He cursed thee and thine, both house 16 and land:

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

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

Flit like a ghost away. 66 'Ah, gossip1 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."

He follow'd through a lowly arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty 17 plume,

And as she mutter'd "Well-a-well-a

When they St. Agnes' wocl are weaving piously."

"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' EveYet 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 mickle2 time to grieve."

Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look,

18

Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle- 19 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 enchant-
ments cold,

And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
1 godmother
2 much; ample

Never on such a night have lovers met, 23 Since Merlin paid his demon all the monstrous debt.1

"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 frame3

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,

Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."

24

25

26

"Tis 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."

"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!

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

Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my

The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.

And they are gone: aye, 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 coffinworm,

Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old

Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform;

The beadsman, after thousand aves2 told,

For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold

Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell,
That call'd the folk to evening prayer;
The city streets were clean and fair

5 From wholesome drench of April rains; And, on the western window panes, The chilly sunset faintly told Of unmatur'd green valleys cold, Of the green thorny bloomless hedge, 10 Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge, Of primroses by shelter'd rills,

1 tapestry hung on the walls

2 The beads of a rosary, which are counted as the Aves, or salutations to the Virgin Mary, are uttered.

35

Azure saints in silver rays,

Moses' breastplate,2 and the seven
Candlesticks John saw in Heaven,3
The winged Lion of Saint Mark,*
And the Covenantal Ark,5
With its many mysteries,
Cherubim and golden mice."

Bertha was a maiden fair, 40 Dwelling in th' old Minster-square; From her fireside she could see, Sidelong, its rich antiquity, Far as the Bishop's garden-wall; Where sycamores and elm-trees tall, 45 Full-leav'd, the forest had outstript, By no sharp north-wind ever nipt, So shelter'd by the mighty pile. Bertha arose, and read awhile, With forehead 'gainst the window-pane. 50 Again she tried, and then again,

Until the dusk eve left her dark Upon the legend of St. Mark. From plaited lawn-frill, fine and thin, She lifted up her soft warm chin, 55 With aching neck and swimming eyes, And daz'd with saintly imag'ries.