"I heard," the poet said, "thy voice As dimly as thy breath: The sound was like the noise of life To one anear his death,-- Or of waves that fail to stir the pale Sere leaf they roll beneath. XXI. "And still between the sound and me White creatures like a mist Did interfloat confusedly, Mysterious shapes unwist: Across my heart and across my brow I felt them droop like wreaths of snow, To still the pulse they kist. XXII. "The castle and its lands are thine-- The poor's--it shall be done. Go, _man_, to love! I go to live In Courland hall, alone: The bats along the ceilings cling, The lizards in the floors do run, And storms and years have worn and reft The stain by human builders left In working at the stone." PART THE THIRD. SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS KEPT. I. He dwelt alone, and sun and moon Were witness that he made Rejection of his humanness Until they seemed to fade; His face did so, for he did grow Of his own soul afraid. II. The self-poised God may dwell alone With inward glorying, But God's chief angel waiteth for A brother's voice, to sing; And a lonely creature of sinful nature It is an awful thing. III. An awful thing that feared itself; While many years did roll, A lonely man, a feeble man, A part beneath the whole, He bore by day, he bore by night That pressure of God's infinite Upon his finite soul. IV. The poet at his lattice sate, And downward lookèd he. Three Christians wended by to prayers, With mute ones in their ee; Each turned above a face of love And called him to the far chapèlle With voice more tuneful than its bell: But still they wended three. V. There journeyed by a bridal pomp, A bridegroom and his dame; He speaketh low for happiness, She blusheth red for shame: But never a tone of benison From out the lattice came. VI. A little child with inward song, No louder noise to dare, Stood near the wall to see at play The lizards green and rare-- Unblessed the while for his childish smile Which cometh unaware. PART THE FOURTH. SHOWING HOW ROSALIND FARED BY THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. I. In death-sheets lieth Rosalind As white and still as they; And the old nurse that watched her bed Rose up with "Well-a-day!" And oped the casement to let in The sun, and that sweet doubtful din Which droppeth from the grass and bough Sans wind and bird, none knoweth how-- To cheer her as she lay. II. The old nurse started when she saw Her sudden look of woe: But the quick wan tremblings round her mouth In a meek smile did go, And calm she said, "When I am dead, Dear nurse it shall be so. III.