And hence the custom and law began, That still at dawn the sacristan, Who duly pulls the heavy bell, Five and forty beads must tell Which not a soul can choose but hear From Bratha Head to Wyn'dermere. Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell! As well fill up the space between. With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, Who all give back, one after t'other, The death-note to their living brother; And oft too, by the knell offended, Just as their one! two! three! is ended, The air is still! thro' mist and cloud Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel? "I trust that you have rested well." And Christabel awoke and spied The same who lay down by her side O rather say, the same whom she Rais'd up beneath the old oak tree! Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair! For she belike hath drunken deep And while she spake, her looks, her air With such perplexity of mind As dreams too lively leave behind. So quickly she rose, and quickly array'd Her maiden limbs, and having pray'd That He, who on the cross did groan, Might wash away her sins unknown, She forthwith led fair Geraldine To meet her sire, Sir Leoline. The lovely maid and the lady tall And pacing on thro' page and groom The Baron rose, and while he prest His gentle daughter to his breast, With cheerful wonder in his eyes The lady Geraldine espies, And gave such welcome to the same, As might beseem so bright a dame! But when he heard the lady's tale, And when she told her father's name, Why wax'd Sir Leoline so pale, Alas! they had been friends in youth ; And life is thorny; and youth is vain ; And thus it chanc'd, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline. Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted-ne'er to meet again! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from painingThey stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; |