English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,[146]
      Young virgins might have visions of delight,
      And soft adorings from their loves receive
      Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
      If ceremonies due they did aright;                              50
      As, supperless to bed they must retire,
      And couch supine their beauties, lily white;
      Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
    Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.


    VII

      Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:                      55
      The music, yearning like a God in pain,
      She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,
      Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train
      Pass by--she heeded not at all: in vain
      Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,                           60
      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:                65
      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,
      Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,[147]                    70
      Save to St. Agnes and her lambs[148] unshorn,
    And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.


    IX

      So, purposing each moment to retire,
      She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors,
      Had come young Porphyro,[149] with heart on fire                75
      For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
      Buttress'd[150] from moonlight, stands he, and implores
      All saints to give him sight of Madeline,
      But for one moment in the tedious hours,
      That he might gaze and worship all unseen;                      80
    Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth[151] such
              things have been.


    X

      He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:
      All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords
      Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:
      For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,                  85
      Hyena[152] foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
      Whose very dogs would execrations howl
      Against his lineage: not one breast affords
      Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
    Save one old beldame,[153] weak in body and in soul.              90


    XI
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English Narrative Poems

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