When they St. Agnes' wool 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 conjurer plays

This very night; good angels her deceive!

But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve."

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 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

And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears."

"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?

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.

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 legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepyeyed.

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

"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 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,

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

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 ringdove fray'd and fled.

Out went the taper as she hurried in ; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:

She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin
To spirits of the air, and visions wide:
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,

Paynims pray;

Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,

As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

Stol'n to this paradise, and SO entranced,

Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced

To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,

And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept,

Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stepped,

And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!-how fast she slept.

Then by the bed-side, where the faded

These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand

On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand

In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light.

"And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!

Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite :

Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.'

Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved Shaded was her

arm

Sank in her pillow. dream

By the dusk curtains:-'twas a midnight charm

Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam:

Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes; So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.

Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,Tumultuous,-and, in chords that tenderest be,

He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,

In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy:"

Close to her ear touching the melody ;Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft

moan:

He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly

Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone : Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone.

Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd

The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh ; [keep; While still her gaze on Porphyro would Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, [dreamingly. Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so