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CHRISTABEL.
13
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall,
Which hung in a murky old nitch in the wall.
O softly tread, said Christabel,
My father seldom sleepeth well.
Sweet Christabel her feet she bares,
And they are creeping up the stairs;
Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,
And now they pass the Baron's room,
As still as death with stifled breath!
And now have reach'd her chamber door;
And now with eager feet press down
The rushes of her chamber floor.
The moon shines dim in the open air,
And not a moonbeam enters here.
But they without its light see
The chamber carv'd so curiously,
