They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,[146] Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honey'd middle of the night, If ceremonies due they did aright;50 As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
VII
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:55 The music, yearning like a God in pain, She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by—she heeded not at all: in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,60 And back retired; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere; She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.
VIII
She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:65 The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,[147]70 Save to St. Agnes and her lambs[148] unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
IX
So, purposing each moment to retire, She lingered still. Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro,[149] with heart on fire75 For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttress'd[150] from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen;80 Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth[151] such things have been.
X
He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel: For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,85 Hyena[152] foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage: not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame,[153] weak in body and in soul.90
XI