O for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.. XXX And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon, Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez, and spicèd dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. XXXI These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand 66 Filling the chilly room with perfume light.— Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, XXXII Thus whispering, his warm, unnervèd arm The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes; So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofèd phantasies. XXXIII Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,- Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. XXXIV Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, XXXV "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go." XXXVI Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far Blendeth its odour 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 icèd 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 unprunèd wing." XXXVIII "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? XXXIX "Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, Arise-arise! the morning is at hand;- For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." XL She hurried at his words, beset with fears, And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. XLI They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; With a huge empty flagon by his side: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, 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. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old J. Keats. THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER IN SEVEN PARTS An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a weddingfeast, and detaineth one. The WeddingGuest is spellbound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale. PART I IT is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. "By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din." He holds him with his skinny hand, "There was a ship," quoth he. "Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!" He holds him with his glittering eye- The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: |