And when she left, she hurried back, as swift As bird on wing to breast its eggs again : And, patient as a hen-bird, sat her there Beside her Basil, weeping through her hair. LX. Yet they contrived to steal the Basil-pot, And so left Florence in a moment's space, LXL O Melancholy, turn thine eyes away! O Music, Music, breathe despondingly! O Echo, Echo, on some other day, From isles Lethean, sigh to us-O sigh! LXIL Piteous she look'd on dead and senseless things, Asking for her lost Basil amorously: And with melodious chuckle in the strings Of her lorn voice, she oftentimes would cry After the Pilgrim in his wanderings, To ask him where her Basil was; and why 'Twas hid from her: "For cruel 'tis," said she, "To steal my Basil-pot away from me." LXIII. And so she pined, and so she died forlorn, No heart was there in Florence but did mourn And a sad ditty of this story borne From mouth to mouth through all the country pass'd: Still is the burthen sung-" O cruelty, To steal my Basil-pot away from me!" THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. L ST. AGNES' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was! The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, Numb were the Beadsman's fingers while he told Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith II. His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; The sculptured dead, on each side seem to freeze, To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. IIL Northward he turneth through a little door And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no-already had his death-bell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve: Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinner's sake to grieve. IV. That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. V. At length burst in the argent revelry, The brain, new-stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay VI. They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, G Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. VII. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, (A Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retired; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere ; She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. VIII. She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short: The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, C Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. a |