{"id":106,"date":"2021-06-04T15:25:12","date_gmt":"2021-06-04T19:25:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/poetryandpoetics\/?post_type=chapter&p=106"},"modified":"2022-02-15T11:47:57","modified_gmt":"2022-02-15T16:47:57","slug":"s-t-coleridge","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics\/chapter\/s-t-coleridge\/","title":{"raw":"S. T. Coleridge","rendered":"S. T. Coleridge"},"content":{"raw":"

Frost at Midnight<\/h1>\r\nThe frost performs its secret ministry,\r\nUnhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry\r\nCame loud\u2014and hark, again! loud as before.\r\nThe inmates of my cottage, all at rest,\r\nHave left me to that solitude, which suits\r\nAbstruser musings: save that at my side\r\nMy cradled infant slumbers peacefully.\r\n'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs\r\nAnd vexes meditation with its strange\r\nAnd extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,\r\nThis populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,\r\nWith all the numberless goings-on of life,\r\nInaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame\r\nLies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;\r\nOnly that film, which fluttered on the grate,\r\nStill flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.\r\nMethinks, its motion in this hush of nature\r\nGives it dim sympathies with me who live,\r\nMaking it a companionable form,\r\nWhose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit\r\nBy its own moods interprets, everywhere\r\nEcho or mirror seeking of itself,\r\nAnd makes a toy of Thought.\r\n\r\nBut O! how oft,\r\nHow oft, at school, with most believing mind,\r\nPresageful, have I gazed upon the bars,\r\nTo watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft\r\nWith unclosed lids, already had I dreamt\r\nOf my sweet birthplace, and the old church-tower,\r\nWhose bells, the poor man's only music, rang\r\nFrom morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,\r\nSo sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me\r\nWith a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear\r\nMost like articulate sounds of things to come!\r\nSo gazed I, till the soothing things I dreamt\r\nLulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!\r\nAnd so I brooded all the following morn,\r\nAwed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye\r\nFixed with mock study on my swimming book:\r\nSave if the door half opened, and I snatched\r\nA hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,\r\nFor still I hoped to see the stranger's face,\r\nTownsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,\r\nMy playmate when we both were clothed alike!\r\n\r\nDear babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,\r\nWhose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,\r\nFill up the interspersed vacancies\r\nAnd momentary pauses of the thought!\r\nMy babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart\r\nWith tender gladness, thus to look at thee,\r\nAnd think that thou shalt learn far other lore\r\nAnd in far other scenes! For I was reared\r\nIn the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,\r\nAnd saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.\r\nBut thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze\r\nBy lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags\r\nOf ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,\r\nWhich image in their bulk both lakes and shores\r\nAnd mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear\r\nThe lovely shapes and sounds intelligible\r\nOf that eternal language, which thy God\r\nUtters, who fro eternity doth teach\r\nHimself in all, and all things in himself.\r\nGreat universal Teacher! he shall mould\r\nThey spirit, and by giving make it ask.\r\n\r\nTherefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,\r\nWhether the summer clothe the general earth\r\nWith greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing\r\nBetwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch\r\nOf mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch\r\nSmokes in the sunthaw; whether the eve-drops fall\r\nHeard only in the trances of the blast,\r\nOr if the secret ministry of frost\r\nShall hang them up in silent icicles,\r\nQuietly shining to the quiet Moon.\r\n

Dejection: an Ode<\/h1>\r\nLate, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,<\/em>\r\nWith the old Moon in her arms;<\/em>\r\nAnd I fear, I fear, my Master dear!<\/em>\r\nWe shall have a deadly storm.<\/em>\r\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence<\/em>\r\nI\r\n\r\nWell! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made\r\nThe grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,\r\nThis night, so tranquil now, will not go hence\r\nUnroused by winds, that ply a busier trade\r\nThan those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,\r\nOr the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes\r\nUpon the strings of this Aeolian lute,\r\nWhich better far were mute.\r\nFor lo! the New-moon winter-bright!\r\nAnd overspread with phantom light,\r\n(With swimming phantom light o\u2019erspread\r\nBut rimmed and circled by a silver thread)\r\nI see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling\r\nThe coming-on of rain and squally blast.\r\nAnd oh! that even now the gust were swelling,\r\nAnd the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!\r\nThose sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,\r\nAnd sent my soul abroad,\r\nMight now perhaps their wonted impulse give,\r\nMight startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!\r\n\r\nII\r\n\r\nA grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,\r\nA stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,\r\nWhich finds no natural outlet, no relief,\r\nIn word, or sigh, or tear\u2014\r\nO Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,\r\nTo other thoughts by yonder throstle woo\u2019d,\r\nAll this long eve, so balmy and serene,\r\nHave I been gazing on the western sky,\r\nAnd its peculiar tint of yellow green:\r\nAnd still I gaze\u2014and with how blank an eye!\r\nAnd those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,\r\nThat give away their motion to the stars;\r\nThose stars, that glide behind them or between,\r\nNow sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:\r\nYon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew\r\nIn its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;\r\nI see them all so excellently fair,\r\nI see, not feel, how beautiful they are!\r\n\r\nIII\r\n\r\nMy genial spirits fail;\r\nAnd what can these avail\r\nTo lift the smothering weight from off my breast?\r\nIt were a vain endeavour,\r\nThough I should gaze for ever\r\nOn that green light that lingers in the west:\r\nI may not hope from outward forms to win\r\nThe passion and the life, whose fountains are within.\r\n\r\nIV\r\n\r\nO Lady! we receive but what we give,\r\nAnd in our life alone does Nature live:\r\nOurs is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!\r\nAnd would we aught behold, of higher worth,\r\nThan that inanimate cold world allowed\r\nTo the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,\r\nAh! from the soul itself must issue forth\r\nA light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud\r\nEnveloping the Earth\u2014\r\nAnd from the soul itself must there be sent\r\nA sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,\r\nOf all sweet sounds the life and element!\r\n\r\nV\r\n\r\nO pure of heart! thou need\u2019st not ask of me\r\nWhat this strong music in the soul may be!\r\nWhat, and wherein it doth exist,\r\nThis light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,\r\nThis beautiful and beauty-making power.\r\nJoy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne\u2019er was given,\r\nSave to the pure, and in their purest hour,\r\nLife, and Life\u2019s effluence, cloud at once and shower,\r\nJoy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,\r\nWhich wedding Nature to us gives in dower\r\nA new Earth and new Heaven,\r\nUndreamt of by the sensual and the proud\u2014\r\nJoy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud\u2014\r\nWe in ourselves rejoice!\r\nAnd thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,\r\nAll melodies the echoes of that voice,\r\nAll colors a suffusion from that light.\r\n\r\nVI\r\n\r\nThere was a time when, though my path was rough,\r\nThis joy within me dallied with distress,\r\nAnd all misfortunes were but as the stuff\r\nWhence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:\r\nFor hope grew round me, like the twining vine,\r\nAnd fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.\r\nBut now afflictions bow me down to earth:\r\nNor care I that they rob me of my mirth;\r\nBut oh! each visitation\r\nSuspends what nature gave me at my birth,\r\nMy shaping spirit of Imagination.\r\nFor not to think of what I needs must feel,\r\nBut to be still and patient, all I can;\r\nAnd haply by abstruse research to steal\r\nFrom my own nature all the natural man\u2014\r\nThis was my sole resource, my only plan:\r\nTill that which suits a part infects the whole,\r\nAnd now is almost grown the habit of my soul.\r\n\r\nVII\r\n\r\nHence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,\r\nReality\u2019s dark dream!\r\nI turn from you, and listen to the wind,\r\nWhich long has raved unnoticed. What a scream\r\nOf agony by torture lengthened out\r\nThat lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav\u2019st without,\r\nBare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,\r\nOr pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,\r\nOr lonely house, long held the witches\u2019 home,\r\nMethinks were fitter instruments for thee,\r\nMad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,\r\nOf dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,\r\nMak\u2019st Devils\u2019 yule, with worse than wintry song,\r\nThe blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.\r\nThou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!\r\nThou mighty Poet, e\u2019en to frenzy bold!\r\nWhat tell\u2019st thou now about?\r\n\u2018Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,\r\nWith groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds\u2014\r\nAt once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!\r\nBut hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!\r\nAnd all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,\r\nWith groans, and tremulous shudderings\u2014all is over\u2014\r\nIt tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!\r\nA tale of less affright,\r\nAnd tempered with delight,\r\nAs Otway\u2019s self had framed the tender lay\u2014\r\n\u2018Tis of a little child\r\nUpon a lonesome wild,\r\nNor far from home, but she hath lost her way:\r\nAnd now moans low in bitter grief and fear,\r\nAnd now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.\r\n\r\nVIII\r\n\r\n\u2018Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:\r\nFull seldom may my friend such vigils keep!\r\nVisit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,\r\nAnd may this storm be but a mountain-birth,\r\nMay all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,\r\nSilent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!\r\nWith light heart may she rise,\r\nGay fancy, cheerful eyes,\r\nJoy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;\r\nTo her may all things live, from pole to pole,\r\nTheir life the eddying of her living soul!\r\nO simple spirit, guided from above,\r\nDear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,\r\nThus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.\r\n\r\n\u2014April 4, 1802\r\n

Christabel<\/h1>\r\nPart I.\r\n\r\n'Tis\u00a0the middle of night by the castle clock,\r\nAnd the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock;\r\nTu\u2014whit!\u2014\u2014\u2014Tu\u2014whoo!\r\nAnd hark, again! the crowing cock,\r\nHow drowsily it crew.\r\n\r\nSir Leoline, the Baron rich,\r\nHath a toothless mastiff bitch;\r\nFrom her kennel beneath the rock\r\nShe makes answer to the clock,\r\nFour for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;\r\nEver and aye, moonshine or shower,\r\nSixteen short howls, not over loud;\r\nSome say, she sees my lady's shroud.\r\n\r\nIs the night chilly and dark?\r\nThe night is chilly, but not dark.\r\nThe thin gray cloud is spread on high,\r\nIt covers but not hides the sky.\r\nThe moon is behind, and at the full;\r\nAnd yet she looks both small and dull.\r\nThe night is chill, the cloud is gray:\r\n'Tis a month before the month of May,\r\nAnd the Spring comes slowly up this way.\r\n\r\nThe lovely lady, Christabel,\r\nWhom her father loves so well,\r\nWhat makes her in the wood so late,\r\nA furlong from the castle gate?\r\nShe had dreams all yesternight\r\nOf her own betrothed knight;\r\nDreams, that made her moan and leap,\r\nAs on her bed she lay in sleep;\r\nAnd she in the midnight wood will pray\r\nFor the weal of her lover that's far away.\r\n\r\nShe stole along, she nothing spoke,\r\nThe breezes they were still also;\r\nAnd nought was green upon the oak,\r\nBut moss and rarest misletoe:\r\nShe kneels beneath the huge oak tree,\r\nAnd in silence prayeth she.\r\n\r\nThe lady leaps up suddenly,\r\nThe lovely lady, Christabel!\r\nIt moan'd as near, as near can be,\r\nBut what it is, she cannot tell.\u2014\r\nOn the other side it seems to be,\r\nOf the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.\r\n\r\nThe night is chill; the forest bare;\r\nIs it the wind that moaneth bleak?\r\nThere is not wind enough in the air\r\nTo move away the ringlet curl\r\nFrom the lovely lady's cheek\u2014\r\nThere is not wind enough to twirl\r\nThe one red leaf, the last of its clan,\r\nThat dances as often as dance it can,\r\nHanging so light, and hanging so high,\r\nOn the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.\r\n\r\nHush, beating heart of Christabel!\r\nJesu, Maria, shield her well!\r\nShe folded her arms beneath her cloak,\r\nAnd stole to the other side of the oak.\r\n\u2060What sees she there?\r\n\r\nThere she sees a damsel bright,\r\nDrest in a silken robe of white;\r\nHer neck, her feet, her arms were bare,\r\nAnd the jewels disorder'd in her hair.\r\nI guess, 'twas frightful there to see\r\nA lady so richly clad as she\u2014\r\nBeautiful exceedingly!\r\n\r\nMary mother, save me now!\r\n(Said Christabel,) And who art thou?\r\n\r\nThe lady strange made answer meet,\r\nAnd her voice was faint and sweet:\u2014\r\nHave pity on my sore distress,\r\nI scarce can speak for weariness.\r\nStretch forth thy hand, and have no fear,\r\nSaid Christabel, How cam'st thou here?\r\nAnd the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,\r\nDid thus pursue her answer meet:\u2014\r\n\r\nMy sire is of a noble line,\r\nAnd my name is Geraldine.\r\nFive warriors seiz'd me yestermorn,\r\nMe, even me, a maid forlorn:\r\nThey chok'd my cries with force and fright,\r\nAnd tied me on a palfrey white.\r\nThe palfrey was as fleet as wind,\r\nAnd they rode furiously behind.\r\nThey spurr'd amain, their steeds were white;\r\nAnd once we cross'd the shade of night.\r\nAs sure as Heaven shall rescue me,\r\nI have no thought what men they be;\r\nNor do I know how long it is\r\n(For I have lain in fits, I wis)\r\nSince one, the tallest of the five,\r\nTook me from the palfrey's back,\r\nA weary woman, scarce alive.\r\nSome mutter'd words his comrades spoke:\r\nHe plac'd me underneath this oak,\r\nHe swore they would return with haste;\r\nWhither they went I cannot tell\u2014\r\nI thought I heard, some minutes past,\r\nSounds as of a castle bell.\r\nStretch forth thy hand (thus ended she),\r\nAnd help a wretched maid to flee.\r\n\r\nThen Christabel stretch'd forth her hand\r\nAnd comforted fair Geraldine,\r\nSaying, that she should command\r\nThe service of Sir Leoline;\r\nAnd straight be convoy'd, free from thrall,\r\nBack to her noble father's hall.\r\nSo up she rose, and forth they pass'd,\r\nWith hurrying steps, yet nothing fast;\r\nHer lucky stars the lady blest,\r\nAnd Christabel she sweetly said\u2014\r\nAll our household are at rest,\r\nEach one sleeping in his bed;\r\nSir Leoline is weak in health,\r\nAnd may not well awaken'd be;\r\nSo to my room we'll creep in stealth,\r\nAnd you to-night must sleep with me.\r\n\r\nThey cross'd the moat, and Christabel\r\nTook the key that fitted well;\r\nA little door she open'd straight,\r\nAll in the middle of the gate;\r\nThe gate that was iron'd within and without,\r\nWhere an army in battle array had march'd out.\r\nThe lady sank, belike thro' pain,\r\nAnd Christabel with might and main\r\nLifted her up, a weary weight,\r\nOver the threshold of the gate:\r\nThen the lady rose again,\r\nAnd mov'd, as she were not in pain.\r\n\r\nSo free from danger, free from fear,\r\nThey cross'd the court: right glad they were.\r\nAnd Christabel devoutly cried,\r\nTo the lady by her side,\r\nPraise we the Virgin all divine\r\nWho hath rescued thee from thy distress!\r\nAlas, alas! said Geraldine,\r\nI cannot speak for weariness.\r\nSo free from danger, free from fear,\r\nThey cross'd the court: right glad they were\r\nOutside her kennel, the mastiff old\r\nLay fast asleep, in moonshine cold.\r\nThe mastiff old did not awake,\r\nYet she an angry moan did make!\r\nAnd what can ail the mastiff bitch?\r\nNever till now she utter'd yell\r\nBeneath the eye of Christabel.\r\nPerhaps it is the owlet's scritch:\r\nFor what can ail the mastiff bitch?\r\n\r\nThey pass'd the hall, that echoes still,\r\nPass as lightly as you will!\r\nThe brands were flat, the brands were dying,\r\nAmid their own white ashes lying;\r\nBut when the lady pass'd, there came\r\nA tongue of light, a fit of flame;\r\nAnd Christabel saw the lady's eye,\r\nAnd nothing else saw she thereby,\r\nSave the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall,\r\nWhich hung in a murky old nitch in the wall.\r\nO softly tread, said Christabel,\r\nMy father seldom sleepeth well.\r\n\r\nSweet Christabel her feet she bares,\r\nAnd they are creeping up the stairs;\r\nNow in glimmer, and now in gloom,\r\nAnd now they pass the Baron's room,\r\nAs still as death with stifled breath!\r\nAnd now have reach'd her chamber door;\r\nAnd now with eager feet press down\r\nThe rushes of her chamber floor.\r\n\r\nThe moon shines dim in the open air,\r\nAnd not a moonbeam enters here.\r\nBut they without its light see\r\nThe chamber carv'd so curiously,\r\nCarv'd with figures strange and sweet,\r\nAll made out of the carver's brain,\r\nFor a lady's chamber meet:\r\nThe lamp with twofold silver chain\r\nIs fasten'd to an angel's feet.\r\n\r\nThe silver lamp burns dead and dim;\r\nBut Christabel the lamp will trim.\r\nShe trimm'd the lamp, and made it bright,\r\nAnd left it swinging to and fro,\r\nWhile Geraldine, in wretched plight,\r\nSank down upon the floor below.\r\n\r\nO weary lady, Geraldine,\r\nI pray you, drink this cordial wine!\r\nIt is a wine of virtuous powers;\r\nMy mother made it of wild flowers.\r\n\r\nAnd will your mother pity me,\r\nWho am a maiden most forlorn?\r\nChristabel answer'd\u2014Woe is me!\r\nShe died the hour that I was born.\r\nI have heard the gray-hair'd friar tell,\r\nHow on her death-bed she did say,\r\nThat she should bear the castle bell\r\nStrike twelve upon my wedding day.\r\nO mother dear! that thou wert here!\r\nI would, said Geraldine, she were!\r\n\r\nBut soon with alter'd voice, said she\u2014\r\n\"Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine!\r\nI have power to bid thee flee.\"\r\nAlas! what ails poor Geraldine?\r\nWhy stares she with unsettled eye?\r\nCan she the bodiless dead espy?\r\nAnd why with hollow voice cries she,\r\n\"Off, woman, off! this hour is mine\u2014\r\nThough thou her guardian spirit be,\r\nOf, woman, off! 'tis given to me.\"\r\nThen Christabel knelt by the lady's side,\r\nAnd rais'd to heaven her eyes so blue\u2014\r\nAlas! said she, this ghastly ride\u2014\r\nDear lady! it hath wilder'd you!\r\nThe lady wip'd her moist cold brow,\r\nAnd faintly said,\u00a0\"'Tis over now!\"\r\n\r\nAgain the wild-flower wide she drank:\r\nHer fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright,\r\nAnd from the floor whereon she sank,\r\nThe lofty lady stood upright:\r\nShe was most beautiful to see,\r\nLike a lady of a far countr\u00e9e.\r\n\r\nAnd thus the lofty lady spake\u2014\r\nAll they, who live in the upper sky,\r\nDo love you, holy Christabel!\r\nAnd you love them, and for their sake\r\nAnd for the good which me befel,\r\nEven I in my degree will try,\r\nFair maiden, to requite you well.\r\nBut now unrobe yourself; for I\r\nMust pray, ere yet in bed I lie.\r\n\r\nQuoth Christabel, so let it be!\r\nAnd as the lady bade, did she.\r\nHer gentle limbs did she undress,\r\nAnd lay down in her loveliness.\r\n\r\nBut thro' her brain of weal and woe\r\nSo many thoughts mov'd to and fro,\r\nThat vain it were her lids to close;\r\nSo half-way from the bed she rose,\r\nAnd on her elbow did recline\r\nTo look at the lady Geraldine.\r\n\r\nBeneath the lamp the lady bow'd,\r\nAnd slowly roll'd her eyes around;\r\nThen drawing in her breath aloud,\r\nLike one that shudder'd, she unbound\r\nThe cincture from beneath her breast:\r\nHer silken robe, and inner vest,\r\nDropt to her feet, and full in view,\r\nBehold! her bosom and half her side\u2014\u2014\r\nA sight to dream of, not to tell!\r\nAnd she is to sleep by Christabel.\r\n\r\nShe took two paces, and a stride,\r\nAnd lay down by the maiden's side:\r\nAnd in her arms the maid she took,\r\n\u2060Ah wel-a-day!\r\nAnd with low voice and doleful look\r\nThese words did say:\r\nIn the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,\r\nWhich is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!\r\nThou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow\r\nThis mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;\r\n\u2060But vainly thou warrest,\r\n\u2060For this is alone in\r\n\u2060Thy power to declare,\r\n\u2060That in the dim forest\r\n\u2060Thou heard'st a low moaning,\r\nAnd found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair:\r\nAnd didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,\r\nTo shield her and shelter her from the damp air.\r\n\r\nTHE CONCLUSION TO PART THE FIRST.\r\n\r\nIt was a lovely sight to see\r\nThe lady Christabel, when she\r\nWas praying at the old oak tree.\r\n\u2060Amid the jagged shadows\r\n\u2060Of mossy leafless boughs,\r\n\u2060Kneeling in the moonlight,\r\n\u2060To make her gentle vows;\r\nHer slender palms together prest,\r\nHeaving sometimes on her breast;\r\nHer face resign'd to bliss or bale\u2014\r\nHer face, oh call it fair not pale,\r\nAnd both blue eyes more bright than clear,\r\nEach about to have a tear.\r\n\r\nWith open eyes (ah woe is me!)\r\nAsleep, and dreaming fearfully,\r\nFearfully dreaming, yet I wis,\r\nDreaming that alone, which is\u2014\u2014\r\nO sorrow and shame! Can this be she,\r\nThe lady, who knelt at the old oak tree\r\nAnd lo! the worker of these harms,\r\nThat holds the maiden in her arms,\r\nSeems to slumber still and mild,\r\nAs a mother with her child.\r\n\r\nA star hath set, a star hath risen,\r\nO Geraldine! since arms of thine\r\nHave been the lovely lady's prison.\r\nO Geraldine! one hour was thine\u2014\r\nThou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill,\r\nThe night-birds all that hour were still.\r\nBut now they are jubilant anew,\r\nFrom cliff and tower, tu\u2014-whoo! tu\u2014whoo!\r\nTu\u2014whoo! tu\u2014whoo! from wood and fell!\r\n\r\nAnd see! the lady Christabel\r\nGathers herself from out her trance;\r\nHer limbs relax, her countenance\r\nGrows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids\r\nClose o'er her eyes; and tears she sheds\u2014\r\nLarge tears that leave the lashes bright!\r\nAnd oft the while she seems to smile\r\nAs infants at a sudden light!\r\n\r\nYea, she doth smile, and she doth weep,\r\nLike a youthful hermitess,\r\nBeauteous in a wilderness,\r\nWho, praying always, prays in sleep.\r\nAnd, if she move unquietly,\r\nPerchance, 'tis but the blood so free,\r\nComes back and tingles in her feet.\r\nNo doubt, she hath a vision sweet.\r\nWhat if her guardian spirit 'twere\r\nWhat if she knew her mother near?\r\nBut this she knows, in joys and woes,\r\nThat saints will aid if men will call:\r\nFor the blue sky bends over all!\r\n\r\nPART II.\r\n\r\nEach matin bell, the Baron saith,\r\nKnells us back to a world of death.\r\nThese words Sir Leoline first said,\r\nWhen he rose and found his lady dead:\r\nThese words Sir Leoline will say\r\nMany a morn to his dying day.\r\nAnd hence the custom and law began,\r\nThat still at dawn the sacristan,\r\nWho duly pulls the heavy bell,\r\nFive and forty beads must tell\r\nBetween each stroke\u2014a warning knell,\r\nWhich not a soul can choose but hear\r\nFrom Bratha Head to Wyn'dermere.\r\n\r\nSaith Bracy the bard, So let it knell!\r\nAnd let the drowsy sacristan\r\nStill count as slowly as he can!\r\nThere is no lack of such, I ween\r\nAs well fill up the space between.\r\nIn Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair,\r\nAnd Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent,\r\nWith ropes of rock and bells of air\r\nThree sinful sextons' ghosts are pent,\r\nWho all give back, one after t'other,\r\nThe death-note to their living brother;\r\nAnd oft too, by the knell offended,\r\nJust as their one! two! three! is ended,\r\nThe devil mocks the doleful tale\r\nWith a merry peal from Borrowdale.\r\n\r\nThe air is still! thro' mist and cloud\r\nThat merry peal comes ringing loud;\r\nAnd Geraldine shakes off her dread,\r\nAnd rises lightly from the bed;\r\nPuts on her silken vestments white,\r\nAnd tricks her hair in lovely plight,\r\nAnd nothing doubting of her spell\r\nAwakens the lady Christabel.\r\n\"Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel?\r\nI trust that you have rested well.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Christabel awoke and spied\r\nThe same who lay down by her side\u2014\r\nO rather say, the same whom she\r\nRais'd up beneath the old oak tree!\r\nNay, fairer yet! and yet more fair!\r\nFor she belike hath drunken deep\r\nOf all the blessedness of sleep!\r\nAnd while she spake, her looks, her air\r\nSuch gentle thankfulness declare,\r\nThat (so it seem'd) her girded vests\r\nGrew tight beneath her heaving breasts.\r\n\"Sure I have sinn'd!\" said Christabel,\r\n\"Now heaven be prais'd if all be well!\"\r\nAnd in low faltering tones, yet sweet,\r\nDid she the lofty lady greet\r\nWith such perplexity of mind\r\nAs dreams too lively leave behind.\r\n\r\nSo quickly she rose, and quickly array'd\r\nHer maiden limbs, and having pray'd\r\nThat He, who on the cross did groan,\r\nMight wash away her sins unknown,\r\nShe forthwith led fair Geraldine\r\nTo meet her sire, Sir Leoline.\r\n\r\nThe lovely maid and the lady tall\r\nAre pacing both into the hall,\r\nAnd pacing on thro' page and groom\r\nEnter the Baron's presence room.\r\n\r\nThe Baron rose, and while he prest\r\nHis gentle daughter to his breast,\r\nWith cheerful wonder in his eyes\r\nThe lady Geraldine espies,\r\nAnd gave such welcome to the same,\r\nAs might beseem so bright a dame!\r\n\r\nBut when he heard the lady's tale,\r\nAnd when she told her father's name,\r\nWhy wax'd Sir Leoline so pale,\r\nMurmuring o'er the name again,\r\nLord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine?\r\n\r\nAlas! they had been friends in youth;\r\nBut whispering tongues can poison truth;\r\nAnd constancy lives in realms above;\r\nAnd life is thorny; and youth is vain;\r\nAnd to be wroth with one we love,\r\nDoth work like madness in the brain.\r\nAnd thus it chanc'd, as I divine,\r\nWith Roland and Sir Leoline.\r\nEach spake words of high disdain\r\nAnd insult to his heart's best brother:\r\nThey parted\u2014ne'er to meet again!\r\nBut never either found another\r\nTo free the hollow heart from paining\u2014\r\nThey stood aloof, the scars remaining,\r\nLike cliffs which had been rent asunder;\r\nA dreary sea now flows between,\r\nBut neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,\r\nShall wholly do away, I ween,\r\nThe marks of that which once hath been.\r\n\r\nSir Leoline, a moment's space,\r\nStood gazing on the damsel's face;\r\nAnd the youthful Lord of Tryermaine\r\nCame back upon his heart again.\r\n\r\nO then the Baron forgot his age,\r\nHis noble heart swell'd high with rage;\r\nHe swore by the wounds in Jesu's side,\r\nHe would proclaim it far and wide\r\nWith trump and solemn heraldry,\r\nThat they, who thus had wrong'd the dame,\r\nWere base as spotted infamy!\r\n\"And if they dare deny the same,\r\nMy herald shall appoint a week,\r\nAnd let the recreant traitors seek\r\nMy tournay court\u2014that there and then\r\nI may dislodge their reptile souls\r\nFrom the bodies and forms of men!\"\r\nHe spake: his eye in lightning rolls!\r\nFor the lady was ruthlessly seiz'd; and he kenn'd\r\nIn the beautiful lady the child of his friend!\r\n\r\nAnd now the tears were on his face,\r\nAnd fondly in his arms he took\r\nFair Geraldine, who met th' embrace,\r\nProlonging it with joyous look.\r\nWhich when she view'd, a vision fell\r\nUpon the soul of Christabel,\r\nThe vision of fear, the touch and pain!\r\nShe shrunk and shudder'd, and saw again\r\n(Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee,\r\nThou gentle maid! such sights to see?)\r\nAgain she saw that bosom old,\r\nAgain she felt that bosom cold,\r\nAnd drew in her breath with a hissing sound:\r\nWhereat the Knight turn'd wildly round,\r\nAnd nothing saw, but his own sweet maid\r\nWith eyes uprais'd, as one that pray'd.\r\n\r\nThe touch, the sight, had pass'd away,\r\nAnd in its stead that vision blest,\r\nWhich comforted her after-rest,\r\nWhile in the lady's arms she lay,\r\nHad put a rapture in her breast,\r\nAnd on her lips and o'er her eyes\r\nSpread smiles like light!\r\n\u2060With new surprise,\r\n\"What ails then my beloved child?\"\r\nThe Baron said\u2014His daughter mild\r\nMade answer, \"All will yet be well!\"\r\nI ween, she had no power to tell\r\nAught else: so mighty was the spell.\r\nYet he, who saw this Geraldine,\r\nHad deem'd her sure a thing divine,\r\nSuch sorrow with such grace she blended,\r\nAs if she fear'd, she had offended\r\nSweet Christabel, that gentle maid!\r\nAnd with such lowly tones she pray'd,\r\nShe might be sent without delay\r\nHome to her father's mansion.\r\n\u2060\"Nay!\r\nNay, by my soul!\" said Leoline.\r\n\"Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine!\r\nGo thou, with music sweet and loud,\r\nAnd take two steeds with trappings proud,\r\nAnd take the youth whom thou lov'st best\r\nTo bear thy harp, and learn thy song,\r\nAnd clothe you both in solemn vest,\r\nAnd over the mountains haste along,\r\nLest wand'ring folk, that are abroad,\r\nDetain you on the valley road.\"\r\n\r\n\"And when he has cross'd the Irthing flood,\r\nMy merry bard! he hastes, he hastes\r\nUp Knorren Moor, thro' Halegarth Wood,\r\nAnd reaches soon that castle good\r\nWhich stands and threatens Scotland's wastes.\"\r\n\r\n\"Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet,\r\nYe must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,\r\nMore loud than your horses' echoing feet!\r\nAnd loud and loud to Lord Roland call,\r\nThy daughter is safe in Langdale hall!\r\nThy beautiful daughter is safe and free\u2014\r\nSir Leoline greets thee thus thro' me.\r\nHe bids thee come without delay\r\nWith all thy numerous array;\r\nAnd take thy lovely daughter home,\r\nAnd he will meet thee on the way\r\nWith all his numerous array\r\nWhite with their panting palfreys' foam,\r\nAnd, by mine honour! I will say,\r\nThat I repent me of the day\r\nWhen I spake words of fierce disdain\r\nTo Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!\u2014\r\n\u2014For since that evil hour hath flown,\r\nMany a summer's sun have shone;\r\nYet ne'er found I a friend again\r\nLike Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.\"\r\n\r\nThe lady fell, and clasped his knees,\r\nHer face uprais'd, her eyes o'erflowing;\r\nAnd Bracy replied, with faltering voice,\r\nHis gracious hail on all bestowing:\u2014\r\nThy words, thou sire of Christabel,\r\nAre sweeter than my harp can tell;\r\nYet might I gain a boon of thee,\r\nThis day my journey should not be,\r\nSo strange a dream hath come to me:\r\nThat I had vow'd with music loud\r\nTo clear yon wood from thing unblest,\r\nWarn'd by a vision in my rest!\r\nFor in my sleep I saw that dove,\r\nThat gentle bird, whom thou dost love,\r\nAnd call'st by thy own daughter's name\u2014\r\nSir Leoline! I saw the same,\r\nFluttering, and uttering fearful moan,\r\nAmong the green herbs in the forest alone.\r\nWhich when I saw and when I heard,\r\nI wonder'd what might ail the bird:\r\nFor nothing near it could I see,\r\nSave the grass and green herbs underneath the\r\n\u2060old tree.\r\n\r\nAnd in my dream, methought, I went\r\nTo search out what might there be found;\r\nAnd what the sweet bird's trouble meant,\r\nThat thus lay fluttering on the ground.\r\nI went and peer'd, and could descry\r\nNo cause for her distressful cry;\r\nBut yet for her dear lady's sake\r\nI stoop'd, methought the dove to take,\r\nWhen lo! I saw a bright green snake\r\nCoil'd around its wings and neck.\r\nGreen as the herbs on which it couch'd,\r\nClose by the dove's its head it crouch'd;\r\nAnd with the dove it heaves and stirs,\r\nSwelling its neck as she swell'd hers!\r\nI woke; it was the midnight hour,\r\nThe clock was echoing in the tower;\r\nBut tho' my slumber was gone by,\r\nThis dream it would not pass away\u2014\r\nIt seems to live upon my eye!\r\nAnd thence I vow'd this self-same day,\r\nWith music strong and saintly song\r\nTo wander thro' the forest bare,\r\nLest aught unholy loiter there.\r\n\r\nThus Bracy said: the Baron, the while,\r\nHalf-listening heard him with a smile;\r\nThen turn'd to Lady Geraldine,\r\nHis eyes made up of wonder and love;\r\nAnd said in courtly accents fine,\r\nSweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove,\r\nWith arms more strong than harp or song,\r\nThy sire and I will crush the snake!\r\nHe kiss'd her forehead as he spake,\r\nAnd Geraldine in maiden wise,\r\nCasting down her large bright eyes,\r\nWith blushing cheek and courtesy fine\r\nShe turn'd her from Sir Leoline;\r\nSoftly gathering up her train,\r\nThat o'er her right arm fell again;\r\nAnd folded her arms across her chest,\r\nAnd couch'd her head upon her breast,\r\nAnd look'd askance at Christabel\u2014\u2014\r\nJesu, Maria, shield her well!\r\n\r\nA snake's small eye blinks dull and shy,\r\nAnd the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head,\r\nEach shrunk up to a serpent's eye,\r\nAnd with somewhat of malice, and more of dread\r\nAt Christabel she look'd askance!\u00a0\u2014\u2014\r\nOne moment\u2014and the sight was fled!\r\nBut Christabel in dizzy trance,\r\nStumbling on the unsteady ground\u2014\r\nShudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound;\r\nAnd Geraldine again turn'd round,\r\nAnd like a thing, that sought relief,\r\nFull of wonder and full of grief,\r\nShe roll'd her large bright eyes divine\r\nWildly on Sir Leoline.\r\n\r\nThe maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,\r\nShe nothing sees\u2014no sight but one!\r\nThe maid, devoid of guile and sin,\r\nI know not how, in fearful wise\r\nSo deeply had she drunken in\r\nThat look, those shrunken serpent eyes,\r\nThat all her features were resign'd\r\nTo this sole image in her mind:\r\nAnd passively did imitate\r\nThat look of dull and treacherous hate.\r\nAnd thus she stood, in dizzy trance,\r\nStill picturing that look askance,\r\nWith forc'd unconscious sympathy\r\nFull before her father's view\u2014\u2014\r\nAs far as such a look could be,\r\nIn eyes so innocent and blue!\r\n\r\nBut when the trance was o'er, the maid\r\nPaus'd awhile, and inly pray'd,\r\nThen falling at her father's feet,\r\n\"By my mother's soul do I entreat\r\nThat thou this woman send away!\"\r\nShe said; and more she could not say,\r\nFor what she knew she could not tell,\r\nO'er-master'd by the mighty spell.\r\n\r\nWhy is thy cheek so wan and wild,\r\nSir Leoline! Thy only child\r\nLies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,\r\nSo fair, so innocent, so mild;\r\nThe same, for whom thy lady died!\r\nO by the pangs of her dear mother\r\nThink thou no evil of thy child!\r\nFor her, and thee, and for no other,\r\nShe pray'd the moment, ere she died;\r\nPray'd that the babe for whom she died,\r\nMight prove her dear lord's joy and pride!\r\n\u2060That prayer her deadly pangs beguil'd,\r\n\u2060Sir Leoline!\r\n\u2060And would'st thou wrong thy only child,\r\n\u2060Her child and thine?\r\nWithin the Baron's heart and brain\r\nIf thoughts, like these, had any share,\r\nThey only swell'd his rage and pain,\r\nAnd did but work confusion there.\r\nHis heart was cleft with pain and rage,\r\nHis cheeks they quiver'd, his eyes were wild,\r\nDishonour'd thus in his old age;\r\nDishonour'd by his only child,\r\nAnd all his hospitality\r\nTo th' insulted daughter of his friend\r\nBy more than woman's jealousy,\r\nBrought thus to a disgraceful end\u2014\r\nHe roll'd his eye with stern regard\r\nUpon the gentle minstrel bard,\r\nAnd said in tones abrupt, austere\u2014\r\nWhy, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?\r\nI bade thee hence! The bard obey'd;\r\nAnd turning from his own sweet maid,\r\nThe aged knight, Sir Leoline,\r\nLed forth the lady Geraldine!\r\n\r\nTHE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND.\r\n\r\nA little child, a limber elf,\r\nSinging, dancing to itself,\r\nA fairy thing with red round cheeks\r\nThat always finds, and never seeks,\r\nMakes such a vision to the sight\r\nAs fills a father's eyes with light\u00a0;\r\nAnd pleasures flow in so thick and fast\r\nUpon his heart, that he at last\r\nMust needs express his love's excess\r\nWith words of unmeant bitterness.\r\nPerhaps 'tis pretty to force together\r\nThoughts so all unlike each other;\r\nTo mutter and mock a broken charm,\r\nTo dally with wrong that does no harm.\r\nPerhaps 'tis tender too and pretty\r\nAt each wild word to feel within,\r\nA sweet recoil of love and pity.\r\nAnd what, if in a world of sin\r\n(O sorrow and shame should this be true!)\r\nSuch giddiness of heart and brain\r\nComes seldom save from rage and pain,\r\nSo talks as it's most used to do.\r\n\r\n
\r\n\r\n

Sources<\/h2>\r\n\u201cFrost at Midnight\u201d by S. T. Coleridge is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\u201cDejection: an Ode\u201d by S. T. Coleridge is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n\"Christabel\" by S. T. Coleridge is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.\r\n\r\n ","rendered":"

Frost at Midnight<\/h1>\n

The frost performs its secret ministry,
\nUnhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cry
\nCame loud\u2014and hark, again! loud as before.
\nThe inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
\nHave left me to that solitude, which suits
\nAbstruser musings: save that at my side
\nMy cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
\n‘Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
\nAnd vexes meditation with its strange
\nAnd extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
\nThis populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
\nWith all the numberless goings-on of life,
\nInaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
\nLies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
\nOnly that film, which fluttered on the grate,
\nStill flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
\nMethinks, its motion in this hush of nature
\nGives it dim sympathies with me who live,
\nMaking it a companionable form,
\nWhose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
\nBy its own moods interprets, everywhere
\nEcho or mirror seeking of itself,
\nAnd makes a toy of Thought.<\/p>\n

But O! how oft,
\nHow oft, at school, with most believing mind,
\nPresageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
\nTo watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
\nWith unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
\nOf my sweet birthplace, and the old church-tower,
\nWhose bells, the poor man’s only music, rang
\nFrom morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
\nSo sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
\nWith a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
\nMost like articulate sounds of things to come!
\nSo gazed I, till the soothing things I dreamt
\nLulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
\nAnd so I brooded all the following morn,
\nAwed by the stern preceptor’s face, mine eye
\nFixed with mock study on my swimming book:
\nSave if the door half opened, and I snatched
\nA hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
\nFor still I hoped to see the stranger’s face,
\nTownsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
\nMy playmate when we both were clothed alike!<\/p>\n

Dear babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
\nWhose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
\nFill up the interspersed vacancies
\nAnd momentary pauses of the thought!
\nMy babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
\nWith tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
\nAnd think that thou shalt learn far other lore
\nAnd in far other scenes! For I was reared
\nIn the great city, pent ‘mid cloisters dim,
\nAnd saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
\nBut thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
\nBy lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
\nOf ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
\nWhich image in their bulk both lakes and shores
\nAnd mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
\nThe lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
\nOf that eternal language, which thy God
\nUtters, who fro eternity doth teach
\nHimself in all, and all things in himself.
\nGreat universal Teacher! he shall mould
\nThey spirit, and by giving make it ask.<\/p>\n

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
\nWhether the summer clothe the general earth
\nWith greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
\nBetwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
\nOf mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
\nSmokes in the sunthaw; whether the eve-drops fall
\nHeard only in the trances of the blast,
\nOr if the secret ministry of frost
\nShall hang them up in silent icicles,
\nQuietly shining to the quiet Moon.<\/p>\n

Dejection: an Ode<\/h1>\n

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,<\/em>
\nWith the old Moon in her arms;<\/em>
\nAnd I fear, I fear, my Master dear!<\/em>
\nWe shall have a deadly storm.<\/em>
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence<\/em>
\nI<\/p>\n

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
\nThe grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
\nThis night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
\nUnroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
\nThan those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
\nOr the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
\nUpon the strings of this Aeolian lute,
\nWhich better far were mute.
\nFor lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
\nAnd overspread with phantom light,
\n(With swimming phantom light o\u2019erspread
\nBut rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
\nI see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
\nThe coming-on of rain and squally blast.
\nAnd oh! that even now the gust were swelling,
\nAnd the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
\nThose sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
\nAnd sent my soul abroad,
\nMight now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
\nMight startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!<\/p>\n

II<\/p>\n

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
\nA stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
\nWhich finds no natural outlet, no relief,
\nIn word, or sigh, or tear\u2014
\nO Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
\nTo other thoughts by yonder throstle woo\u2019d,
\nAll this long eve, so balmy and serene,
\nHave I been gazing on the western sky,
\nAnd its peculiar tint of yellow green:
\nAnd still I gaze\u2014and with how blank an eye!
\nAnd those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
\nThat give away their motion to the stars;
\nThose stars, that glide behind them or between,
\nNow sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
\nYon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
\nIn its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
\nI see them all so excellently fair,
\nI see, not feel, how beautiful they are!<\/p>\n

III<\/p>\n

My genial spirits fail;
\nAnd what can these avail
\nTo lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
\nIt were a vain endeavour,
\nThough I should gaze for ever
\nOn that green light that lingers in the west:
\nI may not hope from outward forms to win
\nThe passion and the life, whose fountains are within.<\/p>\n

IV<\/p>\n

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
\nAnd in our life alone does Nature live:
\nOurs is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!
\nAnd would we aught behold, of higher worth,
\nThan that inanimate cold world allowed
\nTo the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
\nAh! from the soul itself must issue forth
\nA light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
\nEnveloping the Earth\u2014
\nAnd from the soul itself must there be sent
\nA sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
\nOf all sweet sounds the life and element!<\/p>\n

V<\/p>\n

O pure of heart! thou need\u2019st not ask of me
\nWhat this strong music in the soul may be!
\nWhat, and wherein it doth exist,
\nThis light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
\nThis beautiful and beauty-making power.
\nJoy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne\u2019er was given,
\nSave to the pure, and in their purest hour,
\nLife, and Life\u2019s effluence, cloud at once and shower,
\nJoy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
\nWhich wedding Nature to us gives in dower
\nA new Earth and new Heaven,
\nUndreamt of by the sensual and the proud\u2014
\nJoy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud\u2014
\nWe in ourselves rejoice!
\nAnd thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
\nAll melodies the echoes of that voice,
\nAll colors a suffusion from that light.<\/p>\n

VI<\/p>\n

There was a time when, though my path was rough,
\nThis joy within me dallied with distress,
\nAnd all misfortunes were but as the stuff
\nWhence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
\nFor hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
\nAnd fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
\nBut now afflictions bow me down to earth:
\nNor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
\nBut oh! each visitation
\nSuspends what nature gave me at my birth,
\nMy shaping spirit of Imagination.
\nFor not to think of what I needs must feel,
\nBut to be still and patient, all I can;
\nAnd haply by abstruse research to steal
\nFrom my own nature all the natural man\u2014
\nThis was my sole resource, my only plan:
\nTill that which suits a part infects the whole,
\nAnd now is almost grown the habit of my soul.<\/p>\n

VII<\/p>\n

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
\nReality\u2019s dark dream!
\nI turn from you, and listen to the wind,
\nWhich long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
\nOf agony by torture lengthened out
\nThat lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav\u2019st without,
\nBare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,
\nOr pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
\nOr lonely house, long held the witches\u2019 home,
\nMethinks were fitter instruments for thee,
\nMad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
\nOf dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
\nMak\u2019st Devils\u2019 yule, with worse than wintry song,
\nThe blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
\nThou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
\nThou mighty Poet, e\u2019en to frenzy bold!
\nWhat tell\u2019st thou now about?
\n\u2018Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
\nWith groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds\u2014
\nAt once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
\nBut hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
\nAnd all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
\nWith groans, and tremulous shudderings\u2014all is over\u2014
\nIt tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
\nA tale of less affright,
\nAnd tempered with delight,
\nAs Otway\u2019s self had framed the tender lay\u2014
\n\u2018Tis of a little child
\nUpon a lonesome wild,
\nNor far from home, but she hath lost her way:
\nAnd now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
\nAnd now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.<\/p>\n

VIII<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
\nFull seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
\nVisit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
\nAnd may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
\nMay all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
\nSilent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
\nWith light heart may she rise,
\nGay fancy, cheerful eyes,
\nJoy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
\nTo her may all things live, from pole to pole,
\nTheir life the eddying of her living soul!
\nO simple spirit, guided from above,
\nDear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
\nThus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.<\/p>\n

\u2014April 4, 1802<\/p>\n

Christabel<\/h1>\n

Part I.<\/p>\n

‘Tis\u00a0the middle of night by the castle clock,
\nAnd the owls have awaken’d the crowing cock;
\nTu\u2014whit!\u2014\u2014\u2014Tu\u2014whoo!
\nAnd hark, again! the crowing cock,
\nHow drowsily it crew.<\/p>\n

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
\nHath a toothless mastiff bitch;
\nFrom her kennel beneath the rock
\nShe makes answer to the clock,
\nFour for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;
\nEver and aye, moonshine or shower,
\nSixteen short howls, not over loud;
\nSome say, she sees my lady’s shroud.<\/p>\n

Is the night chilly and dark?
\nThe night is chilly, but not dark.
\nThe thin gray cloud is spread on high,
\nIt covers but not hides the sky.
\nThe moon is behind, and at the full;
\nAnd yet she looks both small and dull.
\nThe night is chill, the cloud is gray:
\n‘Tis a month before the month of May,
\nAnd the Spring comes slowly up this way.<\/p>\n

The lovely lady, Christabel,
\nWhom her father loves so well,
\nWhat makes her in the wood so late,
\nA furlong from the castle gate?
\nShe had dreams all yesternight
\nOf her own betrothed knight;
\nDreams, that made her moan and leap,
\nAs on her bed she lay in sleep;
\nAnd she in the midnight wood will pray
\nFor the weal of her lover that’s far away.<\/p>\n

She stole along, she nothing spoke,
\nThe breezes they were still also;
\nAnd nought was green upon the oak,
\nBut moss and rarest misletoe:
\nShe kneels beneath the huge oak tree,
\nAnd in silence prayeth she.<\/p>\n

The lady leaps up suddenly,
\nThe lovely lady, Christabel!
\nIt moan’d as near, as near can be,
\nBut what it is, she cannot tell.\u2014
\nOn the other side it seems to be,
\nOf the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.<\/p>\n

The night is chill; the forest bare;
\nIs it the wind that moaneth bleak?
\nThere is not wind enough in the air
\nTo move away the ringlet curl
\nFrom the lovely lady’s cheek\u2014
\nThere is not wind enough to twirl
\nThe one red leaf, the last of its clan,
\nThat dances as often as dance it can,
\nHanging so light, and hanging so high,
\nOn the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.<\/p>\n

Hush, beating heart of Christabel!
\nJesu, Maria, shield her well!
\nShe folded her arms beneath her cloak,
\nAnd stole to the other side of the oak.
\n\u2060What sees she there?<\/p>\n

There she sees a damsel bright,
\nDrest in a silken robe of white;
\nHer neck, her feet, her arms were bare,
\nAnd the jewels disorder’d in her hair.
\nI guess, ’twas frightful there to see
\nA lady so richly clad as she\u2014
\nBeautiful exceedingly!<\/p>\n

Mary mother, save me now!
\n(Said Christabel,) And who art thou?<\/p>\n

The lady strange made answer meet,
\nAnd her voice was faint and sweet:\u2014
\nHave pity on my sore distress,
\nI scarce can speak for weariness.
\nStretch forth thy hand, and have no fear,
\nSaid Christabel, How cam’st thou here?
\nAnd the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,
\nDid thus pursue her answer meet:\u2014<\/p>\n

My sire is of a noble line,
\nAnd my name is Geraldine.
\nFive warriors seiz’d me yestermorn,
\nMe, even me, a maid forlorn:
\nThey chok’d my cries with force and fright,
\nAnd tied me on a palfrey white.
\nThe palfrey was as fleet as wind,
\nAnd they rode furiously behind.
\nThey spurr’d amain, their steeds were white;
\nAnd once we cross’d the shade of night.
\nAs sure as Heaven shall rescue me,
\nI have no thought what men they be;
\nNor do I know how long it is
\n(For I have lain in fits, I wis)
\nSince one, the tallest of the five,
\nTook me from the palfrey’s back,
\nA weary woman, scarce alive.
\nSome mutter’d words his comrades spoke:
\nHe plac’d me underneath this oak,
\nHe swore they would return with haste;
\nWhither they went I cannot tell\u2014
\nI thought I heard, some minutes past,
\nSounds as of a castle bell.
\nStretch forth thy hand (thus ended she),
\nAnd help a wretched maid to flee.<\/p>\n

Then Christabel stretch’d forth her hand
\nAnd comforted fair Geraldine,
\nSaying, that she should command
\nThe service of Sir Leoline;
\nAnd straight be convoy’d, free from thrall,
\nBack to her noble father’s hall.
\nSo up she rose, and forth they pass’d,
\nWith hurrying steps, yet nothing fast;
\nHer lucky stars the lady blest,
\nAnd Christabel she sweetly said\u2014
\nAll our household are at rest,
\nEach one sleeping in his bed;
\nSir Leoline is weak in health,
\nAnd may not well awaken’d be;
\nSo to my room we’ll creep in stealth,
\nAnd you to-night must sleep with me.<\/p>\n

They cross’d the moat, and Christabel
\nTook the key that fitted well;
\nA little door she open’d straight,
\nAll in the middle of the gate;
\nThe gate that was iron’d within and without,
\nWhere an army in battle array had march’d out.
\nThe lady sank, belike thro’ pain,
\nAnd Christabel with might and main
\nLifted her up, a weary weight,
\nOver the threshold of the gate:
\nThen the lady rose again,
\nAnd mov’d, as she were not in pain.<\/p>\n

So free from danger, free from fear,
\nThey cross’d the court: right glad they were.
\nAnd Christabel devoutly cried,
\nTo the lady by her side,
\nPraise we the Virgin all divine
\nWho hath rescued thee from thy distress!
\nAlas, alas! said Geraldine,
\nI cannot speak for weariness.
\nSo free from danger, free from fear,
\nThey cross’d the court: right glad they were
\nOutside her kennel, the mastiff old
\nLay fast asleep, in moonshine cold.
\nThe mastiff old did not awake,
\nYet she an angry moan did make!
\nAnd what can ail the mastiff bitch?
\nNever till now she utter’d yell
\nBeneath the eye of Christabel.
\nPerhaps it is the owlet’s scritch:
\nFor what can ail the mastiff bitch?<\/p>\n

They pass’d the hall, that echoes still,
\nPass as lightly as you will!
\nThe brands were flat, the brands were dying,
\nAmid their own white ashes lying;
\nBut when the lady pass’d, there came
\nA tongue of light, a fit of flame;
\nAnd Christabel saw the lady’s eye,
\nAnd nothing else saw she thereby,
\nSave the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall,
\nWhich hung in a murky old nitch in the wall.
\nO softly tread, said Christabel,
\nMy father seldom sleepeth well.<\/p>\n

Sweet Christabel her feet she bares,
\nAnd they are creeping up the stairs;
\nNow in glimmer, and now in gloom,
\nAnd now they pass the Baron’s room,
\nAs still as death with stifled breath!
\nAnd now have reach’d her chamber door;
\nAnd now with eager feet press down
\nThe rushes of her chamber floor.<\/p>\n

The moon shines dim in the open air,
\nAnd not a moonbeam enters here.
\nBut they without its light see
\nThe chamber carv’d so curiously,
\nCarv’d with figures strange and sweet,
\nAll made out of the carver’s brain,
\nFor a lady’s chamber meet:
\nThe lamp with twofold silver chain
\nIs fasten’d to an angel’s feet.<\/p>\n

The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
\nBut Christabel the lamp will trim.
\nShe trimm’d the lamp, and made it bright,
\nAnd left it swinging to and fro,
\nWhile Geraldine, in wretched plight,
\nSank down upon the floor below.<\/p>\n

O weary lady, Geraldine,
\nI pray you, drink this cordial wine!
\nIt is a wine of virtuous powers;
\nMy mother made it of wild flowers.<\/p>\n

And will your mother pity me,
\nWho am a maiden most forlorn?
\nChristabel answer’d\u2014Woe is me!
\nShe died the hour that I was born.
\nI have heard the gray-hair’d friar tell,
\nHow on her death-bed she did say,
\nThat she should bear the castle bell
\nStrike twelve upon my wedding day.
\nO mother dear! that thou wert here!
\nI would, said Geraldine, she were!<\/p>\n

But soon with alter’d voice, said she\u2014
\n“Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine!
\nI have power to bid thee flee.”
\nAlas! what ails poor Geraldine?
\nWhy stares she with unsettled eye?
\nCan she the bodiless dead espy?
\nAnd why with hollow voice cries she,
\n“Off, woman, off! this hour is mine\u2014
\nThough thou her guardian spirit be,
\nOf, woman, off! ’tis given to me.”
\nThen Christabel knelt by the lady’s side,
\nAnd rais’d to heaven her eyes so blue\u2014
\nAlas! said she, this ghastly ride\u2014
\nDear lady! it hath wilder’d you!
\nThe lady wip’d her moist cold brow,
\nAnd faintly said,\u00a0“‘Tis over now!”<\/p>\n

Again the wild-flower wide she drank:
\nHer fair large eyes ‘gan glitter bright,
\nAnd from the floor whereon she sank,
\nThe lofty lady stood upright:
\nShe was most beautiful to see,
\nLike a lady of a far countr\u00e9e.<\/p>\n

And thus the lofty lady spake\u2014
\nAll they, who live in the upper sky,
\nDo love you, holy Christabel!
\nAnd you love them, and for their sake
\nAnd for the good which me befel,
\nEven I in my degree will try,
\nFair maiden, to requite you well.
\nBut now unrobe yourself; for I
\nMust pray, ere yet in bed I lie.<\/p>\n

Quoth Christabel, so let it be!
\nAnd as the lady bade, did she.
\nHer gentle limbs did she undress,
\nAnd lay down in her loveliness.<\/p>\n

But thro’ her brain of weal and woe
\nSo many thoughts mov’d to and fro,
\nThat vain it were her lids to close;
\nSo half-way from the bed she rose,
\nAnd on her elbow did recline
\nTo look at the lady Geraldine.<\/p>\n

Beneath the lamp the lady bow’d,
\nAnd slowly roll’d her eyes around;
\nThen drawing in her breath aloud,
\nLike one that shudder’d, she unbound
\nThe cincture from beneath her breast:
\nHer silken robe, and inner vest,
\nDropt to her feet, and full in view,
\nBehold! her bosom and half her side\u2014\u2014
\nA sight to dream of, not to tell!
\nAnd she is to sleep by Christabel.<\/p>\n

She took two paces, and a stride,
\nAnd lay down by the maiden’s side:
\nAnd in her arms the maid she took,
\n\u2060Ah wel-a-day!
\nAnd with low voice and doleful look
\nThese words did say:
\nIn the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,
\nWhich is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
\nThou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow
\nThis mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;
\n\u2060But vainly thou warrest,
\n\u2060For this is alone in
\n\u2060Thy power to declare,
\n\u2060That in the dim forest
\n\u2060Thou heard’st a low moaning,
\nAnd found’st a bright lady, surpassingly fair:
\nAnd didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,
\nTo shield her and shelter her from the damp air.<\/p>\n

THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE FIRST.<\/p>\n

It was a lovely sight to see
\nThe lady Christabel, when she
\nWas praying at the old oak tree.
\n\u2060Amid the jagged shadows
\n\u2060Of mossy leafless boughs,
\n\u2060Kneeling in the moonlight,
\n\u2060To make her gentle vows;
\nHer slender palms together prest,
\nHeaving sometimes on her breast;
\nHer face resign’d to bliss or bale\u2014
\nHer face, oh call it fair not pale,
\nAnd both blue eyes more bright than clear,
\nEach about to have a tear.<\/p>\n

With open eyes (ah woe is me!)
\nAsleep, and dreaming fearfully,
\nFearfully dreaming, yet I wis,
\nDreaming that alone, which is\u2014\u2014
\nO sorrow and shame! Can this be she,
\nThe lady, who knelt at the old oak tree
\nAnd lo! the worker of these harms,
\nThat holds the maiden in her arms,
\nSeems to slumber still and mild,
\nAs a mother with her child.<\/p>\n

A star hath set, a star hath risen,
\nO Geraldine! since arms of thine
\nHave been the lovely lady’s prison.
\nO Geraldine! one hour was thine\u2014
\nThou’st had thy will! By tairn and rill,
\nThe night-birds all that hour were still.
\nBut now they are jubilant anew,
\nFrom cliff and tower, tu\u2014-whoo! tu\u2014whoo!
\nTu\u2014whoo! tu\u2014whoo! from wood and fell!<\/p>\n

And see! the lady Christabel
\nGathers herself from out her trance;
\nHer limbs relax, her countenance
\nGrows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids
\nClose o’er her eyes; and tears she sheds\u2014
\nLarge tears that leave the lashes bright!
\nAnd oft the while she seems to smile
\nAs infants at a sudden light!<\/p>\n

Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep,
\nLike a youthful hermitess,
\nBeauteous in a wilderness,
\nWho, praying always, prays in sleep.
\nAnd, if she move unquietly,
\nPerchance, ’tis but the blood so free,
\nComes back and tingles in her feet.
\nNo doubt, she hath a vision sweet.
\nWhat if her guardian spirit ’twere
\nWhat if she knew her mother near?
\nBut this she knows, in joys and woes,
\nThat saints will aid if men will call:
\nFor the blue sky bends over all!<\/p>\n

PART II.<\/p>\n

Each matin bell, the Baron saith,
\nKnells us back to a world of death.
\nThese words Sir Leoline first said,
\nWhen he rose and found his lady dead:
\nThese words Sir Leoline will say
\nMany a morn to his dying day.
\nAnd hence the custom and law began,
\nThat still at dawn the sacristan,
\nWho duly pulls the heavy bell,
\nFive and forty beads must tell
\nBetween each stroke\u2014a warning knell,
\nWhich not a soul can choose but hear
\nFrom Bratha Head to Wyn’dermere.<\/p>\n

Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell!
\nAnd let the drowsy sacristan
\nStill count as slowly as he can!
\nThere is no lack of such, I ween
\nAs well fill up the space between.
\nIn Langdale Pike and Witch’s Lair,
\nAnd Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent,
\nWith ropes of rock and bells of air
\nThree sinful sextons’ ghosts are pent,
\nWho all give back, one after t’other,
\nThe death-note to their living brother;
\nAnd oft too, by the knell offended,
\nJust as their one! two! three! is ended,
\nThe devil mocks the doleful tale
\nWith a merry peal from Borrowdale.<\/p>\n

The air is still! thro’ mist and cloud
\nThat merry peal comes ringing loud;
\nAnd Geraldine shakes off her dread,
\nAnd rises lightly from the bed;
\nPuts on her silken vestments white,
\nAnd tricks her hair in lovely plight,
\nAnd nothing doubting of her spell
\nAwakens the lady Christabel.
\n“Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel?
\nI trust that you have rested well.”<\/p>\n

And Christabel awoke and spied
\nThe same who lay down by her side\u2014
\nO rather say, the same whom she
\nRais’d up beneath the old oak tree!
\nNay, fairer yet! and yet more fair!
\nFor she belike hath drunken deep
\nOf all the blessedness of sleep!
\nAnd while she spake, her looks, her air
\nSuch gentle thankfulness declare,
\nThat (so it seem’d) her girded vests
\nGrew tight beneath her heaving breasts.
\n“Sure I have sinn’d!” said Christabel,
\n“Now heaven be prais’d if all be well!”
\nAnd in low faltering tones, yet sweet,
\nDid she the lofty lady greet
\nWith such perplexity of mind
\nAs dreams too lively leave behind.<\/p>\n

So quickly she rose, and quickly array’d
\nHer maiden limbs, and having pray’d
\nThat He, who on the cross did groan,
\nMight wash away her sins unknown,
\nShe forthwith led fair Geraldine
\nTo meet her sire, Sir Leoline.<\/p>\n

The lovely maid and the lady tall
\nAre pacing both into the hall,
\nAnd pacing on thro’ page and groom
\nEnter the Baron’s presence room.<\/p>\n

The Baron rose, and while he prest
\nHis gentle daughter to his breast,
\nWith cheerful wonder in his eyes
\nThe lady Geraldine espies,
\nAnd gave such welcome to the same,
\nAs might beseem so bright a dame!<\/p>\n

But when he heard the lady’s tale,
\nAnd when she told her father’s name,
\nWhy wax’d Sir Leoline so pale,
\nMurmuring o’er the name again,
\nLord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine?<\/p>\n

Alas! they had been friends in youth;
\nBut whispering tongues can poison truth;
\nAnd constancy lives in realms above;
\nAnd life is thorny; and youth is vain;
\nAnd to be wroth with one we love,
\nDoth work like madness in the brain.
\nAnd thus it chanc’d, as I divine,
\nWith Roland and Sir Leoline.
\nEach spake words of high disdain
\nAnd insult to his heart’s best brother:
\nThey parted\u2014ne’er to meet again!
\nBut never either found another
\nTo free the hollow heart from paining\u2014
\nThey stood aloof, the scars remaining,
\nLike cliffs which had been rent asunder;
\nA dreary sea now flows between,
\nBut neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
\nShall wholly do away, I ween,
\nThe marks of that which once hath been.<\/p>\n

Sir Leoline, a moment’s space,
\nStood gazing on the damsel’s face;
\nAnd the youthful Lord of Tryermaine
\nCame back upon his heart again.<\/p>\n

O then the Baron forgot his age,
\nHis noble heart swell’d high with rage;
\nHe swore by the wounds in Jesu’s side,
\nHe would proclaim it far and wide
\nWith trump and solemn heraldry,
\nThat they, who thus had wrong’d the dame,
\nWere base as spotted infamy!
\n“And if they dare deny the same,
\nMy herald shall appoint a week,
\nAnd let the recreant traitors seek
\nMy tournay court\u2014that there and then
\nI may dislodge their reptile souls
\nFrom the bodies and forms of men!”
\nHe spake: his eye in lightning rolls!
\nFor the lady was ruthlessly seiz’d; and he kenn’d
\nIn the beautiful lady the child of his friend!<\/p>\n

And now the tears were on his face,
\nAnd fondly in his arms he took
\nFair Geraldine, who met th’ embrace,
\nProlonging it with joyous look.
\nWhich when she view’d, a vision fell
\nUpon the soul of Christabel,
\nThe vision of fear, the touch and pain!
\nShe shrunk and shudder’d, and saw again
\n(Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee,
\nThou gentle maid! such sights to see?)
\nAgain she saw that bosom old,
\nAgain she felt that bosom cold,
\nAnd drew in her breath with a hissing sound:
\nWhereat the Knight turn’d wildly round,
\nAnd nothing saw, but his own sweet maid
\nWith eyes uprais’d, as one that pray’d.<\/p>\n

The touch, the sight, had pass’d away,
\nAnd in its stead that vision blest,
\nWhich comforted her after-rest,
\nWhile in the lady’s arms she lay,
\nHad put a rapture in her breast,
\nAnd on her lips and o’er her eyes
\nSpread smiles like light!
\n\u2060With new surprise,
\n“What ails then my beloved child?”
\nThe Baron said\u2014His daughter mild
\nMade answer, “All will yet be well!”
\nI ween, she had no power to tell
\nAught else: so mighty was the spell.
\nYet he, who saw this Geraldine,
\nHad deem’d her sure a thing divine,
\nSuch sorrow with such grace she blended,
\nAs if she fear’d, she had offended
\nSweet Christabel, that gentle maid!
\nAnd with such lowly tones she pray’d,
\nShe might be sent without delay
\nHome to her father’s mansion.
\n\u2060”Nay!
\nNay, by my soul!” said Leoline.
\n“Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine!
\nGo thou, with music sweet and loud,
\nAnd take two steeds with trappings proud,
\nAnd take the youth whom thou lov’st best
\nTo bear thy harp, and learn thy song,
\nAnd clothe you both in solemn vest,
\nAnd over the mountains haste along,
\nLest wand’ring folk, that are abroad,
\nDetain you on the valley road.”<\/p>\n

“And when he has cross’d the Irthing flood,
\nMy merry bard! he hastes, he hastes
\nUp Knorren Moor, thro’ Halegarth Wood,
\nAnd reaches soon that castle good
\nWhich stands and threatens Scotland’s wastes.”<\/p>\n

“Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet,
\nYe must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,
\nMore loud than your horses’ echoing feet!
\nAnd loud and loud to Lord Roland call,
\nThy daughter is safe in Langdale hall!
\nThy beautiful daughter is safe and free\u2014
\nSir Leoline greets thee thus thro’ me.
\nHe bids thee come without delay
\nWith all thy numerous array;
\nAnd take thy lovely daughter home,
\nAnd he will meet thee on the way
\nWith all his numerous array
\nWhite with their panting palfreys’ foam,
\nAnd, by mine honour! I will say,
\nThat I repent me of the day
\nWhen I spake words of fierce disdain
\nTo Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!\u2014
\n\u2014For since that evil hour hath flown,
\nMany a summer’s sun have shone;
\nYet ne’er found I a friend again
\nLike Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.”<\/p>\n

The lady fell, and clasped his knees,
\nHer face uprais’d, her eyes o’erflowing;
\nAnd Bracy replied, with faltering voice,
\nHis gracious hail on all bestowing:\u2014
\nThy words, thou sire of Christabel,
\nAre sweeter than my harp can tell;
\nYet might I gain a boon of thee,
\nThis day my journey should not be,
\nSo strange a dream hath come to me:
\nThat I had vow’d with music loud
\nTo clear yon wood from thing unblest,
\nWarn’d by a vision in my rest!
\nFor in my sleep I saw that dove,
\nThat gentle bird, whom thou dost love,
\nAnd call’st by thy own daughter’s name\u2014
\nSir Leoline! I saw the same,
\nFluttering, and uttering fearful moan,
\nAmong the green herbs in the forest alone.
\nWhich when I saw and when I heard,
\nI wonder’d what might ail the bird:
\nFor nothing near it could I see,
\nSave the grass and green herbs underneath the
\n\u2060old tree.<\/p>\n

And in my dream, methought, I went
\nTo search out what might there be found;
\nAnd what the sweet bird’s trouble meant,
\nThat thus lay fluttering on the ground.
\nI went and peer’d, and could descry
\nNo cause for her distressful cry;
\nBut yet for her dear lady’s sake
\nI stoop’d, methought the dove to take,
\nWhen lo! I saw a bright green snake
\nCoil’d around its wings and neck.
\nGreen as the herbs on which it couch’d,
\nClose by the dove’s its head it crouch’d;
\nAnd with the dove it heaves and stirs,
\nSwelling its neck as she swell’d hers!
\nI woke; it was the midnight hour,
\nThe clock was echoing in the tower;
\nBut tho’ my slumber was gone by,
\nThis dream it would not pass away\u2014
\nIt seems to live upon my eye!
\nAnd thence I vow’d this self-same day,
\nWith music strong and saintly song
\nTo wander thro’ the forest bare,
\nLest aught unholy loiter there.<\/p>\n

Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while,
\nHalf-listening heard him with a smile;
\nThen turn’d to Lady Geraldine,
\nHis eyes made up of wonder and love;
\nAnd said in courtly accents fine,
\nSweet maid, Lord Roland’s beauteous dove,
\nWith arms more strong than harp or song,
\nThy sire and I will crush the snake!
\nHe kiss’d her forehead as he spake,
\nAnd Geraldine in maiden wise,
\nCasting down her large bright eyes,
\nWith blushing cheek and courtesy fine
\nShe turn’d her from Sir Leoline;
\nSoftly gathering up her train,
\nThat o’er her right arm fell again;
\nAnd folded her arms across her chest,
\nAnd couch’d her head upon her breast,
\nAnd look’d askance at Christabel\u2014\u2014
\nJesu, Maria, shield her well!<\/p>\n

A snake’s small eye blinks dull and shy,
\nAnd the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her head,
\nEach shrunk up to a serpent’s eye,
\nAnd with somewhat of malice, and more of dread
\nAt Christabel she look’d askance!\u00a0\u2014\u2014
\nOne moment\u2014and the sight was fled!
\nBut Christabel in dizzy trance,
\nStumbling on the unsteady ground\u2014
\nShudder’d aloud, with a hissing sound;
\nAnd Geraldine again turn’d round,
\nAnd like a thing, that sought relief,
\nFull of wonder and full of grief,
\nShe roll’d her large bright eyes divine
\nWildly on Sir Leoline.<\/p>\n

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,
\nShe nothing sees\u2014no sight but one!
\nThe maid, devoid of guile and sin,
\nI know not how, in fearful wise
\nSo deeply had she drunken in
\nThat look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
\nThat all her features were resign’d
\nTo this sole image in her mind:
\nAnd passively did imitate
\nThat look of dull and treacherous hate.
\nAnd thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
\nStill picturing that look askance,
\nWith forc’d unconscious sympathy
\nFull before her father’s view\u2014\u2014
\nAs far as such a look could be,
\nIn eyes so innocent and blue!<\/p>\n

But when the trance was o’er, the maid
\nPaus’d awhile, and inly pray’d,
\nThen falling at her father’s feet,
\n“By my mother’s soul do I entreat
\nThat thou this woman send away!”
\nShe said; and more she could not say,
\nFor what she knew she could not tell,
\nO’er-master’d by the mighty spell.<\/p>\n

Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,
\nSir Leoline! Thy only child
\nLies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,
\nSo fair, so innocent, so mild;
\nThe same, for whom thy lady died!
\nO by the pangs of her dear mother
\nThink thou no evil of thy child!
\nFor her, and thee, and for no other,
\nShe pray’d the moment, ere she died;
\nPray’d that the babe for whom she died,
\nMight prove her dear lord’s joy and pride!
\n\u2060That prayer her deadly pangs beguil’d,
\n\u2060Sir Leoline!
\n\u2060And would’st thou wrong thy only child,
\n\u2060Her child and thine?
\nWithin the Baron’s heart and brain
\nIf thoughts, like these, had any share,
\nThey only swell’d his rage and pain,
\nAnd did but work confusion there.
\nHis heart was cleft with pain and rage,
\nHis cheeks they quiver’d, his eyes were wild,
\nDishonour’d thus in his old age;
\nDishonour’d by his only child,
\nAnd all his hospitality
\nTo th’ insulted daughter of his friend
\nBy more than woman’s jealousy,
\nBrought thus to a disgraceful end\u2014
\nHe roll’d his eye with stern regard
\nUpon the gentle minstrel bard,
\nAnd said in tones abrupt, austere\u2014
\nWhy, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?
\nI bade thee hence! The bard obey’d;
\nAnd turning from his own sweet maid,
\nThe aged knight, Sir Leoline,
\nLed forth the lady Geraldine!<\/p>\n

THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND.<\/p>\n

A little child, a limber elf,
\nSinging, dancing to itself,
\nA fairy thing with red round cheeks
\nThat always finds, and never seeks,
\nMakes such a vision to the sight
\nAs fills a father’s eyes with light\u00a0;
\nAnd pleasures flow in so thick and fast
\nUpon his heart, that he at last
\nMust needs express his love’s excess
\nWith words of unmeant bitterness.
\nPerhaps ’tis pretty to force together
\nThoughts so all unlike each other;
\nTo mutter and mock a broken charm,
\nTo dally with wrong that does no harm.
\nPerhaps ’tis tender too and pretty
\nAt each wild word to feel within,
\nA sweet recoil of love and pity.
\nAnd what, if in a world of sin
\n(O sorrow and shame should this be true!)
\nSuch giddiness of heart and brain
\nComes seldom save from rage and pain,
\nSo talks as it’s most used to do.<\/p>\n

\n

Sources<\/h2>\n

\u201cFrost at Midnight\u201d by S. T. Coleridge is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\u201cDejection: an Ode\u201d by S. T. Coleridge is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

“Christabel” by S. T. Coleridge is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Poetry Foundation<\/a>.<\/p>\n

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