VI. He fell as doth the tempter ever fall, Even in the gaining of his loathsome end; God doth not work as man works, but makes all The crooked paths of ill to goodness tend; Let him judge Margaret! If to be the thrall Of love, and faith too generous to defend Its very life from him she loved, be sin, What hope of grace may the seducer win? VII. Levite eyes faith in man, She that upon thy freezing threshold lies, Starved to more sinning by thy sav age ban, Seeking that refuge because foulest vice More godlike than thy virtue is, whose span IV. .tever is weak falsehood's destiny That her thick mask turns crystal to let through The unsuspicious eyes of honesty ; But Margaret's heart was too sincere and true Aught but plain truth and faithfulness to see, And Mordred's for a time a little grew To be like hers, won by the mild reproof Of those kind eyes that kept all doubt aloof. Shuts out the wretched only, - is more free To enter Heaven than thou wilt ever be ! VIII. Thou wilt not let her wash thy dainty feet With such salt things as tears, or witb rude hair Dry them, soft Pharisee, that sit'st at meat With him who made her such, and speak’st him fair, Leaving God's wandering lamb the while to bleat Unheeded, shivering in the pitiless V. Full oft they mat, as dawn and twilight meet In northern cli nes; she full of grow ing day air : XII. She could not figure forth a happy fate, Even for this lite from heaven so newly come ; The earth must needs be doubly desc late To him scarce parted from a fairer home : Such boding heavier on her bosom site One night, as, standing in the twi light gloam, She strained her eyes beyond that dizzy verge At whose foot faintly breaks the future's surge. XIII. Poor little spirit ! naught but shame Nurse the sick heart whose lifeblood nurses thine : Yet not those only; love hath tri umphed so, As for thy sake makes sorrow more divine : And yet, though thou be pure, the world is foe To purity, if born in such a shrine ; And, having trampled it for struggling thence, Smiles to itself, and calls it Providence. and woe X. And so, though altered Mordred came less oft, And winter frowned where spring had laughed before, In his strange eyes, yet half her sad ness doffed, And in her silent patience loved him more : Sorrow had made her soft heart yet more soft, And a new life within her own she bore Which made her tenderer, as she felt it move Beneath her breast, a refuge for her love. XI. and press its eyes This babe, she thought, would surely bring him back, And be a bond forever them between ; Before its eyes the sullen tempest-rack Would fade, and leave the face of heaven serene ; And love's return doth more than fill the lack, Which in his absence withered the heart's green ; And yet a dim foreboding still would flit Between her and her hope to darken it. XIV. As thus she mused, a shadow seemed to rise From out her thought, and turn to dreariness All blissful hopes and sunny memories, And the quick blood would curdle up About her heart, which seemed to shut And hush itself, as who with shud dering guess Harks through the gloom and dreads e'en now to feel Through his hot breast the icy slide of steel. xv. But, at that heart-beat, while in dread In the low wind the honeysuckles gleam, she was, XVIII. The apathy, ere a erime resolved is done, Is scarce less dreadful than remorse for crime ; XXI. Day wore at last: the evening star arose, And throbbing in the sky grew red and set ; Then with a guilty, wavering step he goes To the hid nook where they so on had met XXIV. His heart went out within him like a spark Dropt in the sea ; wherever he made bold Toturn hiseyes, he saw, all stiffandstark, Pale Margaret lying dead ; the lavish gold Of her loose hair seemed in the cloudy dark To spread a glory, and a thousand Came flocking in the sunburnt peas antry, And knights and dames with stately antique cheer, Blazing with pomp, as if all faërie Had emptied her quaint halls, or, as it were, The illuminated margeof some old book, While we were gazing, life and motion fold took. It grew up like a darkness everywhere, Filling the vast cathedral ;- sud denly, From the dense mass a boy's clear treble broke Like lightning, and the full-toned choir awoke. XXXII. XXVIII. When all were entered, and the roving eyes Of all were stayed, some upon faces bright, Someonthepriests, someon the traceries That decked the slumber of a marble knight, And all the rustlings over that arise From recognizing tokens of delight, When friendly glances meet, then silent ease Spread o'er the multitude by slow degrees. XXIX. Then swelled the organ: up through choir and nave The music trembled with an inward thrill Of bliss at its own grandeur: wave on wave Its flood of mellow thunder rose, until The hushed air shivered with the throb it gave, Then, poising for a moment, it stood still, And sankand rose again, to burstinspray That wandered into silence far away. Through gorgeous windows shone the sun aslant, Brimming the church with gold and purple mist, Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich chant, Where fifty voices in one strand did twist, Their varicolored tones, and left no want To the delighted soul, which sank abyssed In the warm music cloud, while, far below, The organ heaved its surges to and fro. its song, xxx. Like to a mighty heart the music seemed, That yearns with melodies it cannot speak, Until, in grand despair of what it dreamed, In the agony of effort it doth break, Yet triumphs breaking; on it rushed and streamed And wantoned in its might, as when a lake, Long pent among the mountains, bursts its walls And in one crowding gush leaps forth and falls. XXXIII. As if a lark should suddenly drop dead While the blue air yet trembled with So snapped at once that music's golden thread, Struck by a nameless fear that leapt along From heart to heart, and like a shadow spread With instantaneous shiver through the throng, So that some glanced behind, as half A hideous shape of dread were stand ing there. aware |