X.

"In this neglected mirror (the broad frame

Of massive silver serves to testify

That many a noble matron of the house

Has sate before it) once, alas, was seen
What led to many sorrows. From that time
The bat came hither for a sleeping place;

And he, who cursed another in his heart,

Said, "Be thy dwelling thro' the day, the night, Shunned like COLL'ALTO." "Twas in that old Castle,

Which flanks the cliff with its grey battlements

Flung here and there, and, like an eagle's nest,

Hangs in the TREVISAN, that thus the Steward,

Shaking his locks, the few that Time had left him, Addressed me, as we entered what was called 'My Lady's Chamber.' On the walls, the chairs,

Much yet remained of the rich tapestry;

Much of the adventures of Sir Lancelot

In the green glades of some enchanted forest.

The toilet-table was of massive silver,

Florentine Art, when Florence was renowned;

A gay confusion of the elements,

Dolphins and boys, and shells and fruits and flowers:

And from the ceiling, in his gilded cage,

Hung a small bird of curious workmanship,

That, when his Mistress bade him, would unfold.

(So said at least the babbling Dame, Tradition)

His emerald-wings, and sing and sing again

The song that pleased her. While I stood and looked, A gleam of day yet lingering in the West,

The Steward went on.

"She had ('tis now long since)

A gentle serving-maid, the fair CRISTINA,

Fair as a lily, and as spotless too;

None so admired, beloved. They had grown up

As play-fellows; and some there were, who said,

Some who knew much, discoursing of Cristina,

She is not what she seems." When unrequired,

She would steal forth; her custom, her delight,

To wander thro' and thro' an ancient grove

Self-planted half-way down, losing herself

Like one in love with sadness; and her veil

And vesture white, seen ever in that place,
Ever as surely as the hours came round,
Among those reverend trees, gave her below

The name of The White Lady. But the day
Is gone, and I delay you.

In that chair

The Countess, as it might be now, was sitting, Her gentle serving-maid, the fair CRISTINA,

Combing her golden hair; and, thro' this door

The Count, her lord, was hastening, called away

By letters of great urgency to VENICE;

When in the glass she saw, as she believed,

("Twas an illusion of the Evil Spirit—

Some say he came and crossed it at the instant)

A smile, a glance at parting, given and answered,

That turned her blood to gall. That very night

The deed was done. That night, ere yet the Moon Was up on Monte Calvo, and the wolf

Baying as still he does (oft do I hear him,

An hour and more by the old turret-clock)
They led her forth, the unhappy lost CRISTINA,
Helping her down in her distress to die.

She was walled up within the Castle-wall.
The wall itself was hollowed to receive her;
Then closed again, and done to line and rule.
Would you descend and see it?-Tis far down;
And many a stair is gone. "Tis in a vault
Under the Chapel: and there nightly now,

As in the narrow niche, when smooth and fair,