THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous | Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and quest, eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dream- A famish'd pilgrim,-saved by miracle. 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 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? 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? 225 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, 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! But his sagacious eye an inmate owns; XLII. And they are gone! ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. cushion down "Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face—“Why rise ye not, Xarifa-nor lay your Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white, I guess 't was wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! What aileth thee, Xarifa-what makes thine eyes look down? Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town? 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 To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing THE DAY-DREAM. THE SLEEPING PALACE. THE DAY-DREAM. THE varying year with blade and sheaf Here stays the blood along the veins. Soft lustre bathes the range of urns Deep in the garden lake withdrawn. The parrot in his gilded wires. More like a picture seemeth all, Here sits the butler with a flask Between his knees, half-drained; and there The blush is fixed upon her cheek. Till all the hundred summers pass, And beaker brimmed with noble wine. All round a hedge upshoots, and shows 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, 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 227 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, His mantle glitters on the rocks-- And lighter-footed than the fox. MARY OF CASTLE CARY. SERRANA. "Saw ye my wee thing? saw ye my ain thing? Saw ye my true-love down by yon lea? Crossed she the meadow, yestreen, at the gloaming? Sought she the burnie, where flowers the haw-tree? 229 Sair gloomed his dark brow; blood-red his cheek grew; Wild flashed the fire frae his red-rolling ee! "Ye's rue sair this morning your boasting and scorning, Defend ye, fause traitor; fu' loudly ye lie!" "Awa wi' beguiling," cried the youth smiling; Aff gade the bonnet, the lint-white locks flee; The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom sha'ing, "Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk- Fair stood the loved maid wi' the dark-rolling ee! |