It was the loving twilight's rosiest hour, The Love-star trembled on the ivied tower, As through the frowning archway pass'd the bride, With Juliet, whispering courage, by her side; For Ruthven went before, that first of all His voice might welcome to his father's hall: There, on the antique walls, the lamp from high Show'd the stern wrecks of battle-storms gone by. Gleam'd the blue mail, indented with the glaive, Droop'd the dull banner, breezeless, on the stave; Below the Gothic masks, grotesque and grim, Carved from the stonework, like a wizard's whim, Hung the accoutrements that lent a grace To the old warrior-pastime of the chase. Cross-bows by hands, long dust, once deftly borne; The Hawker's glove, the Huntsman's soundless horn; On the huge hearth the hospitable flame Lit the dark portrait in its mouldering frame; Statesmen in senates, knights in fields, renown'd, On their new daughter ominously frown'd; To the young Stranger, shivering to behold, The Home she enter'd seem'd the tomb of old. VI. "Doth it so chill thee, Constance? Dare I own, The charm that haunts what childhood's years have known, How many dreams of fame beyond my sires, Wing'd the proud thought that now no more aspires! Here, while I paced, at the dusk twilight time, As the deep church-bell toll'd the curfew chime; In the dim Past my spirit seem'd to live, To every relic some weird legend give; And muse such hopes of glorious things to be, As they, the Dead, mused once;--wild dreams--fulfill'd in thee! Ah, never 'mid those early visions shone, A face so sweet, my Constance, as thine own! And what if all that charm'd me then, depart? Clear, through the fading mists, smiles my soft heav'n--thy heart! What, drooping still! Nay love, we are not all So sad within, as this time-darken'd hall. Come!"--and they pass'd (still Juliet by her side) To a fair chamber, deck'd to greet the bride. There, all of later luxury lent its smile, To cheer, yet still beseem, the reverend pile. What though the stately tapestry met the eyes, Gay were its pictures, brilliant were its dyes; There, graceful cressets from the gilded roof, In mirrors glass'd the landscapes of the woof. There, in the Gothic niche, the harp was placed, There ranged the books most hallow'd by her taste; Through the half-open casement you might view The sweet soil prank'd with flowers of every hue; And on the terrace, crowning the green mountain, Gleam'd the fair statue, play'd the sparkling fountain: Within, without, all plann'd, all deck'd to greet The Queen of all--whose dowry was deceit! Soft breathed the air, soft shone the moon above-- All save the bride's sad heart, whispering Earth's Hymn to Love! As Ruthven's hand sought hers, on Juliet's breast She fell; and passionate tears, till then supprest, Gush'd from averted eyes. To him the tears