Selected Poems -- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

by Selected Poems [Lit]

  I would, said Geraldine, she were !

  But soon with altered voice, said she--

  `Off, wandering mother ! Peak and pine !

  I have power to bid thee flee.'

  Alas ! what ails poor Geraldine ?

  Why stares she with unsettled eye ?

  Can she the bodiless dead espy ?

  And why with hollow voice cries she,

  `Off, woman, off ! this hour is mine--

  Though thou her guardian spirit be,

  Off, woman. off ! 'tis given to me.'

  Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side,

  And raised to heaven her eyes so blue--

  Alas ! said she, this ghastly ride--

  Dear lady ! it hath wildered you !

  The lady wiped her moist cold brow,

  And faintly said, `'Tis over now !'

  Again the wild-flower wine she drank :

  Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright,

  And from the floor whereon she sank,

  The lofty lady stood upright :

  She was most beautiful to see,

  Like a lady of a far countrée.

  And thus the lofty lady spake--

  `All they who live in the upper sky,

  Do love you, holy Christabel !

  And you love them, and for their sake

  And for the good which me befel,

  Even I in my degree will try,

  Fair maiden, to requite you well.

  But now unrobe yourself ; for I

  Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.'

  Quoth Christabel, So let it be !

  And as the lady bade, did she.

  Her gentle limbs did she undress

  And lay down in her loveliness.

  But through her brain of weal and woe

  So many thoughts moved to and fro,

  That vain it were her lids to close ;

  So half-way from the bed she rose,

  And on her elbow did recline

  To look at the lady Geraldine.

  Beneath the lamp the lady bowed,

  And slowly rolled her eyes around ;

  Then drawing in her breath aloud,

  Like one that shuddered, she unbound

  The cincture from beneath her breast :

  Her silken robe, and inner vest,

  Dropt to her feet, and full in view,

  Behold ! her bosom, and half her side-- --

  A sight to dream of, not to tell !

  O shield her ! shield sweet Christabel !

  Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs ;

  Ah ! what a stricken look was hers !

  Deep from within she seems half-way

  To lift some weight with sick assay,

  And eyes the maid and seeks delay ;

  Then suddenly as one defied

  Collects herself in scorn and pride,

  And lay down by the Maiden's side !--

  And in her arms the maid she took,

  Ah wel-a-day !

  And with low voice and doleful look

  These words did say :

  `In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,

  Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel !

  Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow

  This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow ;

  But vainly thou warrest,

  For this is alone in

  Thy power to declare,

  That in the dim forest

  Thou heard'st a low moaning,

  And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair ;

  And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,

  To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.'

  THE CONCLUSION TO PART I

  It was a lovely sight to see

  The lady Christabel, when she

  Was praying at the old oak tree.

  Amid the jaggéd shadows

  Of mossy leafless boughs,

  Kneeling in the moonlight,

  To make her gentle vows ;

  Her slender palms together prest,

  Heaving sometimes on her breast ;

  Her face resigned to bliss or bale--

  Her face, oh call it fair not pale,

  And both blue eyes more bright than clear.

  Each about to have a tear.

  With open eyes (ah, woe is me !)

  Asleep, and dreaming fearfully,

  Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis,

  Dreaming that alone, which is--

  O sorrow and shame ! Can this be she,

  The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree ?

  And lo ! the worker of these harms,

  That holds the maiden in her arms,

  Seems to slumber still and mild,

  As a mother with her child.

  A star hath set, a star hath risen,

  O Geraldine ! since arms of thine

  Have been the lovely lady's prison.

  O Geraldine ! one hour was thine--

  Thou'st had thy will ! By tairn and rill,

  The night-birds all that hour were still.

  But now they are jubilant anew,

  From cliff and tower, tu--whoo ! tu--whoo !

  Tu--whoo ! tu--whoo ! from wood and fell !

  And see ! the lady Christabel

  Gathers herself from out her trance ;

  Her limbs relax, her countenance

  Grows sad and soft ; the smooth thin lids

  Close o'er her eyes ; and tears she sheds--

  Large tears that leave the lashes bright !

  And oft the while she seems to smile

  As infants at a sudden light !

  Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep,

  Like a youthful hermitess,

  Beauteous in a wilderness,

  Who, praying always, prays in sleep.

  And, if she move unquietly,

  Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free

  Comes back and tingles in her feet.

  No doubt, she hath a vision sweet.

  What if her guardian spirit 'twere,

  What if she knew her mother near ?

  But this she knows, in joys and woes,

  That saints will aid if men will call :

  For the blue sky bends over all !

  PART II

  Each matin bell, the Baron saith,

  Knells us back to a world of death.

  These words Sir Leoline first said,

  When he rose and found his lady dead :

  These words Sir Leoline will say

  Many a morn to his dying day !

  And hence the custom and law began

  That still at dawn the sacristan,

  Who duly pulls the heavy bell,

  Five and forty beads must tell

  Between each stroke--a warning knell,

  Which not a soul can choose but hear

  From Bratha Head to Wyndermere.

  Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell !

  And let the drowsy sacristan

  Still count as slowly as he can !

  There is no lack of such, I ween,

  As well fill up the space between.

  In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair,

  And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent,

  With ropes of rock and bells of air

  Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent,

  Who all give back, one after t'other,

  The death-note to their living brother ;

  And oft too, by the knell offended,

  Just as their one ! two ! three ! is ended,

  The devil mocks the doleful tale

  With a merry peal from Borrowdale.

  The air is still ! through mist and cloud

  That merry peal comes ringing loud ;

  And Geraldine shakes off her dread,

  And rises lightly from the bed ;

  Puts on her silken vestments white,

  And tricks her hair in lovely plight,

  And nothing doubting of her spell

  Aw
akens the lady Christabel.

  `Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel ?

  I trust that you have rested well.'

  And Christabel awoke and spied

  The same who lay down by her side--

  O rather say, the same whom she

  Raised up beneath the old oak tree !

  Nay, fairer yet ! and yet more fair !

  For she belike hath drunken deep

  Of all the blessedness of sleep !

  And while she spake, her looks, her air

  Such gentle thankfulness declare,

  That (so it seemed) her girded vests

  Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts.

  `Sure I have sinn'd !' said Christabel,

  `Now heaven be praised if all be well !'

  And in low faltering tones, yet sweet,

  Did she the lofty lady greet

  With such perplexity of mind

  As dreams too lively leave behind.

  So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed

  Her maiden limbs, and having prayed

  That He, who on the cross did groan,

  Might wash away her sins unknown,

  She forthwith led fair Geraldine

  To meet her sire, Sir Leoline.

  The lovely maid and the lady tall

  Are pacing both into the hall,

  And pacing on through page and groom,

  Enter the Baron's presence-room.

  The Baron rose, and while he prest

  His gentle daughter to his breast,

  With cheerful wonder in his eyes

  The lady Geraldine espies,

  And gave such welcome to the same,

  As might beseem so bright a dame !

  But when he heard the lady's tale,

  And when she told her father's name,

  Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale,

  Murmuring o'er the name again,

  Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine ?

  Alas ! they had been friends in youth ;

  But whispering tongues can poison truth ;

  And constancy lives in realms above ;

  And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ;

  And to be wroth with one we love,

  Doth work like madness in the brain.

  And thus it chanced, as I divine,

  With Roland and Sir Leoline.

  Each spake words of high disdain

  And insult to his heart's best brother :

  They parted--ne'er to meet again !

  But never either found another

  To free the hollow heart from paining--

  They stood aloof, the scars remaining,

  Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ;

  A dreary sea now flows between ;--

  But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,

  Shall wholly do away, I ween,

  The marks of that which once hath been.

  Sir Leoline, a moment's space,

  Stood gazing on the damsel's face :

  And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine

  Came back upon his heart again.

  O then the Baron forgot his age,

  His noble heart swelled high with rage ;

  He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side,

  He would proclaim it far and wide

  With trump and solemn heraldry,

  That they, who thus had wronged the dame,

  Were base as spotted infamy !

  `And if they dare deny the same,

  My herald shall appoint a week,

  And let the recreant traitors seek

  My tourney court--that there and then

  I may dislodge their reptile souls

  From the bodies and forms of men !'

  He spake : his eye in lightning rolls !

  For the lady was ruthlessly seized ; and he kenned

  In the beautiful lady the child of his friend !

  And now the tears were on his face,

  And fondly in his arms he took

  Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace,

  Prolonging it with joyous look.

  Which when she viewed, a vision fell

  Upon the soul of Christabel,

  The vision of fear, the touch and pain !

  She shrunk and shuddered, and saw again--

  (Ah, woe is me ! Was it for thee,

  Thou gentle maid ! such sights to see ?)

  Again she saw that bosom old,

  Again she felt that bosom cold,

  And drew in her breath with a hissing sound :

  Whereat the Knight turned wildly round,

  And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid

  With eyes upraised, as one that prayed.

  The touch, the sight, had passed away,

  And in its stead that vision blest,

  Which comforted her after-rest.

  While in the lady's arms she lay,

  Had put a rapture in her breast,

  And on her lips and o'er her eyes

  Spread smiles like light !

  With new surprise,

  `What ails then my belovéd child ?'

  The Baron said--His daughter mild

  Made answer, `All will yet be well !'

  I ween, she had no power to tell

  Aught else : so mighty was the spell.

  Yet he, who saw this Geraldine,

  Had deemed her sure a thing divine :

  Such sorrow with such grace she blended,

  As if she feared she had offended

  Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid !

  And with such lowly tones she prayed,

  She might be sent without delay

  Home to her father's mansion.

  `Nay !

  Nay, by my soul !' said Leoline.

  `Ho ! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine !

  Go thou, with music sweet and loud,

  And take two steeds with trappings proud,

  And take the youth whom thou lov'st best

  To bear thy harp, and learn thy song,

  And clothe you both in solemn vest,

  And over the mountains haste along,

  Lest wandering folk, that are abroad,

  Detain you on the valley road.

  `And when he has crossed the Irthing flood,

  My merry bard ! he hastes, he hastes

  Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood,

  And reaches soon that castle good

  Which stands and threatens Scotland's wastes.

  `Bard Bracy ! bard Bracy ! your horses are fleet,

  Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,

  More loud than your horses' echoing feet !

  And loud and loud to Lord Roland call,

  Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall !

  Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free--

  Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me !

  He bids thee come without delay

  With all thy numerous array

  And take thy lovely daughter home :

  And he will meet thee on the way

  With all his numerous array

  White with their panting palfreys' foam :

  And, by mine honour ! I will say,

  That I repent me of the day

  When I spake words of fierce disdain

  To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine !--

  --For since that evil hour hath flown,

  Many a summer's sun hath shone ;

  Yet ne'er found I a friend again

  Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.'

  The lady fell, and clasped his knees,

  Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing ;

  And Bracy replied, with faltering voice,

  His gracious hail on all bestowing !--

  `Thy words, thou sire of Christabel,

  Are sweeter than my harp can tell ;

  Yet might I gain a boon of thee,

  This day my journey should not be,

  So strange a dream hath come to me,

  That I had vowed with music loud

/>   To clear yon wood from thing unblest,

  Warned by a vision in my rest !

  For in my sleep I saw that dove,

  That gentle bird, whom thou dost love,

  And call'st by thy own daughter's name--

  Sir Leoline ! I saw the same

  Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan,

  Among the green herbs in the forest alone.

  Which when I saw and when I heard,

  I wonder'd what might ail the bird ;

  For nothing near it could I see,

  Save the grass and herbs underneath the old tree.

  `And in my dream methought I went

  To search out what might there be found ;

  And what the sweet bird's trouble meant,

  That thus lay fluttering on the ground.

  I went and peered, and could descry

  No cause for her distressful cry ;

  But yet for her dear lady's sake

  I stooped, methought, the dove to take,

  When lo ! I saw a bright green snake

  Coiled around its wings and neck.

  Green as the herbs on which it couched,

  Close by the dove's its head it crouched ;

  And with the dove it heaves and stirs,

  Swelling its neck as she swelled hers !

  I woke ; it was the midnight hour,

  The clock was echoing in the tower ;

  But though my slumber was gone by,

  This dream it would not pass away--

  It seems to live upon my eye !

  And thence I vowed this self-same day,

  With music strong and saintly song

  To wander through the forest bare,

  Lest aught unholy loiter there.'

  Thus Bracy said : the Baron, the while,

  Half-listening heard him with a smile ;

  Then turned to Lady Geraldine,

  His eyes made up of wonder and love ;

  And said in courtly accents fine,

  `Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove,

  With arms more strong than harp or song,

  Thy sire and I will crush the snake !'

  He kissed her forehead as he spake,

  And Geraldine in maiden wise,

  Casting down her large bright eyes,

  With blushing cheek and courtesy fine

  She turned her from Sir Leoline ;

  Softly gathering up her train,