Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (224 page)

 
Her falt’ring hand upon the balustrade,
  
190
 
Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
 
When Madeline, St. Agnes’ charmèd maid,
 
Rose, like a mission’d spirit, unaware:
 
With silver taper’s light, and pious care,
 
She turn’d, and down the agèd gossip led
  
195
 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare,
 
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray’d and fled.

 
Out went the taper as she hurried in;
 
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died;
  
200
 
She clos’d the door, she panted, all akin
 
To spirits of the air, and visions wide:
 
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
 
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
 
Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
  
205
 
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.

 
A casement high and triple-arch’d there was,
 
All garlanded with carven imag’ries
 
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,
  
210
 
And diamonded with panes of quaint device,
 
Unnumerable of stains and splendid dyes.
 
As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damask’d wings;
 
And in the midst, ‘mong thousand heraldries,
 
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,
  
215
A shielded scutcheon blush’d with blood of queens and kings.

 
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
 
And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast,
 
As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon;
 
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
  
220
 
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
 
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
 
She seem’d a splendid angel, newly drest,
 
Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint:
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
  
225

 
Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,
 
Of all its wreathèd pearls her hair she frees;
 
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
 
Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees
 
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees;
  
230
 
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed,
 
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees
 
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.

 
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
  
235
 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex’d she lay,
 
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress’d
 
Her soothèd limbs, and soul fatigued away;
 
Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;
 
Blissfully haven’d both from joy and pain;
  
240
 
Clasp’d like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

 
Stol’n to this paradise, and so entranced,
 
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
  
245
 
And listen’d to her breathing, if it chanced
 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness;
 
Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,
 
And breath’d himself: then from the closet crept,
 
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,
  
250
 
And over the hush’d carpet, silent, stepped,
And ‘tween the curtains peep’d, where, lo! — how fast she slept.

 
Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon
 
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set
 
A table, and, half-anguish’d, threw thereon
  
255
 
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: —
 
O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!
 
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,
 
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,
 
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: —
260
The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.

 
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:
  
265
 
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.
  
270

 
These delicates he heap’d with glowing hand
 
On golden dishes and in baskets bright
 
Of wreathèd silver: sumptuous they stand
 
In the retired quiet of the night,
 
Filling the chilly room with perfume light. —
275
 
‘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
  
280
 
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:
  
285
 
It seem’d he never, never could redeem
 
From such a steadfast spell his lady’s eyes;
She mus’d awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies.

 
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, —
 
Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest be,
  
290
 
He play’d an ancient ditty, long since mute,
 
In Provence 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
  
295
 
Her blue affrighted eyes wide open shone:
Upon his knees he sank, 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
  
300
 
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,
  
305
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 tuneable with every sweetest vow;
 
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!
 
Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,
For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.’
  
315

 
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
  
320
 
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:
  
325
 
‘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?
  
330
 
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,
 
Though thou forsakest a deceived thing: —
A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunèd wing!’

 
‘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
 
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
  
340
 
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; —
345
 
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,
  
350
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. —
355
 
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.
  
360

 
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,
  
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.

 
And they are gone: aye, ages long ago
  
370
 
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
  
375
 
Died palsy-twitch’d, with meagre face deform;
 
The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,
For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.