Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

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Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) Page 145

by Homer


  And in silence prayeth she.

  The lady sprang up suddenly,

  The lovely lady, Christabel!

  It moaned as near, as near can be,

  But what it is she cannot tell. — 40

  On the other side it seems to be,

  Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak-tree.

  The night is chill; the forest bare;

  Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?

  There is not wind enough in the air 45

  To move away the ringlet curl

  From the lovely lady’s cheek —

  There is not wind enough to twirl

  The one red leaf, the last of its clan,

  That dances as often as dance it can, 50

  Hanging so light, and hanging so high,

  On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

  Hush, beating heart of Christabel!

  Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

  She folded her arms beneath her cloak, 55

  And stole to the other side of the oak.

  What sees she there?

  There she sees a damsel bright

  Drest in a silken robe of white,

  That shadowy in the moonlight shone: 60

  The neck that made that white robe wan,

  Her stately neck, and arms were bare;

  Her blue-veined feet unsandalled were,

  And wildly glittered here and there

  The gems entangled in her hair. 65

  I guess, ’twas frightful there to see —

  A lady so richly clad as she —

  Beautiful exceedingly!

  Mary mother, save me now!

  (Said Christabel,) And who art thou? 70

  The lady strange made answer meet,

  And her voice was faint and sweet: —

  Have pity on my sore distress,

  I scarce can speak for weariness:

  Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear! 75

  Said Christabel, How camest thou here?

  And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet,

  Did thus pursue her answer meet: —

  My sire is of a noble line,

  And my name is Geraldine: 80

  Five warriors seized me yestermorn,

  Me, even me, a maid forlorn:

  They choked my cries with force and fright,

  And tied me on a palfrey white.

  The palfrey was as fleet as wind, 85

  And they rode furiously behind.

  They spurred amain, their steeds were white:

  And once we crossed the shade of night.

  As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,

  I have no thought what men they be; 90

  Nor do I know how long it is

  (For I have lain entranced I wis)

  Since one, the tallest of the five,

  Took me from the palfrey’s back,

  A weary woman, scarce alive. 95

  Some muttered words his comrades spoke:

  He placed me underneath this oak;

  He swore they would return with haste;

  Whither they went I cannot tell —

  I thought I heard, some minutes past, 100

  Sounds as of a castle bell.

  Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she),

  And help a wretched maid to flee.

  Then Christabel stretched forth her hand,

  And comforted fair Geraldine: 105

  O well, bright dame! may you command

  The service of Sir Leoline;

  And gladly our stout chivalry

  Will he send forth and friends withal

  To guide and guard you safe and free 110

  Home to your noble father’s hall.

  She rose: and forth with steps they passed

  That strove to be, and were not, fast.

  Her gracious stars the lady blest,

  And thus spake on sweet Christabel: 115

  All our household are at rest,

  The hall as silent as the cell;

  Sir Leoline is weak in health,

  And may not well awakened be,

  But we will move as if in stealth, 120

  And I beseech your courtesy,

  This night, to share your couch with me.

  They crossed the moat, and Christabel

  Took the key that fitted well;

  A little door she opened straight, 125

  All in the middle of the gate,

  The gate that was ironed within and without,

  Where an army in battle array had marched out,

  The lady sank, belike through pain,

  And Christabel with might and main 130

  Lifted her up, a weary weight,

  Over the threshold of the gate:

  Then the lady rose again,

  And moved, as she were not in pain.

  So free from danger, free from fear, 135

  They crossed the court: right glad they were.

  And Christabel devoutly cried

  To the lady by her side,

  Praise we the Virgin all divine

  Who hath rescued thee from thy distress! 140

  Alas, alas! said Geraldine,

  I cannot speak for weariness.

  So free from danger, free from fear,

  They crossed the court: right glad they were.

  Outside her kennel, the mastiff old 145

  Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold.

  The mastiff old did not awake,

  Yet she an angry moan did make!

  And what can ail the mastiff bitch?

  Never till now she uttered yell 150

  Beneath the eye of Christabel.

  Perhaps it is the owlet’s scritch:

  For what can ail the mastiff bitch?

  They passed the hall, that echoes still,

  Pass as lightly as you will! 155

  The brands were flat, the brands were dying,

  Amid their own white ashes lying;

  But when the lady passed, there came

  A tongue of light, a fit of flame;

  And Christabel saw the lady’s eye, 160

  And nothing else saw she thereby,

  Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall,

  Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall.

  O softly tread, said Christabel,

  My father seldom sleepeth well. 165

  Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare,

  And jealous of the listening air

  They steal their way from stair to stair,

  Now in the glimmer, and now in gloom,

  And now they pass the Baron’s room, 170

  As still as death, with stifled breath!

  And now have reached her chamber door;

  And now doth Geraldine press down

  The rushes of the chamber floor.

  The moon shines dim in the open air, 175

  And not a moonbeam enters there.

  But they without its light can see

  The chamber carved so curiously,

  Carved with figures strange and sweet,

  All made out of the carver’s brain, 180

  For a lady’s chamber meet:

  The lamp with twofold silver chain

  Is fastened to an angel’s feet.

  The silver lamp burns dead and dim;

  But Christabel the lamp will trim. 185

  She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright,

  And left it swinging to and fro,

  While Geraldine, in wretched plight,

  Sank down upon the floor below.

  O weary lady, Geraldine, 190

  I pray you, drink this cordial wine!

  It is a wine of virtuous powers;

  My mother made it of wild flowers.

  And will your mother pity me,

  Who am a maiden most forlorn? 195

  Christabel answered — Woe is me!

  She died the hour that I was born.

  I have heard the gray-haired friar tell

  How on her death-bed
she did say,

  That she should hear the castle-bell 200

  Strike twelve upon my wedding-day.

  O mother dear! that thou wert here!

  I would, said Geraldine, she were!

  But soon with altered voice, said she —

  ‘Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 205

  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, 210

  ‘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 — 215

  ‘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: 220

  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. 225

  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, 230

  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! 235

  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, 240

  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, 245

  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, 250

  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; 255

  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, 260

  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 265

  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; 270

  But vainly thou warrest,

  For this is alone in

  Thy power to declare,

  That in the dim forest

  Thou heard’st a low moaning, 275

  And found’st a bright lady, surpassingly fair;

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

  To shield and shelter her from the damp air.’

  THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE FIRST

  It was a lovely sight to see

  The lady Christabel, when she 280

  Was praying at the old oak-tree;

  Amid the jagged shadows

  Of mossy leafless boughs,

  Kneeling in the moonlight,

  To make her gentle vows; 285

  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, 290

  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 — 295

  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, 300

  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 — 305

  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! 310

  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 — 315

  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, 320

  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. 325

  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: 330

  For the blue sky bends over all!

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  Christabel. Part the Second

  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; 335

  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, 340

  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! 345

  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, 350

  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; 355

  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 360

  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, 365

  And nothing doubting of her spell

  Awakens the lady Christabel.

  ‘Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel?

  I trust that you have rested well?’

  And Christabel awoke and spied 370

  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 375

  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. 380

  ‘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 385

  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 390

  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, 395

  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, 400

  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, 405

  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;

 

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