Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye,
And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread,
At Christabel she looked askance !—
One moment—and the sight was fled!
But Christabel in dizzy trance
Stumbling on the unsteady ground
Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound;
And Geraldine again turned round,
And like a thing that sought relief,
Full of wonder and full of grief,
She rolled her large bright eyes divine
Wildly on Sir Leoline.
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,
She nothing sees-no sight but one!
The maid, devoid of guile and sin,
I know not how, in fearful wise
So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resigned
To this sole image in her mind;
And passively did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate!
And thus she stood in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance
With forced unconscious sympathy
Full before her father's view-
As far as such a look could be,
In eyes so innocent and blue!
And when the trance was o'er, the maid
Paused awhile, and inly prayed;
Then falling at the Baron's feet,
"By my mother's soul do I entreat
That thou this woman send away!"
She said and more she could not say:
For what she knew she could not tell,
O'ermastered by the mighty spell.
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,
Sir Leoline? Thy only child
Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,
So fair, so innocent, so mild;
The same, for whom thy lady died!
O by the pangs of her dear mother
Think thou no evil of thy child!
For her, and thee, and for no other,
She prayed the moment ere she died;
Prayed that the babe for whom she died,
Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride,
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,
Sir Leoline!
And would'st thou wrong thy only child,
Her child and thine?
Within the Baron's heart and brain
If thoughts like these had any share,
They only swelled his rage and pain,
And did but work confusion there.
His heart was cleft with pain and rage,
His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,
Dishonored thus in his old age;
Dishonored by his only child,
And all his hospitality
To the wronged daughter of his friend
By more than woman's jealousy
Brought thus to a disgraceful end—
He rolled his eye with stern regard
Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
And said in tones abrupt, austere―
"Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?
1 bade thee hence!" The bard obeyed:
And turning from his own sweet maid
The aged knight, Sir Leoline,
Led forth the Lady Geraldine!
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.
A LITTLE child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
That always finds, and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight
As fills a father's eyes with light;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin
(O sorrow and shame should this be true!) Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do.
Ερως ἄει λάληδρος έταιρος.
In many ways doth the full heart reveal
The presence of the love it would conceal,
But in far more th' estranged heart lets know
The absence of the love, which yet it fain would show.
"One word with two meanings is the traitor's shield and shaft: and
a slit tongue be his blazon!"-Caucasian Proverb.
HE Sun is not yet risen,
But the dawn lies red on the dew:
Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters away
Is seeking, Lady, for you.
Put on your dress of green,
Your buskins and your quiver;
Lord Julian is a hasty man,
Long waiting brooked he never.
I dare not doubt him, that he means
To wed you on a day,
Your lord and master for to be,
And you his lady gay.
O Lady! throw your book aside!
I would not that my lord should chide."
Thus spake Sir Hugh the vassal knight
To Alice, child of old Du Clos,
As spotless fair, as airy light
As that moon-shiny doe,
The gold star on its brow, her sire's ancestral crest!
For ere the lark had left his nest,
She in the garden bower below
Sate loosely wrapt in maiden white,
Her face half drooping from the sight,
A snow-drop on a tuft of snow!
O close your eyes, and strive to see
The studious maid, with book on knee,—
Ah! earliest-opened flower;
While yet with keen unblunted light
The morning star shone opposite
The lattice of her bower
Alone of all the starry host
As if in prideful scorn
Of flight and fear he stayed behind,
To brave th' advancing morn.
O! Alice could read passing well,
And she was conning then
Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,
And gods, and beasts, and men.
The vassal's speech, his taunting vein,
It thrilled like venom through her brain;
Yet never from the book
She raised her head, nor did she deign
The knight a single look.
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