And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,

In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,
While he from forth the closet brought a heap
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd ;
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.

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 arm
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her 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 steadfast spell his lady's eyes; So mused 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 smooth-sculptured

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,
While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep ;
Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,
Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.

"Ah, Porphyro ! " said she, "but even now
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,
Made tunable with every sweetest vow;
And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:

How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear !
Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,

Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!
Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,

For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go."

Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far

At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,-

Solution sweet meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum, pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.

'Tis dark quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet. "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline ! "

'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-shaped 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,
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.

"Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed : Arise-arise! the morning is at hand ;The bloated wassailers 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, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."

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

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 flagon 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.

And they are gone: ay, 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 coffin-worm,
Were long be-nightmared. 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.

Among the shorter poems belonging to the year 1819 there are two which by virtue of the perfection of their form and style hold a high place in the body of Keats's work, and which may also be reproduced in full. The first of these is "La Belle Dame sans Merci," a little masterpiece of narrative art, having all the simplicity and directness of the best of our old ballad poetry, and being specially notable for the rare combination in it of passion and restraint:

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too."

"I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful—a fairy's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

"I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

"I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A fairy's song.

"She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
'I love thee true!'

"She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes

With kisses four.

"And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream'd-ah! woe betide !

The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's side.