CHRISTABEL. 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, IS And the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock; Tu-whit! -Tu-whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew. Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch; From her kennel beneath the rock She makes answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. Is the night chilly and dark? The moon is behind, and at the full; 'Tis a month before the month of May, The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray She stole along, she nothing spoke, The breezes they were still also ; And nought was green upon the oak, But moss and rarest misletoe: She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, The lady leaps up suddenly, The lovely lady, Christabel ! It moan'd as near, as near can be, But what it is, she cannot tell. On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, Hush, beating heart of Christabel ! Jesu, Maria, shield her well! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there? There she sees a damsel bright, Mary mother, save me now! (Said Christabel,) And who art thou? The lady strange made answer meet, And her voice was faint and sweet : Have pity on my sore distress, I scarce can speak for weariness. |