Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight Has reach'd a bower, where milder light Through crimson curtains fell; Such softened shade the hill receives, Her purple veil when twilight leaves Upon its western swell. That bower, the gazer to bewitch, Had wondrous store of rare and rich As e'er was seen with eye; For there, by magic skill, I wis, Form of each thing that living is Was limn'd in proper dye. All seemed to sleep--the timid hare On form, the stag upon his lair, The eagle in her eyrie fair Between the earth and sky. But what of pictured rich and rare Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where, Deep slumbering in the fatal chair, He saw King Arthur's child! Doubt, and anger, and dismay From her brow had passed away, Forgot was that fell tourney-day, For, as she slept, she smiled: It seem'd that the repentant Seer Her sleep of many a hundred year With gentle dreams beguiled. That form of maiden loveliness, 'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, That ivory chair, that sylvan dress, The arms and ankles bare, express Of Lyulph's tale the truth. Still upon her garment's hem Vanoc's blood made purple gem, And the warder of command Cumber'd still her sleeping hand; Still her dark locks dishevelled low From net of pearl o'er breast of snow; And so fair the slumberer seems, That De Vaux impeached his dreams, Vapid all and void of might, Hiding half her charms from sight. Motionless a while he stands, Folds his arm and clasps his hands, Trembling in his fitful joy, Doubtful how he should destroy The long-enduring spell; Doubtful, too, when slowly rise Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes, What these eyes shall tell,-- "St. George! St. Mary! can it be, That they will kindly look on me!" Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels, Soft that lovely hand he steals, Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp-- But the warder leaves her grasp; Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder! Gyneth startles from her sleep, Totters tower, and trembles keep, Burst the castle-walls asunder! Fierce and frequent were the shocks,-- Melt the magic halls away; ----But beneath their mystic rocks, In the arms of bold De Vaux Safe the princess lay; Safe and free from magic power, Blushing like the rose's flower Opening to the day; And round the Champion's brows were bound The crown that Druidess had wound, Of the green laurel-bay. And this was what remain'd of all The wealth of each enchanted hall, Garland and the Dame: But where should Warrior seek the meed, Due to high worth for daring deed, Except from LOVE and FAME.