And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long win- His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the And the smoke it encircled his head like a

not here!

Follow me, child, or else these stones will be

thy bier."

Amid the timbrels, and the thronged resort And tell me how-” “Good saints! not here, Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, Hoodwinked with fairy fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes, and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. So, purposing each moment to retire, She lingered still. Meantime, across the And as she muttered, "Well-a-well-a-day!"

moors,

Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire
For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and
implores

All saints to give him sight of Madeline,

But for one moment in these tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen, Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss-such things have been.

He ventures in; let no buzzed whisper tell,
All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords
Will storm his heart, love's feverous citadel;
For him, those chambers held barbarian
hordes,

Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
Whose very dogs would execrations howl

Against his lineage ; not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,

He followed through a lowly arched way,
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;

He found him in a little moonlit room, Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as the tomb. "Now tell me where is Madeline," said he, O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom Which none but secret sisterhood may see, When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."

"St Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve;

Yet men will murder upon holy days;
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,
And be liege-lord of all the elves and fays,
To venture so; it fills me with amaze
To see thee, Porphyro! St. Agnes' Eve!
God's help! my lady fair the conjurer plays
This very night; good angels her deceive!
But let me laugh awhile; I've mickle time to
grieve!"

Feebly she laughed in the languid moon,
While Porphyro upon her face doth look,

Save one old beldame, weak in body and in Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone

soul.

Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,
To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,
Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond
The sound of merriment and chorus bland;
He startled her; but soon she knew his face,
And grasped his fingers in his palsied hand,
Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from
this place,

They are all here to-night, the whole blood-
thirsty race!

Who keepeth close a wondrous riddle-book,
As spectacled she sits in chimney-nook.
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she
told

His lady's purpose; and he scarce could
brook

Tears, at the thought of those enchantments

cold,

And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Made purple riot; then doth he propose
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart

A stratagem, that makes the beldame start;
"A cruel man and impious thou art!

Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hilde- Sweet lady, let her play, and sleep, and dream
brand;
Alone with her good angels, far apart
From wicked men like thee. Go, go! I deem
He cursed thee and thine, both house and Thou canst not surely be the same that thon

He had a fever late, and in the fit

land;

Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit

More tame for his gray hairs. Alas me! flit! Flit like a ghost away!" "Ah, gossip dear, We're safe enough; here in this armchair sit,

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,