XVI. Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, "Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream "From wicked men like thee. Go, go!-I deem "Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem." XVII. "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," "Or look with ruffian passion in her face: "Or I will, even in a moment's space, "Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, "And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears." XVIII. "Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? 66 A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing, "Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; "Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, "Were never miss'd."-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. XIX. Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, That he might see her beauty unespied, XX. "It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame: 66 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, 66 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, may I never leave my grave among the dead." XXI. So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. 1 Cf. Tennyson's "Vivian." XXII. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware: With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled. XXIII. Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: As though a tongueless nightingale should swell XXIV. A casement high and triple-arch'd there was, Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, i XXV. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, XXVI. Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. XXVII. Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, 1 The fact that the light of the moon is not strong enough to cast colored shadows does not make this stanza a blemish upon the poem; nor is it necessary to resort to Foreman's expedient of regarding the phenomenon as a miracle performed by St. Agnes. There is poetic if not scientific truth in it. Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; XXVIII. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!-how fast she slept. XXIX. Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon XXX. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, |