THE SPIRIT OF NORMAN ABBEY.
THE door flew wide, not swiftly-but, as fly
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight-
And then swung back; not close-but stood awry,
Half letting in long shadows on the light,
Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high,
For he had two, both tolerably bright,—
And in the door-way, darkening darkness, stood
The sable friar in his solemn hood.
Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken
The night before; but being sick of shaking,
He first inclined to think he had been mistaken,
And then to be ashamed of such mistaking.
His own internal ghost began to awaken
Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking-
Hinting that soul and body on the whole
Were odds against a disembodied soul.
And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce,
And he arose-advanced-the shade retreated;
But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,
Follow'd; his veins no longer cold, but heated,
Resolv'd to thrust the mystery carte and tierce,
At whatsoever risk of being defeated;
The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until
He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.
Juan put forth one arm-eternal powers!
It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall,
On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers
Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall:
He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers
When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal.
How odd, a single hobgoblin's non-entity
Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity.
But still the shade remain'd; the blue eyes glar'd,
And rather variably for stony death :
Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared-
The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath.
A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd;
A red lip, with two rows of pearl beneath,
Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud
The moon peep'd, just escaped from a grey cloud.
And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust
His other arm forth-Wonder upon wonder!
It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust,
Which beat as if there was a warm heart under.
He found, as people on most trials must,
That he had made at first a silly blunder,
And that in his confusion he had caught
Only the wall instead of what he sought.
The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul
As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood;
A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole
Forth into something much like flesh and blood;
Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl,
And they reveal'd (alas! that e'er they should!)
In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk,
The phantom of her frolic grace-Fitz-Fulke!
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