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gracious Hail on all bestowing! —

      “Thy words, thou sire of Christabel,

      Are sweeter than my harp can tell;

      Yet might I gain a boon of thee,

      This day my journey should not be,

      So strange a dream hath come to me,

      That I had vowed with music loud

      To clear yon wood from thing unblest,

      Warned by a vision in my rest! 530

      For in my sleep I saw that dove,

      That gentle bird, whom thou dost love,

      And call’st by thy own daughter’s name —

      Sir Leoline! I saw the same

      Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan,

      Among the green herbs in the forest alone.

      Which when I saw and when I heard,

      I wonder’d what might ail the bird;

      For nothing near it could I see,

      Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree.” 540

      “And in my dream methought I went

      To search out what might there be found;

      And what the sweet bird’s trouble meant,

      That thus lay fluttering on the ground.

      I went and peered, and could descry

      No cause for her distressful cry;

      But yet for her dear lady’s sake

      I stooped, methought, the dove to take,

      When lo! I saw a bright green snake

      Coiled around its wings and neck. 550

      Green as the herbs on which it couched,

      Close by the dove’s its head it crouched;

      And with the dove it heaves and stirs,

      Swelling its neck as she swelled hers!

      I woke; it was the midnight hour,

      The clock was echoing in the tower;

      But though my slumber was gone by,

      This dream it would not pass away —

      It seems to live upon my eye!

      And thence I vowed this selfsame day 560

      With music strong and saintly song

      To wander through the forest bare,

      Lest aught unholy loiter there.”

      Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while,

      Half-listening heard him with a smile;

      Then turned to Lady Geraldine,

      His eyes made up of wonder and love;

      And said in courtly accents fine,

      “Sweet maid, Lord Roland’s beauteous dove,

      With arms more strong than harp or song, 570

      Thy sire and I will crush the snake!”

      He kissed her forehead as he spake,

      And Geraldine in maiden wise

      Casting down her large bright eyes,

      With blushing cheek and courtesy fine

      She turned her from Sir Leoline;

      Softly gathering up her train,

      That o’er her right arm fell again;

      And folded her arms across her chest,

      And couched her head upon her breast, 580

      And looked askance at Christabel —

      Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

      A snake’s small eye blinks dull and shy;

      And the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her head,

      Each shrunk up to a serpent’s eye,

      And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread,

      At Christabel she looked askance! —

      One moment — and the sight was fled!

      But Christabel in dizzy trance

      Stumbling on the unsteady ground

      Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; 590

      And Geraldine again turned round,

      And like a thing, that sought relief,

      Full of wonder and full of grief,

      She rolled her large bright eyes divine

      Wildly on Sir Leoline.

      The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,

      She nothing sees — no sight but one!

      The maid, devoid of guile and sin,

      I know not how, in fearful wise, 600

      So deeply had she drunken in

      That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,

      That all her features were resigned

      To this sole image in her mind:

      And passively did imitate

      That look of dull and treacherous hate!

      And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,

      Still picturing that look askance

      With forced unconscious sympathy

      Full before her father’s view — 610

      As far as such a look could be

      In eyes so innocent and blue!

      And when the trance was o’er, the maid

      Paused awhile, and inly prayed:

      Then falling at the Baron’s feet,

      “By my mother’s soul do I entreat

      That thou this woman send away!”

      She said: and more she could not say:

      For what she knew she could not tell,

      O’ermastered by the mighty spell. 620

      Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,

      Sir Leoline? Thy only child

      Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,

      So fair, so innocent, so mild;

      The same, for whom thy lady died!

      O by the pangs of her dear mother

      Think thou no evil of thy child!

      For her, and thee, and for no other,

      She prayed the moment ere she died: 630

      Prayed that the babe for whom she died,

      Might prove her dear lord’s joy and pride!

       That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,

      Sir Leoline!

       And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,

      Her child and thine;

      Within the Baron’s heart and brain

      If thoughts, like these, had any share,

      They only swelled his rage and pain,

      And did but work confusion there.

      His heart was cleft with pain and rage, 640

      His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,

      Dishonoured thus in his old age;

      Dishonoured by his only child,

      And all his hospitality

      To the wronged daughter of his friend

      By more than woman’s

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