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1 St.
Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
2 The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
3 The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
4 And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
5 Numb were the
Beadsman's fingers, while he told
6 His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
7 Like pious incense from a censer old,
8 Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
9 Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
10
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
11 Then takes his lamp, and
riseth from his knees,
12 And back returneth, meagre,
barefoot, wan,
13 Along the chapel aisle by
slow degrees:
14 The sculptur'd dead, on each
side, seem to freeze,
15 Emprison'd in black,
purgatorial rails:
16 Knights, ladies, praying in
dumb orat'ries,
17 He passeth by; and his weak
spirit fails
18 To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
19
Northward he turneth through a little door,
20 And scarce three steps, ere
Music's golden tongue
21
Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;
22 But no--already had his
deathbell rung;
23 The joys of all his life were
said and sung:
24 His was harsh penance on St.
Agnes' Eve:
25 Another way he went, and soon
among
26 Rough ashes sat he for his
soul's reprieve,
27 And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to
grieve.
28
That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
29 And so it chanc'd, for many a
door was wide,
30 From hurry to and fro. Soon,
up aloft,
31 The silver, snarling trumpets
'gan to chide:
32
The level chambers, ready with their pride,
33 Were glowing to receive a
thousand guests:
34 The carved angels, ever
eager-eyed,
35 Star'd, where upon their
heads the cornice rests,
36 With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on
their breasts.
37
At length burst in the argent revelry,
38 With plume, tiara, and all
rich array,
39 Numerous as shadows haunting
faerily
40 The brain, new stuff'd, in
youth, with triumphs gay
41 Of old romance. These let us
wish away,
42 And turn, sole-thoughted, to
one Lady there,
43 Whose heart had brooded, all
that wintry day,
44 On love, and wing'd St.
Agnes' saintly care,
45 As she had heard old dames full many times declare.
46
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
47 Young virgins might have
visions of delight,
48 And soft adorings from their
loves receive
49 Upon the honey'd middle of
the night,
50 If ceremonies due they did
aright;
51 As, supperless to bed they
must retire,
52 And couch supine their
beauties, lily white;
53 Nor look behind, nor
sideways, but require
54 Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
55
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:
56 The music, yearning like a
God in pain,
57 She scarcely heard: her
maiden eyes divine,
58 Fix'd on the floor, saw many
a sweeping train
59 Pass by--she heeded not at
all: in vain
60 Came many a
tiptoe, amorous cavalier,
61 And back retir'd; not cool'd
by high disdain,
62 But she saw not: her heart
was otherwhere:
63 She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the
year.
64
She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes,
65 Anxious her lips, her
breathing quick and short:
66 The hallow'd hour was near at
hand: she sighs
67 Amid the timbrels, and the
throng'd resort
68 Of whisperers in anger, or in
sport;
69 'Mid looks of love, defiance,
hate, and scorn,
70
Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,
71 Save to St. Agnes and her
lambs unshorn,
72 And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
73
So, purposing each moment to retire,
74 She linger'd still. Meantime,
across the moors,
75 Had come young Porphyro, with
heart on fire
76 For Madeline. Beside the
portal doors,
77 Buttress'd from moonlight,
stands he, and implores
78 All saints to give him sight
of Madeline,
79 But for one moment in the
tedious hours,
80 That he might gaze and
worship all unseen;
81 Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth such
things have been.
82
He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:
83 All eyes be muffled, or a
hundred swords
84 Will storm his heart, Love's
fev'rous citadel:
85 For him, those chambers held
barbarian hordes,
86 Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded
lords,
87 Whose very dogs would
execrations howl
88 Against his lineage: not one
breast affords
89 Him any mercy, in that
mansion foul,
90 Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
91
Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,
92 Shuffling along with
ivory-headed wand,
93 To where he stood, hid from
the torch's flame,
94 Behind a broad half-pillar,
far beyond
95 The sound of merriment and
chorus bland:
96 He startled her; but soon she
knew his face,
97 And grasp'd his fingers in
her palsied hand,
98 Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie
thee from this place;
99 They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty
race!
100
"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;
101 He had a fever late, and in the fit
102 He cursed thee and thine, both house and
land:
103 Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not
a whit
104 More tame for his gray hairs--Alas me!
flit!
105 Flit like a ghost away."--"Ah, Gossip
dear,
106 We're safe enough; here in this
arm-chair sit,
107 And tell me how"--"Good Saints! not
here, not here;
108 Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
109
He follow'd through a lowly arched way,
110 Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty
plume,
111 And as she mutter'd
"Well-a--well-a-day!"
112 He found him in a little moonlight room,
113 Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a
tomb.
114 "Now tell me where is Madeline," said
he,
115
"O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
116 Which none but secret sisterhood may
see,
117 When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."
118
"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve--
119 Yet men will murder upon holy days:
120 Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,
121 And be liege-lord of all the Elves and
Fays,
122 To venture so: it fills me with amaze
123 To see thee, Porphyro!--St. Agnes' Eve!
124 God's help! my lady fair the conjuror
plays
125 This very night: good angels her
deceive!
126 But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve."
127
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,
128 While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
129 Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
130 Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous
riddle-book,
131 As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
132 But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when
she told
133
His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook
134 Tears, at the thought of those
enchantments cold,
135 And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
136
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
137 Flushing his brow, and in his pained
heart
138 Made purple riot: then doth he propose
139 A stratagem, that makes the beldame
start:
140 "A cruel man and impious thou art:
141 Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and
dream
142 Alone with her good angels, far apart
143 From wicked men like thee. Go, go!--I
deem
144 Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem."
145
"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"
146 Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find
grace
147 When my weak voice snall whisper its
last prayer,
148 If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
149 Or look with ruffian passion in her
face:
150 Good Angela, believe me by these tears;
151 Or I will, even in a moment's space,
152 Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's
ears,
153 And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and
bears."
154
"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?
155 A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard
thing,
156 Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight
toll;
157 Whose prayers for thee, each morn and
evening,
158 Were never miss'd."--Thus plaining, doth
she bring
159 A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;
160 So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,
161 That Angela gives promise she will do
162 Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.
163
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,
164 Even to Madeline's chamber, and there
hide
165 Him in a closet, of such privacy
166 That he might see her beauty unespy'd,
167 And win perhaps that night a peerless
bride,
168 While legion'd faeries pac'd the
coverlet,
169 And pale enchantment held her
sleepy-ey'd.
170 Never on such a night have lovers met,
171 Since Merlin paid his
Demon all the monstrous debt.
172
"It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame:
173 "All cates and dainties shall be stored
there
174
Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame
175 Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to
spare,
176 For I am slow and feeble, and scarce
dare
177 On such a catering trust my dizzy head.
178 Wait here, my child, with patience;
kneel in prayer
179 The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady
wed,
180 Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."
181
So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.
182 The lover's endless minutes slowly
pass'd;
183 The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his
ear
184 To follow her; with aged eyes aghast
185 From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,
186 Through many a dusky gallery, they gain
187 The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd,
and chaste;
188 Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd
amain.
189 His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.
190
Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,
191 Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
192 When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid,
193 Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware:
194 With silver taper's light, and pious
care,
195 She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led
196 To a safe level matting. Now prepare,
197 Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;
198 She comes, she comes
again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled.
199
Out went the taper as she hurried in;
200 Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine,
died:
201 She clos'd the door, she panted, all
akin
202 To spirits of the air, and visions wide:
203 No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
204 But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
205 Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
206 As though a tongueless nightingale
should swell
207 Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.
208 A
casement high and triple-arch'd there was,
209 All garlanded with carven imag'ries
210 Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of
knot-grass,
211 And diamonded with panes of quaint
device,
212 Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
213 As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd
wings;
214 And in the midst, 'mong thousand
heraldries,
215 And twilight saints, and dim
emblazonings,
216 A shielded scutcheon
blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
217
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
218
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
219 As down she knelt for heaven's grace and
boon;
220 Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together
prest,
221 And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
222 And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
223 She seem'd a splendid angel, newly
drest,
224 Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew
faint:
225 She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
226
Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,
227 Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she
frees;
228 Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
229 Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
230 Her rich attire creeps rustling to her
knees:
231 Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
232 Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and
sees,
233 In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,
234 But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
235
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
236 In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she
lay,
237 Until the poppied warmth of sleep
oppress'd
238 Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued
away;
239 Flown, like a thought, until the
morrow-day;
240 Blissfully haven'd both from joy and
pain;
241
Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
242 Blinded alike from sunshine and from
rain,
243 As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
244
Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,
245 Porphyro gaz'd upon her empty dress,
246 And listen'd to her breathing, if it
chanced
247 To wake into a slumberous tenderness;
248 Which when he heard, that minute did he
bless,
249 And breath'd himself: then from the
closet crept,
250 Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,
251 And over the hush'd carpet, silent,
stept,
252 And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!--how fast she slept.
253
Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon
254 Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set
255 A table, and, half anguish'd, threw
thereon
256 A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and
jet:--
257
O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!
258 The boisterous, midnight, festive
clarion,
259 The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarinet,
260 Affray his ears, though but in dying
tone:--
261 The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
262
And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
263 In blanched linen, smooth, and
lavender'd,
264 While he forth from the closet brought a
heap
265 Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and
gourd;
266
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
267 And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
268 Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
269
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
270 From silken Samarcand
to cedar'd Lebanon.
271
These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand
272 On golden dishes and in baskets bright
273 Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand
274 In the retired quiet of the night,
275 Filling the chilly room with perfume
light.--
276 "And now, my love, my seraph fair,
awake!
277
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:
278 Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes'
sake,
279 Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."
280
Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm
281 Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream
282 By the dusk curtains:--'twas a midnight
charm
283 Impossible to melt as iced stream:
284 The lustrous salvers in the moonlight
gleam;
285 Broad golden fringe upon the carpet
lies:
286 It seem'd he never, never could redeem
287 From such a stedfast spell his lady's
eyes;
288 So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.
289
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,--
290 Tumultuous,--and, in chords that
tenderest be,
291 He play'd an ancient ditty, long since
mute,
292
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy":
293 Close to her ear touching the melody;--
294 Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft
moan:
295 He ceas'd--she panted quick--and
suddenly
296 Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
297 Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.
298
Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,
299 Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:
300 There was a painful change, that nigh
expell'd
301 The blisses of her dream so pure and
deep
302 At which fair Madeline began to weep,
303 And moan forth witless words with many a
sigh;
304 While still her gaze on Porphyro would
keep;
305 Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous
eye,
306 Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.
307
"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now
308 Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine
ear,
309 Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;
310 And those sad eyes were spiritual and
clear:
311 How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill,
and drear!
312 Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
313 Those looks immortal, those complainings
dear!
314 Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,
315 For if thy diest, my Love, I know not where to go."
316
Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far
317 At these voluptuous accents, he arose
318 Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing
star
319 Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep
repose;
320 Into her dream he melted, as the rose
321 Blendeth its odour with the violet,--
322 Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind
blows
323 Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp
sleet
324 Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.
325
'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:
326 "This is no dream, my bride, my
Madeline!"
327 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and
beat:
328 "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!
329 Porphyro will leave me here to fade and
pine.--
330 Cruel! what traitor could thee hither
bring?
331 I curse not, for my heart is lost in
thine,
332 Though thou forsakest a deceived
thing;--
333 A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing."
334
"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!
335 Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?
336
Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed?
337 Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my
rest
338 After so many hours of toil and quest,
339 A famish'd pilgrim,--sav'd by miracle.
340 Though I have found, I will not rob thy
nest
341 Saving of thy sweet self; if thou
think'st well
342 To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.
343
"Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land,
344
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:
345 Arise--arise! the morning is at hand;--
346 The bloated wassaillers will never
heed:--
347 Let us away, my love, with happy speed;
348 There are no ears to hear, or eyes to
see,--
349 Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy
mead:
350 Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,
351 For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."
352
She hurried at his words, beset with fears,
353 For there were sleeping dragons all
around,
354 At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready
spears--
355 Down the wide stairs a darkling way they
found.--
356 In all the house was heard no human
sound.
357 A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by
each door;
358
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,
359 Flutter'd in the besieging wind's
uproar;
360 And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
361
They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;
362 Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they
glide;
363 Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,
364 With a huge empty flaggon by his side:
365 The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook
his hide,
366 But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:
367 By one, and one, the bolts full easy
slide:--
368 The chains lie silent on the footworn
stones;--
369 The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.
370
And they are gone: aye, ages long ago
371 These lovers fled away into the storm.
372 That night the Baron dreamt of many a
woe,
373 And all his warrior-guests, with shade
and form
374 Of witch, and demon, and large
coffin-worm,
3375 Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old
376 Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face
deform;
377
The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,
378 For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold. /font>
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