In a drear-nighted December, But with a sweet forgetting, About the frozen time. Ah, would 'twere so with many J. KEATS. CHRISTABEL 'TIS the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock! And hark, again! the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew. Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch From her kennel beneath the rock Maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Is the night chilly and dark? The thin gray cloud is spread on high, The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray She stole along, she nothing spoke, The lady sprang up suddenly, It moaned as near, as near can be, The night is chill; the forest bare; Hush, beating heart of Christabel ! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, There she sees a damsel bright, That shadowy in the moonlight shone: Mary mother, save me now! The lady strange made answer meet, I scarce can speak for weariness. Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear, Said Christabel, How camest thou here? And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet Did thus pursue her answer meet : My sire is of a noble line, And my name is Geraldine : Five warriors seized me yestermorn, Me, even me, a maid forlorn : They choked my cries with force and fright, And tied me on a palfrey white. The palfrey was as fleet as wind, And they rode furiously behind. They spurred amain, their steeds were white; And once we crossed the shade of night. As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, I have no thought what men they bo; (For I have lain entranced I wis) Since one, the tallest of the five, Some muttered words his comrades spoke : Nature that heard such sound, Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heav'n and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shamefac'd night array'd; The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the bass of Heav'n's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to th' angelic symphony. For if such holy song Inwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould |