A little pause—a girlish sigh.
   "Say, will thy lover prize
A face so changed from that he sees
   Before his absent eyes?"

"Ay, he would prize it faded, sick,
   Bowed down, and blind, and gray.
My heart he loveth: 'tis his harp,
   He said none else should play.

"And if I pause, 'tis for his sake.
   He loved this beauty well.
I would my face grew only dim,
   Not strange, beneath thy spell.

"Let my old self live in my eyes,
   My smile familiar seem:
'Twill be less pain to meet me thus,
   Than lovely, lost to him."

"Thy soul I touch not; so the charm
   Will grant thee this desire."
Then Mabel took the fatal cup,
   Her young heart all on fire

Was pulsing in the crimsoned cheek,
   Kindling the coral glow
Of lips that tremulously thrilled
   To ev'ry bosom throe.

So child-like in her helplessness,
   In loving trust so strong:
A gentle nature passion-tost,
   Ah, who could do it wrong

While the large tears so innocent
   Swelled from the azure eyes?
E'en she whose last kind thought was seared
   'Mid evil mysteries.

She drank—the dimpled face looked worn,
   Its rosy lights grew cold;
A dullness passed o'er the blue eyes,
   Along the curls of gold.

"Go, lady, praise nor pity give
   To earthly thing this night.
Nor breathe a prayer while works the charm,
   Until the morning light.

"For prince or sire thou must not dare
   The power of spirits dread:
E'en though thy own true love should come
   To-night, thou must not wed.

"And if thy wand'ring bard return,
   And loathe thy altered face,
Daughter, the Church for faded looks
   Hath many a hiding-place."

The grinning hag, as Mabel fled
   Affrighted on her way,
Muttered, "If I know aught of man,
   Thou wilt have time to pray."

The love, the joy, from many a life
   Had faded 'neath her art,
And then the convent's chilly calm
   Closed round the youthful heart.

Thus taking her revenge on life,
   She called it piety.
(But this was in the dark old times,
   And never more may be).

But keen and kindly eyes, ere this,
   Watched round that darksome door.
Too late, the merry elves that dwelt
   In the deep woods of yore.

Now Nature in the maiden's breast
   A deep delight had stirred,
And as a link 'twixt her and them,
   Was each admiring word.

"What! those free feet a cloister walk?"
   Quoth the indignant elves,
"That trod our wild entanglements,
   As featly as ourselves?"

Then delicate, sweet voices rose,
   The fairies of the flowers
Could tell of bruised heads lifted up,
   Of kindness soft as showers.

The Spirit of the Oak, himself,
   From his majestic seat,
Had watched, all through the summer eves,
   The lovers at his feet.

'Twas then the royal sprite had woo'd,
   So laughing elves did tell,
The lady of the Mistletoe,
   In his strong heart to dwell.

And she in turn, with wreathings soft
   Of tender green, o'erlaid
With drops of moonlight, lighted up
   His palaces of shade.

So graciously he gave the word,
   "The lady follow near,
To watch the charm, to mar its harm,
   This night no hag we fear.

"From twelve till dawn, o'er human fate,
   We have a power for good,
E'en for His sake to whom we owe
   The greenness of the wood."

The oaks bent low, their shadows swept
   Her path with sable bars,
And Mabel murmured, "Grand ye look,
   'Neath this soft light of stars."

They touched her cheek with icicles,
   "Thank God!" the maiden cried,
"'Tis Christmas, and the kindly elves
   By glowing hearths abide."

Dropt at her feet, a frozen bird,
   Still mindless of the charm,
Her quick compassion laid it deep,
   Within her bosom warm.

They met her at the castle-door,
   "The prince awaits thee now,"
"Now, God defend me!" said the maid,
   And crossed her pallid brow.

Out laughed the hearty Oak-elf, then
   "This maiden's innocence,
(And little knew the witch its power),
   Will be its own defence.

"But for the past, our strength is small
   To break a spell so strong,
And well I ween a deadlier sting
   Lurks poisoned in the wrong."

Then, suddenly, the nestling bird,
   From Mabel's bosom sped,
And thus, to spirit ears alone,
   He warbled as he fled.

"The wedding rite, on this blest night,
   Might this ill spell undo,
If she were won, the ring put on,
   By one whose love was true.