I know he loved me well, for when we parted, None did in grief excel,-both were truehearted. THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. I. Those promises we made ne'er shall be ST. AGNES' EVE-Ah, bitter chill it was! broken; The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; Those words that then he said ne'er shall be The hare limped trembling through the frozen spoken. grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: He hearing what she said, made his love Numb were the Beadman's fingers while he stronger, Off his disguise he laid, and staid no longer. fashion Into his arms she flew,-such is love's passion! He asked her how she liked his counter feiting, told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his II. Whether she was well pleased with such like His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man ; greeting? You are well versed, quoth she, in several speeches, Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Could you coin money so, you might get Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees; Northward he turneth through a little door, Flattered to tears this aged man and poor; Then hand in hand they walk with mirth Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, and pleasure, They laugh, they kiss, they talk-love knows no measure. Now both do sit and sing-but she sings clearest ; Like nightingale in Spring, Welcome my dearest! ANONYMOUS. And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve. IV. That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. sighs 221 The level chambers, ready with their pride, The hallowed hour was near at hand; she Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort With hair blown back, and wings put cross- Hoodwinked with fairy fancy; all amort XII. "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; He had a fever late, and in the fit His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, He cursed thee and thine, both house and And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. land; Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit rose, XVI. More tame for his gray hairs-Alas me! flit! Sudden a thought came like a full-blown Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart And tell me how "_"Good saints, not here, A stratagem, that makes the beldame start: "A cruel man and impious thou art! not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream thy bier." XIII. He followed through a lowly arched way, XIV. "St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve— XV. Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, Alone with her good angels, far apart XVII. "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!" Quoth Porphyro; "O may I ne'er find grace When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, If one of her soft ringlets I displace, XVIII. "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; woe. A casement high and triple-arched there was, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, The while. Ah! thou must needs the lady And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, wed, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, bless, And breathed himself; then from the closet It seemed he never, never could redeem crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept, how fast she slept. ΧΧΙΧ. Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon is gone. XXX. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes; So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies. XXXIII. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, Close to her ear touching the melody;— XXXIV. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and There was a painful change, that nigh exgourd; With jellies soother than the creamy curd, pelled The blisses of her dream so pure and deep; sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; |