So flash'd across the lighten'd breast
Of Christabel, no more to moan,
A dawn of love, the happiest
Her maiden heart had ever known;
For sure it was only through powers of hell, And evil eye, and potent spell,
That Amador to Christabel
Could faithless prove,
And when she saw him kneeling near,
Contrite, yet more in hope than fear,
Oh then she felt him doubly dear,
Her rescued love!
Ave, Maria! unto thee
All the thanks and glory be,
For thy gracious arm and aid
Saved the youth, and blest the maid.
So falls it out, that vanquish'd ill
Breeds only good to good men still,
And while its poison seethes and works
It yields a healing antidote,
Which, whether mortals use or not,
Like a friend in ambush, lurks
Deepest in the deadliest plot.
Not swift, though soon, next day at noon,
Just at the wedding hour,
As hand-in-hand betrothed they stand
Beneath the chapel tower,
A holy light a vision bright—
"Twas twelve o'clock at noon,
A spirit good before them stood,
Her garments fair and flowing hair
Shone brighter than the moon.
And, ancient men, who all so late,
Have stopp'd at Death's half-opened gate,
In tears of love to drown your hate,
Forgiving and forgiven,
Hear, noble spirits reconcil'd,
Hear, gracious souls, now meek and mild,
Albeit with guilt so long defil'd,
Love's lingering boon receive ;
Roland de Vaux,- thy long-lost child,
Whom border troopers, fierce and wild,
An infant from his home beguil'd,
Thy soul to gall and grieve,
In Amador- behold!"
The spirit said, and all in light
Melted away that vision bright:
My tale is told.
THOU fair enchantress of my willing heart,
Who charmest it to deep and dreary slumber,
Gilding mine evening clouds of reverie,
Thou lovely Siren, who, with still small voice
Most softly musical, dost lure me on
O'er the wide sea of indistinct idea,
Or quaking sands of untried theory,
Or ridgy shoals of fixt experiment
That wind a dubious pathway through the deep, —
Imagination, I am thine own child!
Have I not often sat with thee retired,
Alone, yet not alone, though grave, most glad,
All silent outwardly, but loud within,
As from the distant hum of many waters,
Weaving the tissue of some delicate thought,
And hushing every breath that might have rent
Our web of gossamer, so finely spun?
Have I not often listed thy sweet song
(While in vague echoes and Æolian notes
The chambers of my heart have answered it),
With eye as bright in joy, and fluttering pulse,
As the coy village maiden's, when her lover
Whispers his hope to her delighted ear?
And, taught by thee, angelic visitant,
|