Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/166

130 Made purple riot: then doth he propose

A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:

'A cruel man and impious thou art:

Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream

Alone with her good angels, far apart

From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem

Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.'

'I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,'

Quoth Porphyro: 'O may I ne'er find grace

When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,

If one of her soft ringlets I displace,

Or look with ruffian passion in her face:

Good Angela, believe me by these tears;

Or I will, even in a moment's space,

Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears,

And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears.'

'Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?

A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-yard thing,

Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;

Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,

Were never miss'd.' 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

That he might see her beauty unespied,

And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,

While legion'd fairies paced the coverlet,

And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.

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,

Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.'

So saying she hobbled off with busy fear.

The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd;

The Dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear

To follow her; with aged eyes aghast

From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,

Through many a dusky gallery, they gain

The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and chaste;

Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain.

His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.

Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,

Old Angela was feeling for the stair,