soon she knew his face,And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place;They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race!
Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyondThe sound of merriment and chorus bland:95He startled her; but soon she knew his face,And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place;They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race!
XII
"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;100He had a fever late, and in the fitHe cursed thee and thine, both house and land:Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whitMore tame for his gray hairs—Alas me! flit!Flit like a ghost away."—Ah, Gossip[154]dear,105We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit,And tell me how"—"Good Saints! not here, not here;Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;100He had a fever late, and in the fitHe cursed thee and thine, both house and land:Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whitMore tame for his gray hairs—Alas me! flit!Flit like a ghost away."—Ah, Gossip[154]dear,105We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit,And tell me how"—"Good Saints! not here, not here;Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
XIII
He follow'd through a lowly arched way,Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;110And as she mutter'd "Well-a—well-a-day!"He found him in a little moonlight room,Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb."Now tell me where is Madeline," said he,"O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom[155]115Which none but secret sisterhood may see,When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."
He follow'd through a lowly arched way,Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;110And as she mutter'd "Well-a—well-a-day!"He found him in a little moonlight room,Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb."Now tell me where is Madeline," said he,"O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom[155]115Which none but secret sisterhood may see,When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."
XIV
"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve—Yet men will murder upon holy days:Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,[156]120And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,To venture so: it fills me with amazeTo see thee, Porphyro!—St. Agnes' Eve!God's help! my lady fair the conjuror playsThis very night: good angels her deceive!125But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle[157]time to grieve."
"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve—Yet men will murder upon holy days:Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,[156]120And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,To venture so: it fills me with amazeTo see thee, Porphyro!—St. Agnes' Eve!God's help! my lady fair the conjuror playsThis very night: good angels her deceive!125But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle[157]time to grieve."
XV
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,While Porphyro upon her face doth look,Like puzzled urchin on an aged croneWho keepeth closed a wond'rous riddlebook,130As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she toldHis lady's purpose; and he scarce could brookTears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,And Madeline asleep in lap[158]of legends old.135
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,While Porphyro upon her face doth look,Like puzzled urchin on an aged croneWho keepeth closed a wond'rous riddlebook,130As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she toldHis lady's purpose; and he scarce could brookTears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,And Madeline asleep in lap[158]of legends old.135
XVI
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,Flushing his brow, and in his pained heartMade purple riot[159]: then doth he proposeA stratagem, that makes the beldame start:"A cruel man and impious thou art:140Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dreamAlone with her good angels, far apartFrom wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deemThou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem."
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,Flushing his brow, and in his pained heartMade purple riot[159]: then doth he proposeA stratagem, that makes the beldame start:"A cruel man and impious thou art:140Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dreamAlone with her good angels, far apartFrom wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deemThou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem."
XVII
"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"145Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find graceWhen 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;150Or 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."
"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"145Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find graceWhen 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;150Or 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
"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing,155Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth she bringA gentler speech from burning Porphyro;So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,160That Angela gives promise she will doWhatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.
"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing,155Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth she bringA gentler speech from burning Porphyro;So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,160That Angela gives promise she will doWhatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.
XIX
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hideHim in a closet, of such privacy165That 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.Never on such a night have lovers met,170Since Merlin[160]paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hideHim in a closet, of such privacy165That 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.Never on such a night have lovers met,170Since Merlin[160]paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.
XX
"It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame:"All cates[161]and dainties shall be stored thereQuickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame[162]Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,175For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dareOn such a catering trust my dizzy head.Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayerThe while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."180
"It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame:"All cates[161]and dainties shall be stored thereQuickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame[162]Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,175For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dareOn such a catering trust my dizzy head.Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayerThe while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."180
XXI
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 earTo follow her; with aged eyes aghastFrom fright of dim espial. Safe at last,185Through many a dusky gallery, they gainThe maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and chaste;Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.
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 earTo follow her; with aged eyes aghastFrom fright of dim espial. Safe at last,185Through many a dusky gallery, they gainThe 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 falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,190Old 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 led195To a safe level matting. Now prepare,Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled.
Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,190Old 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 led195To a safe level matting. Now prepare,Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;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:200She closed the door, she panted, all akinTo spirits of the air, and visions wide:No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!But to her heart, her heart was voluble,Paining with eloquence her balmy side;205As though a tongueless nightingale should swellHer throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her dell.
Out went the taper as she hurried in;Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:200She closed the door, she panted, all akinTo spirits of the air, and visions wide:No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!But to her heart, her heart was voluble,Paining with eloquence her balmy side;205As though a tongueless nightingale should swellHer throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her dell.
XXIV
A casement high[163]and triple arch'd there was,All garlanded with carven imag'riesOf fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,210And diamonded with panes of quaint device,Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,[164]And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,[165]215A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
A casement high[163]and triple arch'd there was,All garlanded with carven imag'riesOf fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,210And diamonded with panes of quaint device,Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,[164]And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,[165]215A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
XXV
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,And threw warm gules[166]on Madeline's fair breast,As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,220And on her silver cross soft amethyst,And on her hair a glory, like a saint: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
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,And threw warm gules[166]on Madeline's fair breast,As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,220And on her silver cross soft amethyst,And on her hair a glory, like a saint: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,Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degreesHer rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:230Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degreesHer rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:230Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
XXVII
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,235In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'dHer soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;240Clasp'd like a missal[167]where swart Paynims pray;Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,235In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'dHer soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;240Clasp'd like a missal[167]where swart Paynims pray;Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
XXVIII
Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,245And listen'd to her breathing, if it chancedTo wake into a slumberous tenderness;Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,And breathed himself: then from the closet crept,Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,250And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept,And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!—how fast she slept.
Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,245And listen'd to her breathing, if it chancedTo wake into a slumberous tenderness;Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,And breathed himself: then from the closet crept,Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,250And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept,And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!—how fast she slept.
XXIX
Then by the bed-side, where the faded moonMade a dim, silver twilight, soft he setA table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon255A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:—O for some drowsy Morphean[168]amulet!The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:—260The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
Then by the bed-side, where the faded moonMade a dim, silver twilight, soft he setA table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon255A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:—O for some drowsy Morphean[168]amulet!The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:—260The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
XXX
And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,[169]In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,While he from forth the closet brought a heapOf candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;265With jellies soother[170]than the creamy curd,And lucent[171]syrops, tinct with cinnamon;Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'dFrom Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.270
And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,[169]In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,While he from forth the closet brought a heapOf candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;265With jellies soother[170]than the creamy curd,And lucent[171]syrops, tinct with cinnamon;Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'dFrom Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.270
XXXI
These delicates he heap'd with glowing handOn golden dishes and in baskets brightOf wreathed silver: sumptuous they standIn the retired quiet of the night,Filling the chilly room with perfume light.—275"And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite[172]:Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."
These delicates he heap'd with glowing handOn golden dishes and in baskets brightOf wreathed silver: sumptuous they standIn the retired quiet of the night,Filling the chilly room with perfume light.—275"And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite[172]:Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."
XXXII
Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm280Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dreamBy the dusk curtains:—'twas a midnight charmImpossible to melt as iced stream:The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:285It seem'd he never, never could redeemFrom such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes;So mused awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.
Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm280Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dreamBy the dusk curtains:—'twas a midnight charmImpossible to melt as iced stream:The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:285It seem'd he never, never could redeemFrom such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes;So mused awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.
XXXIII
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,—Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be.290He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy:[173]"Close to her ear touching the melody;—Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:He ceased—she panted quick—and suddenly295Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,—Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be.290He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy:[173]"Close to her ear touching the melody;—Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:He ceased—she panted quick—and suddenly295Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.
XXXIV
Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd300The blisses of her dream so pure and deepAt 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 joined hands and piteous eye,305Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.
Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd300The blisses of her dream so pure and deepAt 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 joined hands and piteous eye,305Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.
XXXV
"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even nowThy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:310How 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."315
"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even nowThy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:310How 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."315
XXXVI
Beyond a mortal man impassion'd farAt these voluptuous accents, he arose,Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing starSeen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;Into her dream he melted, as the rose320Blendeth its odour with the violet,—Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blowsLike Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleetAgainst the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.
Beyond a mortal man impassion'd farAt these voluptuous accents, he arose,Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing starSeen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;Into her dream he melted, as the rose320Blendeth its odour with the violet,—Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blowsLike Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleetAgainst the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.
XXXVII
'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:325"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?330I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;—A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing."
'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:325"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?330I 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?335Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed?Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my restAfter so many hours of toil and quest,A famish'd pilgrim,—saved by miracle.Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest340Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st wellTo trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.
"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?335Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed?Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my restAfter so many hours of toil and quest,A famish'd pilgrim,—saved by miracle.Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest340Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st wellTo trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.
XXXIX
"Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land,Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:Arise—arise! the morning is at hand:—345The bloated wassailers[174]will never heed:—Let us away, my love, with happy speed;There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,—Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,350For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."
"Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land,Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:Arise—arise! the morning is at hand:—345The bloated wassailers[174]will never heed:—Let us away, my love, with happy speed;There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,—Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,350For 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.—355In all the house was heard no human sound.A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door;The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar;And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.360
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.—355In all the house was heard no human sound.A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door;The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar;And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.360
XLI