Part 7 (2/2)

Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.-- Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? 330 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.”

x.x.xVIII.

”My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!

Say, may I be for aye thy va.s.sal blest?

Thy beauty's s.h.i.+eld, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed?

Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and quest, A famish'd pilgrim,--saved by miracle.

Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest 340 Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.”

x.x.xIX.

”Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land, Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed: Arise--arise! the morning is at hand;-- The bloated wa.s.saillers will never heed:-- Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,-- Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, 350 For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.”

XL.

She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears-- Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.-- In all the house was heard no human sound.

A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. 360

XLI.

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide; Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flaggon by his side: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:-- The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;-- The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.

XLII.

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago 370 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 coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold.

POEMS.

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

1.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,-- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 10

2.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 20

3.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her l.u.s.trous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30

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