To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,

Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond The sound of merriment and chorus

bland.

He startled her; but soon she knew his face,

And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand,

Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place;

They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race!

"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;

He had a fever late, and in the fit
He curséd thee and thine, both house
and land:

Then there's that old Lord Maurice,
not a whit

More tame for his gray hairs-Alas me! fit!

Flit like a ghost away."—"Ah! gossip dear,

We '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."

grace,

131

Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;

Whose prayers for thee, each morn aud evening,

Were never missed." Thus plaining, doth she bring

A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;

So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal

or woe.

Which was to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide

Him in a closet, of such privacy

That he might see her beauty unespied, And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,

While legioned fairies paced the coverlet,

And pale enchantment held her sleepyeyed.

Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his deinon all the monstrous debt.

"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

Her own lute thou wilt see; no time

to spare,

For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer

The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,

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; Or I will, even in a moment's space, Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's

the dead."

Full on this casement shone the win

try moon,

And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,

bud again.

Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced,

Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listened to her breathing, if it chanced

To wake into a slumberous tenderness;

133

Which when he heard, that minute

did he bless,

Open thine eyes, for meek Saint Agnes' sake,

closet crept,

Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hushed carpet, silent,

doth ache."

In Provence called, "La belle dame sans mercy";

Close to her ear touching the melody : Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan;

He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly

Her blue affrayéd eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone.

Hereyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wideawake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expelled

The blisses of her dream so pure and deep;

At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with

Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly.

"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, “but even

now

Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,

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."

"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!

Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed?

rest

After so many hours of toil and quest, A famished pilgrim,— saved by miracle. 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."

hinges groans.

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the baron dreamt of many

a woe,

And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form