"The husband's arm, 'twixt her and harm,
   Would be a bar of might,
Then comes your hour of kindly power—
   Use it till morning light."

All sadly Mabel sought her bower,
   Her viewless escort round,
The change in their fair lady's face,
   Her maidens did astound.

They whispered, as a regal robe
   Of white and silver sheen,
They placed. "The minstrel's memory
   Will rob us of a queen."

Then in the presence-room alone,
   For such her sire's command,
Before the prince with downcast eyes
   Did Mabel trembling stand.

Each to his place, the sylvan crew,
   A forest fragrance calls,
For plenteously the Christmas green
   Hangs on the lofty walls.

Ah, wicked spell! She heard her name
   Breathed in the old, true tone;
Shrank back from eager eye and hand,
   For prince and bard are one!

Her hands she closed about her face,
   As they would ope no more,
And with the sudden agony
   Sank swooning to the floor.

Yet could she feel his kisses warm,
   While the aërial brood
Revived her with their wafting wings,
   With odours of the wood.

With tender touch, with old pet names,
   He to her heart appealed;
Nor looked she up till in his ear
   Her trouble was revealed.

Then looks remorseful sought his eyes
   With their unspoken prayer.
Oh, bliss! unutterable love
   Beamed from the dark depths there.

He watched the deepening love-blush mount,
   Love-lit the timid eyes,
Scarce missed the sparkle or the bloom
   Beneath the dear disguise.

And soft, sweet tears the maiden wept,
   On that kind bosom long,
Where yearning pity throbb'd to pain,
   Where vengeance struggled strong.

"Now, out on her, the hellish hag!
   I would a man were she,
Not Satan's legions, nor himself,
   Should keep her life from me.

"I've done thee wrong, my beautiful;
   When news of tumults came,
I left with hope of swift return
   My peerless bride to claim.

"I thought to watch thy bright'ning face
   Beam to the prince unknown;
Not for his kingdom, but his love,
   That nameless, won thy own.

"A jewell'd crown may light my brows
   In thy self-sacrifice;
Thy matchless trust, a deeper shrine
   Thou, hast, my pearl of price.

"I'll wrap thy life with happiness;
   The picture in my heart
Of each lost beauty fills my eyes:
   Yea, e'en more fair thou art."

The prince looked up, for shook the boughs
   As with some sudden air;
The thought came to him, "Wed to-night,"
   As if 'twere written there.

It flash'd from ev'ry bending branch,
   Fresh leaf, or berry bright,
Upon his mind, that, nothing loth,
   Did echo back "To-night."

And thus he spake: "For what I ask
   The offering is too small;
My crown and life; as Christmas gift
   Give me thyself for all."

She whispered what the Witch forbade,
   In shuddering tones and low:
"Ay, did she; all her dark behests
   Thou hast not kept till now.

"For Pity is thy spirit's pulse,
   And Praise its needful air,
And thy soul's breath, when dangers press,
   Instinctive forms a prayer.

"E'en as a dove, on whose white wings
   Drips hard the heavy rain,
Thy heart shakes off the evil thoughts,
   And soars to Heaven again.

"Our love—our holy marriage love—
   Shall scare and dazzle hell;
Thy hand in mine, and both in His
   Whose might shall break the spell."

In came Prince Kenric's knights and squires
   A goodly company;
And in came Mabel's father stern,
   A joyful man was he.

But startled when thus spake the prince:
   "To-night she must be mine,
And that before I break thy bread,
   Or pledge thee in the wine."

"Fair prince, here are no wedding-robes,
   No gallant guests to wait;
I would fain grace those nuptials proud
   With honourable state."

"We are each other's guests; with her
   Thou hast all honours given;
The robe thy daughter wears for me
   Hath fall'n on her from Heaven."

"Then, daughter, look not thou so pale
   As though we sought thy death;
'Tis ill to tarry when a crown
   Hangs to the bridal wreath."

Up spake the castle priest, a man
   Of cold and silent eyes:
"I have a vow—on holy days
   To bind no marriage ties."

"Then here stands my good chancellor,
   A priest of high degree;
He'll think no shame to gift his prince,
   My gentle love, with thee."

They brought the veil of white, in vain
   Her wedding-ring they sought;
But he (nor needed prompting sprites),
   In whom quick love had wrought,