Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,--
Tumultuous,--and, in chords that tenderest be. 290
He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,
In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy:[173]"
Close to her ear touching the melody;--
Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:
He ceased--she panted quick--and suddenly 295
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.