At the commencement of her devotions the daemon retired, and carried with him the anxious soul of poor Sir Roger de Rollo.
The lady knelt down—she sighed deeply; she looked again at the clock, and began—
“Ave Maria.”
When a lute was heard under the window, and a sweet voice singing—
“Hark!” said Matilda.
“Now the toils of day are over,
And the sun hath sunk to rest,
Seeking, like a fiery lover,
The bosom of the blushing west—
“The faithful night keeps watch and ward,
Raising the moon, her silver shield,
And summoning the stars to guard
The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!”
“For mercy’s sake!” said Sir Rollo, “the ave first, and next the song.”
So Matilda again dutifully betook her to her devotions, and began—
“Ave Maria gratiâ plena!” but the music began again, and the prayer ceased of course.
“The faithful night! Now all things lie
Hid by her mantle dark and dim,
In pious hope I hither hie,
And humbly chant mine ev’ning hymn.
“Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine!
(For never holy pilgrim kneel’d,
Or wept at feet more pure than thine),
My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde!”