Then Christabel stretched forth her hand And comforted fair Geraldine: “O well, bright dame! may you command The service of Sir Leoline; And gladly our stout chivalry Will he send forth and friends withal To guide and guard you safe and free Home to your noble father’s hall.” She rose: and forth with steps they passed That strove to be, and were not, fast. Her gracious stars the lady blest, And thus spake on sweet Christabel: “All our household are at rest, The hall as silent as the cell; Sir Leoline is weak in health, And may not well awakened be, But we will move as if in stealth, And I beseech your courtesy, This night, to share your couch with me.” They crossed the moat, and Christabel Took the key that fitted well; A little door she opened straight, All in the middle of the gate; So free from danger, free from fear They crossed the court: right glad they were. They passed the hall, that echoes still, Pass as lightly as you will! O softly tread, said Christabel, My father seldom sleepeth well. Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, And, jealous of the listening air, They steal their way from stair to stair, Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, And now they pass the Baron’s room, As still as death with stifled breath! And now have reached her chamber door; And now doth Geraldine press down The rushes of the chamber floor. The silver lamp burns dead and dim; But Christabel the lamp will trim. She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright, And left it swinging to und fro, While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below. O weary lady, Geraldine, I pray you, drink this cordial wine! It is a wine of virtuous powers; My mother made it of wild flowers. * * * * * Again the wild-flower wine she drank: Her fair large eyes ’gan glitter bright, And from the floor whereon she sank, The lofty lady stood upright; She was most beautiful to see, Like a lady of a far countrée. And thus the lofty lady spake―― All they, who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their sake And for the good which me befell, Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie. Quoth Christabel, so let it be And as the lady bade, did she. Her gentle limbs did she undress, And lay down in her loveliness. But through her brain of weal and woe So many thoughts moved to and fro, That vain it were her lids to close; So half-way from the bed she rose: And on her elbow did recline To look at the lady Geraldine.