His 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; The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze, III. Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no—already had his deathbell 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 among Rough 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; Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. V. At length burst in the argent revelry, The brain, new stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay VI. They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, VII. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: Pass by-she heeded not at all: in vain But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: VIII. She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,1 IX. So, purposing each moment to retire, She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss-in sooth such things have been. 1 The offering to St. Agnes was two unshorn lambs; the wool was afterwards carded and spun by the nuns. Cf. Stanza XIII., lines 7-9. X. He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: XI. Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came, The sound of merriment and chorus bland: 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 blood-thirsty race! XII. "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; "He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: here; "Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier." XIII. وو He follow'd through a lowly arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume, And as she mutter'd "Well-a- well-a-day! He found him in a little moonlight room, Pale, lattic'd, 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." 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, "And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, "To venture so: it fills me with amaze "To see thee, Porphyro!— St. Agnes' Eve! "God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays "This very night: good angels her deceive! "But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve." XV. Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle-book, 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, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. |