"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!" Quoth Porphyro; "O, may I ne'er find grace, 131 Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; Whose prayers for thee, each morn aud evening, Were never missed." 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 While legioned fairies paced 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, When my weak voice shall whisper its Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." And twilight saints, and dim embla- As though a rose should shut, and be a zonings, A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings. bud again. Stolen to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listened to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; JOHN KEATS. 133 Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, Open thine eyes, for meek Saint Agnes' sake, And breathed himself: then from the Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hushed carpet, silent, doth ache." Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called, "La belle dame sans mercy"; Close to her ear touching the melody: Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan; He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly Her blue affrayéd eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone. Hereyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expelled 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 joinéd hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly. "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, |