Poems of John Keats. 189 



solitary occupant of the place is a poor old beadsman, whose life had 

 nearly spun itself out, and whose hopes are all heavenward. Listen, 



" His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man 

 Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, 

 And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, 

 Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees ; 

 The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze 

 Imprison'd in black, purgatorial rails, 

 Knights, ladies, praying in decent oratories, 

 He passeth by ; and his weak spirit fails 



To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails 



" Northward he turned through a little door, 

 And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue 



Flattered to tears this aged man, and poor" 



* * * * 



The scene has now changed ; we have left the chapel's dim and 

 cold solitude, and a sight of unwonted gaiety shakes the poor beads- 

 man's spirit to tears, as he opens the castle portal that leads from the 

 abode of the dead to the brilliant banquet chambers of the living. 

 Here, although music breaks in upon silence, and gaiety on death, 

 we find the solemnity of the scene still sustained, romance and the 

 visions of olden time forming a prominent portion of it, for up aloft, 

 that is in the orchestra of the hall where guests meet, 



" The carved angels ever eagle-eyed 



Stared, whereupon their heads the cornice rests, 

 With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise o'er their breasts." 



But it is not with the many that the visions of this mysterious eve 

 have to do ; among all the crowd of guests which throng the princi- 

 pal banquet chamber, there is one fair being, 



" Whose heart had brooded all that wintry day 

 On love," 



to whom " sole thoughted" we must turn. This being, the young and 

 gentle Madeline, had been told how "virgins might soft adornings 

 from their loves receive," if they performed certain ceremonies on 

 this night, and retired to bed with their eyes and hearts fixed with 

 maiden purity on heaven : but let Keats speak for himself: 



" Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline, 

 The music yearning like a god in pain 

 She scarcely heard ; her maiden eyes divine, 

 Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping train 

 Pass by, she heeded not at all ; in vain 

 Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, 

 And back retired. 



Her heart was otherwise ; 



She sighed for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year!" 



Here let us leave Madeline alone in the crowded hall, enwrapped in 

 the vision of her own sweet thoughts, and only waiting the fitting time 

 to retire into the lap of liquids old, to perfect the spell of St. Agnes, 



