XXXI

These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand.
On golden dishes and in baskets bright
Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand
In the retirèd 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.'

XXXII

Thus whispering, his warm, unnervèd arm

Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream

By the dusk curtains: 'twas a midnight charm
Impossible to melt as icèd 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 mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofèd phantasies.

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285

XXXIII

Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,
Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest be,
He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,
In Province call'd, ‘La belle dame sans merci ;'
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 affrayèd eyes wide open shone :

Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.

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XXXIV

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,

300

And moan forth witless words with many a sigh ; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep ; Who knelt, with joinèd hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.

XXXV

'Ah, Porphyro!' she said, 'but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;

505

And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:

310

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

Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!

O leave me not in this eternal woe,

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

XXXVI

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 odor 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.

ENG. POEMS- - 18

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XXXVII

"Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:
'This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!'
'Tis dark the icèd 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 deceivèd thing;

A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunèd wing.'

XXXVIII

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'My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!

Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?

335

Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed?

Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest

Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well

340

To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.'

XXXIX

'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,

345

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.'

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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.

XLI

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide;

Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,

360

With a huge empty flagon by his side:

The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,

365

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: aye, 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-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.

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THOMAS HOOD

1799-1845

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER

I REMEMBER, I remember,

The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn ;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set

5

ΤΟ

The laburnum on his birth-day, —
The tree is living yet!

15

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;

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