Like a high-born maiden

In a palace tower,

Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

it from the view;

Like a rose embowered

In its own green leaves,

saddest thought.

By warm winds deflowered,

Till the scent it gives

Not to shed a tear,

heavy-winged thieves.

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,

Rain-awakened flowers,

All that ever was

come near.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,

Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine!

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine

the ground!

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow,

So, purposing each moment to retire, She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors,

Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire

For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttressed from moonlight, stands he,

and implores

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 place;

They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race!

"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;

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-Alas me! flit!

Flit like a ghost away."-"Ah! gossip dear,

We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit,

And tell me how"-"Good saints! not here, not here;

line,

be thy bier."

While Porphyroupon her face dothlook, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddlebook,

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.

Sudden a thought came like a fullblown rose,

Flushing his brow, and in his painéd heart

Made purple riot; then doth he propose

A stratagem, that makes the beldame

start:

"A cruel man and impious thou art! Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream

Alone with her good angels, far apart From wicked men like thee. Go, go! -I deem

Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.'

"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!"

Quoth Porphyro; "O, may I ne'er find

grace,

131

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.

Which was to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide

Him in a closet, of such privacy
That he might see her beauty unespied,
And win perhaps that night a peerless
bride,

While legioned fairies paced the coverlet,

And pale enchantment held her sleepyeyed.

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

"It shall be as thon wishest," said the

dame:

"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,

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,

the dead."

So saying, she hobbled off with busy

fear.

The lover's endless minutes slowly passed:

The dame returned, and whispered in

his ear

To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain

The maiden's chamber, silken, hushed, and chaste;