For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book,
Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
Whose very dogs would execrations howl
Against his lineage; not one breast affords
Hin any mercy, in that mansion foul,
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told
His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
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 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
They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty
"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!"
"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hilde- Quoth Porphyro; "O, may I ne'er find grace
He had a fever late, and in the fit
He cursed thee and thine, both house and land;
Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit
More tame for his gray hairs
Flit like a ghost away!”
Alas me flit!
"Ah, gossip dear,
We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,
And tell me how "Good saints, not here, not
here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
He followed through a lowly arched way,
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;
And as she muttered "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
Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."
When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,
Or look with ruffian passion in her face;
If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
Good Angela, believe me by these tears;
Or I will, even in a moment's space,
Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears,
And beard them, though they be more fanged
than wolves and bears.'
"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing,
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and 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.
All cates and dainties shall be stored there
Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambour
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.
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint;
Wait here, my child, with patience kneel in She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest,
'Tis dark; quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet; "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" 'T is 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? 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."
After so many hours of toil and quest,
Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest
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.
They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall!
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide,
Where lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl,
With a huge empty flagon by his side;
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,
The chains lie silent on the footworn stones ;
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns ;
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide;
The key turns, and the door upon its 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
Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,
Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face deform;
Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old
The beadsman, after thousand aves told,
For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.
JOHN KEATS.
THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY | Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,
THOU hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie,
By that pretty white hand o' thine,
And by a' the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine!
And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie,
And by that kind heart o' thine,
By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven,
That thou shalt aye be mine?
Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands,
And the heart that wad part sic luve !
But there's nae hand can loose my band,
But the finger o' Him abuve.
Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield,
And my claithing ne'er sae mean,
I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, -
Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.
Her white arm wad be a pillow for me,
Fu' safter than the down;
Do like a golden mantle her attire ;
And being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes, abashéd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixéd are ;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,
So far from being proud.
Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.
Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorned with Beauty's grace and Virtue's store!
Her goodly eyes like sapphires, shining bright
Her forehead ivory white,
Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded,
Her paps like lilies budded,
And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind Her snowy neck like to a marble tower;
And sweetly I'd sleep, and soun'.
Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve !
Come here and kneel wi' me!
The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,
And I canna pray without thee.
The morn wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new
flowers,
The wee birds sing kindlie and hie;
Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dike,
And a blythe auld bodie is he.
The Beuk maun be ta'en whan the carle comes
Wi' the holy psalmodie ;
And thou maun speak o' me to thy God,
And I will speak o' thee.
Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe from her chamber of the east,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween
Some angel she had been.
Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
And all her body like a palace fair,
Ascending up with many a stately stair
To Honor's seat and Chastity's sweet bower.
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,
Whilst ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring
THERE are who say the lover's heart
Is in the loved one's merged;
O, never by love's own warm art
So cold a plea was urged!
No!-hearts that love hath crowned or crossed
Love fondly knits together;
But not a thought or hue is lost
That made a part of either.
It is an ill-told tale that tells
Of "hearts by love made one";
He grows who near another's dwells
More conscious of his own;
In each spring up new thoughts and powers
That, mid love's warm, clear weather,
Together tend like climbing flowers.
And, turning, grow together.
Such fictions blink love's better part,
Yield up its half of bliss ;
The wells are in the neighbor heart
When there is thirst in this :
There findeth love the passion-flowers
On which it learns to thrive,
Makes honey in another's bowers,
But brings it home to hive.
Love's life is in its own replies,
To each low beat it beats,
Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the sighs,
And every throb repeats.
Then, since one loving heart still throws
Two shadows in love's sun,
How should two loving hearts compose
And mingle into one?
MINE eyes he closed, but open left the cell
Of fancy, my internal sight, by which
Abstract, as in a trance, methought I saw,
Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape
Still glorious before whom awake I stood;
Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took
From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm,
And life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the
wound,
But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed:
The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands;
Under his forming hands a creature grew,
Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair,
That what seemed fair in all the world seemed
Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained
And in her looks, which from that time infused
Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before,
And into all things from her air inspired
The spirit of love and amorous delight.
She disappeared, and left me dark; I waked
To find her, or forever to deplore
Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure:
When out of hope, behold her, not far off,
Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned
With what all earth or Heaven could bestow
To make her amiable. On she came,
Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen,
And guided by his voice, nor uninformed
Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites:
Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love.
I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud:
Giver of all things fair, but fairest this
Of all thy gifts, nor enviest. I now see
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself
Before me; Woman is her name, of man
Extracted for this cause he shall forego
Father and mother, and to his wife adhere;
And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.
She heard me thus, and though divinely
Yet innocence and virgin modesty,
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth,
That would be wooed, and not unsought be
Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired,
The more desirable; or, to say all,
Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought,
Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned:
I followed her; she what was honor knew,
And with obsequious majesty approved
My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower
I led her blushing like the morn: all Heaven,
And happy constellations on that hour
Shed their selectest influence; the earth
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill;
Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs
Whispered it to the woods, and from their
wings
Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy shrub,
Disporting, till the amorous bird of night
Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star
On his hill-top, to light the bridal lamp.
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; All higher knowledge in her presence falls | Degraded, wisdom in discourse with her Loses discountenanced, and like folly shows; Authority and reason on her wait, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally; and, to consummate all, Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard angelic placed.”
Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aught In procreation common to all kinds,
So much delights me, as those graceful acts,
Those thousand decencies that daily flow
From all her words and actions, mixed with love
And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned
Union of mind, or in us both one soul;
"This turn hath made amends; thou hast Harmony to behold in wedded pair
Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign,
More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear.
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