All was silent, all was gloom, Abroad and in the homely room: Down she sat, poor cheated soul! And struck a lamp from the dismal coal; Lean'd forward, with bright drooping hair And slant book, full against the glare. Her shadow, in uneasy guise, Hover'd about, a giant size, On ceiling-beam and old oak chair, The parrot's cage, and panel square; And the warm angled winter-screen, On which were many monsters seen, Call'd doves of Siam, Lima mice, And legless birds of Paradise, Macaw and tender Avadavat, And silken-furr'd Angora cat. Untir'd she read, her shadow still Glower'd about, as it would fill The room with wildest forms and shades, As though some ghostly queen of spades Had come to mock behind her back, And dance, and ruffle her garments black, Untir'd she read the legend page, Of holy Mark, from youth to age, On land, on sea, in pagan chains, Rejoicing for his many pains. Sometimes the learned eremite, With golden star, or dagger bright, Referr'd to pious poesies Written in smallest crow-quill size Beneath the text; and thus the rhyme Was parcelled out from time to time: "... Als writith he of swevenis, Man han beforne they wake in bliss, Whanne that hir friendes thinke him bound In crimped shroude farre under grounde; And how a litling child mote be A saint er its nativitie, Gif that the modre (God her blesse!) Kepen in solitarinesse, And kissen devoute the holy croce. Of Goddes love, and Sathan's force,-- He writith; and thinges many mo Of swiche thinges I may not show Bot I must tellen verilie Somdel of Sainte Cicilie, And chieflie what he auctorethe Of Sainte Markis life and dethe;" At length her constant eyelids come Upon the fervent martyrdom; Then lastly to his holy shrine, Exalt amid the tapers' shine At Venice,--