They sate them down together, and a sleep Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep. Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose 215 And from her brown-lock'd head the wimple throws, And takes it in her hand, and waves it over The blossom'd thorn-tree and her sleeping lover. Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple° round, °219 And made a little plot of magic ground. 220 And in that daised circle, as men say, Is Merlin prisoner° till the judgment-day; °222 But she herself whither she will can rove-- For she was passing weary of his love.° °224
Down the Savoy° valleys sounding, °1 Echoing round this castle old, 'Mid the distant mountain-chalets° °3 Hark! what bell for church is toll'd?
In the bright October morning 5 Savoy's Duke had left his bride. From the castle, past the drawbridge, Flow'd the hunters' merry tide.
Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering; Gay, her smiling lord to greet, 10 From her mullion'd chamber-casement Smiles the Duchess Marguerite.
From Vienna, by the Danube, Here she came, a bride, in spring. Now the autumn crisps the forest; 15 Hunters gather, bugles ring.
Hounds are pulling, prickers° swearing, °17 Horses fret, and boar-spears glance. Off!--They sweep the marshy forests. Westward, on the side of France. 20
Hark! the game's on foot; they scatter!-- Down the forest-ridings lone, Furious, single horsemen gallop---- Hark! a shout--a crash--a groan!
Pale and breathless, came the hunters; 25 On the turf dead lies the boar-- God! the Duke lies stretch'd beside him, Senseless, weltering in his gore.
In the dull October evening, Down the leaf-strewn forest-road, 30 To the castle, past the drawbridge, Came the hunters with their load.
In the hall, with sconces blazing, Ladies waiting round her seat, Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais° °35 Sate the Duchess Marguerite.
Hark! below the gates unbarring! Tramp of men and quick commands! "--'Tis my lord come back from hunting--" And the Duchess claps her hands. 40
Slow and tired, came the hunters-- Stopp'd in darkness in the court. "--Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters! To the hall! What sport? What sport?"--
Slow they enter'd with their master; 45 In the hall they laid him down. On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, On his brow an angry frown.