So saying she hobbled off with busy fear. The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; The Dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, 185 Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. XXII Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, 190 Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware: With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led 195 To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled. XXIII Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: 200 She closed the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; 205 As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled in her dell. XXIV A casement high[163] and triple arch'd there was, All garlanded with carven imag'ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, 210 And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,[164] And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,[165] 215 A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. XXV Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules[166] on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 220 And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint; She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. 225 XXVI Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: 230 Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. XXVII