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wont

To take some trouble with his toilet, but
This morning rather spent less time upon't:
Aside his very mirror soon was put;
His curls fell negligently o'er his front;

His clothes were not curb'd to their usual c His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied Almost an hair's breadth too much on one side. XXX.

And when he walk'd down into the saloon,
He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea,
Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon,
Had it not happen'd scalding hot to be,
Which made him have recourse unto his spoon.

So much distrait he was, that all could see
That something was the matter-Adeline
The first-but what she could not well divine.
XXXI.

She look'd, and saw him pale, and turn'd as pale

Herself: then hastily look'd down and mutter'd

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After some fascinating hesitation-

The charming of these charmers, who seem bound,

I can't tell why, to this dissimulation

Fair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground At first, then kindling into animation,

Added her sweet voice to the lyric sound, And sang, with much simplicity,—a merit Not the less precious, that we seldom hear it. Beware, beware of the Black Friar,

Who sitteth by Norman stone,

For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air,
And his mass of the days that are gone.

When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville,
Made Norman church his prey,

And expell'd the friars, one friar still
Would not be driven away.

Amundeville is lord by day,

But the monk is lord by night;
Nor wine nor wassail could raise a vassal
To question that friar's right.
Say nought to him as he walks the hall;
And he'll say nought to you:
He sweeps along in his dusky pall,
As o'er the grass the dew.
Then gramercy! for the Black Friar:
Heaven sain him! fair or foul:
And whatsoe'er may be his prayer,
Let ours be for his soul.

XLI.

The lady's voice ceased, and the thrilling wir Died from the touch that kindled then. sound;

And the pause follow'd, which, when song ex
pires,

Pervades a moment those who listen round;
And then, of course, the circle much admires,
Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound,
The tones, the feeling, and the execution,
To the performer's diffident confusion.

XLII.

Fair Adeline, though in a careless way,
As if she rated such accomplishment
As the mere pastime of an idle day,

Pursued an instant for her own content,
Would now and then, as 'twere without display,
Yet with display, in fact, at times relent
To such performances, with haughty smile,
To show she could, if it were worth her while.

XLIII.

Now this (but we will whisper it aside)
Was-pardon the pedantic illustration--
Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride,
As did the Cynic on some like occasion:
Deeming the sage would be much mortified,
Or thrown into a philosophic passion,

Though he came in his might, with King For a spoilt carpet-but the "Attic Bee"

Henry's right,

To turn church lands to lay,

With sword in hand, and torch to light

Their walls, if they said nay;

A monk remain'd, unchased, unchain'd,
And he did not seem form'd of clay,

For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in the
church,

Though he is not seen by day.

And whether for good, or whether for ill,
It is not mine to say;

But still with the house of Amundeville
He abideth night and day.

By the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said,
He flits on the bridal eve:

And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death
He comes-but not to grieve.
When an heir is born, he's heard to mourn;
And when aught is to befall

That ancient line, in the pale moonshine
He walks from hall to hall.

His form you may trace, but not his face,
'Tis shadow'd by his cowl,

But his eyes may be seen from the folds between,
And they seem of a parted soul.

But beware, beware of the Black Friar,
He still retains his sway;

For he is yet the church's heir,

Whoever may be the lay.

Was much consoled by his own repartee.

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