III.
Part III.
I.
Thro' many-chamber'd Charliot
He wanders high, he wanders low,
Thro' echoing hall and wizard cell;
Nine times pacing, high and low,
Nor any trace of Christabel.
II.
Each door a frame of claspéd oak:
Each narrow casement iron-barr'd:
Each wall a height of tapestry'd rags:
Each floor a square of sounding flags:
‘Sure gentle maid was never laid
On couch so harsh and hard.’
III.
And here he sees a silken braid,
And here a golden whistle;
And here a fragrant necklace laid
Beneath a blazon'd missal.
IV.
But when with quicken'd quest again
The wizard cells he paces,
His spell-bewilder'd eyes in vain
Demand the fancied traces.
V.
As one that strays with sweet amaze
Within the glades of glamour:
And hears around an elvish sound,
A merry midnight clamour:—
VI.
And now through all the glade 'tis mute,
And fear replaces wonder;
His own feet make thro' fern and brake,
A sound more dread than thunder.
VII.
—Nine days are gone, nine days as one,
And Bracy hears the vesper bell;
He prays he there might close his life,
So he find not his holy wife,
His sweet betrothéd Christabel.
VIII.
He kneels with calm wide-open'd eyes,
And sweet sleep takes him as he sighs:
He sleeps with fix'd wide-open'd eyes.
IX.
With fix'd uneasy gazing eyes;
And Langdale towers before him rise;
There on death-couch the Baron lies;
And there the Lady Geraldine
Holds off her sire with spell and sign,
From the death-bed of Sir Leoline.
X.
Why dost thou start, Sir Leoline?
Thine own friend's hand is laid in thine;
The voice thou so long since would'st hear
Sounds in thine ear,
And whispers its forgiving love:
—In one forgiveness two forgiven,—
One that fled thence above,
And one assoil'd for heaven!
XI.
And is it truth or is it seeming?
He hears the midnight bell in dreaming;
He sees Lord Roland of Triermaine
Take Sir Leoline's hand again,
Nor heed the cry of Geraldine,
Nor by her sad unholy sign
And serpent-glance affrighted—
And lay his hand on the Baron's heart—
—Love united so to part,
Yet better so united—
He sees him sign the cross in dreaming;
Is it truth or is it dreaming?
XII.
And now beneath the old oak tree,
At midnight hour he seems to be:
Again he hears the midnight chiming:
Again he sees the green snake twining
Around the bird he loved so well,
Parentless in deep distress,
His sweet betrothéd Christabel!
And now he stoops the bird to take,
For none but for her own dear sake,
And the green snake lifts her head and flies—
XIII.
—Waking wide with blithe surprise,
And a glory round his eyes,
The midnight bell he heareth well,
And in his arm a maid he grasps,
And tremulous his arm she clasps:
And see her trembling eager eyes—
—But ere the gather'd dew-drops fell,
Love look'd forth without disguise,
For ever loosed from doubt and spell,
For ever his sweet Christabel!
XIV.
He kiss'd her on the gentle lips,
He kiss'd her on her forehead pale,
He clasp'd her nearer to his side,
‘My flutter'd Dove—my rescued Bride’—
‘Alas!’ in perfect joy she sigh'd:—
With amorous echo low replied
The sweet soft-sighing nightingale.
