At which fair Madeline began to weep, XXXV. 305 · Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: 310 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." 315 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: 320 Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. XXXVII. 'Tis dark quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: 325 330 A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunéd wing." XXXVIII. "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? 335 Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 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." 340 XXXIX. "Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, 345 For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." 350 XL. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, 355 360 XLI. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; 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: 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 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains Of beechen green, and shadows numberless O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Tasting of Flora and the country-green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth! 370 375 5 IO O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret 15 20 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 And leaden-eyed despairs; Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30 35 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 40 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, And mid-May's eldest child, 45 The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 50 Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 70 Forlorn the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: do I wake or sleep? 80 |