By this the storm had fleeted by; And the moon with a quiet smile looked out From the glowing arch of a cloudless sky, Flinging her silvery beams about On rock, tree, wave, and gladdening all With just as miscellaneous bounty, As Isabel's, whose sweet smiles fall In half an hour on half the county. Less wild Sir Rudolph's pathway seemed, As he fumed from that discourteous tower; Small spots of verdure gaily gleamed On either side; and many a flower, Lily, and violet, and heart's-ease, Grew by the way, a fragrant border; And the tangled boughs of the hoary trees Were twined in picturesque disorder: And there came from the grove, and there came from the hill, The loveliest sounds he had ever heard, The cheerful voice of the dancing rill, And the sad, sad song of the lonely bird. And at last he stared with wondering eyes, As well he might, on a huge pavilion: 'Twas clothed with stuffs of a hundred dyes, Blue, purple, orange, pink, vermilion; And there were quaint devices traced All round in the Saracenic manner; And the top, which gleamed like gold, was graced With the drooping folds of a silken banner; And on the poles, in silent pride, There sat small doves of white enamel; And the vail from the entrance was drawn aside, And flung on the humps of a silver camel. In short it was the sweetest thing For a weary youth in a wood to light on: And finer far than what a king Built up, to prove his taste, at Brighton. The gilded gate was all unbarred; And, close beside it, for a guard, There lay two dwarfs with monstrous noses, Both fast asleep upon some roses. Sir Rudolph entered; rich and bright Was all that met his ravished sight; Soft tapestries from far countries brought, Rare cabinets with gems inwrought, White vases of the finest mould, And mirrors set in burnished gold. Upon a couch a grayhound slumbered; And a small table was encumber'd With paintings, and an ivory lute, And sweetmeats, and delicious fruit. Sir Rudolph lost not time in praising; For he, I should have said was gazing, In attitude extremely tragic, Upon a sight of stranger magic; A sight, which, seen at such a season, Might well astonish Mistress Reason, And scare Dame Wisdom from her fences Of rules and maxims, moods and tenses. Beneath a crimson canopy A lady, passing fair, was lying; Deep sleep was on her gentle eye, And in her slumber she was sighing Bewitching sighs, such sighs as say Beneath the moonlight, to a lover, Things which the coward tongue by day Would not, for all the world, discover: She lay like a shape of sculptured stone, So pale, so tranquil:--she had thrown, For the warm evening's sultriness, The broidered coverlet aside And nothing was there to deck or hide The glory of her loveliness, But a scarf of gauze, so light and thin