Poems of John Keats. 193 



in the chill, pale moonlight, " a splendid angel," as Keats proclaims 

 her? 



Now the prayer is over, and Madeline begins to prepare for 

 sleep : 



ft * * * 



** Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees ; 



Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; 



Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees 



Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees ; 



Half hidden like a mermaid in sea- weed, 



Pensive awhile, she dreams awake, and sees 



In fancy fair St. Agnes in her bed, 

 But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled." 



And now she has gained her couch ; over its own soft nest the dove 

 hath folded its wings, and lies brooding in slumber; on its own 

 beauty, calmly and chastily, the spirit of innocence reclines: 



" Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, 



As THOUGH A ROSE HAD SHUT AND BEEN A BUD AGAIN !" 



Requiescat in pace. Who would venture to disturb the visions of so 

 beautiful a being? who would step within the charmed circle of her 

 purity to do her injury or wrong? No, innocence is its own protec- 

 tion, and Madeline may sleep securely. But let us turn to Porphyro; 

 he has left his place of concealment, and creeps noiselessly over the 

 carpet; now he gazes between the tapestries that fold over his 

 beloved's couch at the lovely object sleeping there ; and now having 

 stilled his own heart's emotion, that may be almost heard in the 

 solitude of the chamber, he placed a table, on which he had thrown 

 a "cloth of woven crimson gold and jet," by that couch's side. But 

 hark! a sound breaks upon his ear, an inharmonious clash of jarring 

 instruments from the festive guests in another part of the castle, 

 thrown in by Keats to give additional interest to the scene, rises for 

 a moment on silence, endangering the spell that hath closed Made- 

 line's blue eyes, and frightening Porphyro in his occupations, but as 

 quickly dies away again. Still Madeline sleeps, while her lover fills 

 the table which he hath drawn by her bed-side with many deli- 

 cacies, 



" Of apples, quince, and plum, and gourd, 

 With jellies soother than the creamy curd, 

 And lucent syrups tinct with cinnamon." 



These delicacies form part of the rites required to be observed on 

 this eve, and having been heaped up by Porphyro till they stand 

 sumptuous "in the retired quiet of the night," he bids his love, his 

 seraph fair, awake, and look on the being who was her own true 

 cavalier for ever. But Madeline sleeps on; she does not as yet hear 

 his voice; the beautiful maiden is too fast entoiled in " woofed 

 phantasies." And now Porphyro takes her lute ; if his own accents 

 would not wake her, perchance the sweet strains of that instrument 

 FEB. 1837. O 



