XXXVIII

'My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!

      Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?

      Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed?

      Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest

      After so many hours of toil and quest,

      A famish'd pilgrim,—saved by miracle.

      Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest

      Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well

To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.