SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
Flit like a ghost away,—€Ah, Gossip dear, ^ 105
We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,
And tell me how*—'Good Saints! not here, not here;
Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.'
xnr
He followed through a lowly arched way,
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; no
And as she muttered 'Well-a—well-a-day!'
He found him in a little moonlight room,
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb.
'Now tell me where is Madeline,5 said he,
*O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom 115
- Which none but secret sisterhood may see
When they St. Agnes* wool are weaving piously.'
XIV
'St. Agnes! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' Eve-
Yet men will murder upon holy days.
Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, 120
And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays
To venture so: it fills rne 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! 125
But let me laugh awhile,—I've mickle time to grieve.'
XV
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,
While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-book, 130
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
154