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Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, “Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel ?
I trust that you have rested well."
The same who lay down by her side, –
Grew tight beneath her beaving breasts.
“Sure I have sinned !” said Christabel, PART II.
“Now Heaven be praised if all be well!"
And in low faltering tones, yet sweet, “Each matin-bell," the Baron saith,
Did she the lofty lady greet,
Soquickly she rose, and quickly arrayed Many a morn to his lying day!
Her maiden limbs, and having prayed
That He who on the cross did groan And hence the custom and law began, She forthwith led fair Geraldine
Might wash away her sins unknown, That still at lawn the sacristan,
To meet her sire, Sir Leoline.
The lovely maid and the lady tall
And pacing on through page and groom,
Enter the Baron's presence-room. Saith Bracy the bard, “So let it knell ! The Baron rose, and while he prest And let the drowsy sacristan
His gentle daughter to liis breast, Still count as slowly as he can!
With cheerful wonder in his eyes, There is no lack of such, I ween,
The Lady Geraldine espies, As well fill up the space
And gave such welcome to the same In Langlale Pike and Witch's Lair,
As might beseem so bright a dame!
But when he heard the lady's tale, Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, And when she told her father's name, Who all give back, one after t' other,
Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, The death-note to their living brother; Murmuring o'er the name again, And oft, too, by the knell offended, Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? Just as their one! two! three! is ended, The devil mocks the doleful tale
Alas! they had been friends in youth ; With a nierry peal from Borodale."
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above, The air is still! through mist and cloud And life is thorny, and youth is vain, That merry peal comes ringing loud; And to be wroth with one we love And Geraldine shakes off her dread, Doth work like madness in the brain. And rises lightly from the bed ;
And thus it chanced, as I divine, Puts on her silken vestments white, With Roland and Sir Leoline. And tricks her hair in lovely plight, Each spake words of high disdain And, nothing doubting of her spell, And insult to his heart's best brother: Awakens the Lady Christabel.
They parted, — ne'er to meet again!
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
But never either found another
And on her lips and o'er her eyes
With new surprise,
I ween, she had no power to tell The marks of that which once hath been. Aught else; so mighty was the spell. Sir Leoline a moment's space
Yet he who saw this Geraldine Stood gazing on the damsel's face, Had deemed her sure a thing divine. And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine Such sorrow with such grace she blender, Came back upon his heart again.
As if she feared she had offended
Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid ! 0, then the Baron forgot his age, And with such lowly tones she prayed, His noble heart swelled high with rage; She might be sent without delay He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side Home to her father's mansion. He would proclaim it far and wide
“Nay! With trump and solemn heraldry, Nay, by my soul!” said Leoline. That they who thus had wronged the “Ho! Bracy, the burd, the charge lie daine
thine! Were base as spotted infamy!
Go thou, with music sweet and loud, “And if they dare deny the same, And take twosteeds with trappings proud, My herald shall appoint a week, And take the youth whom thou lov'st And let the recreant traitors seek
best My tourney court, - that there and then To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, I may dislodge their reptile souls And clothe you both in solemn vest, From the bodies and forins of men !" And over the wountains haste along, He spake: his eye in lightning rolls! Lest wandering folk, that are abroad, For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and Detain you on the valley road. he kenned
And when he has crossed the Irthing flood, In the beautiful lady the child of his friend! My merry baril: he hastes, he hastes
Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth And now the tears were on his face,
Wood, And fondly in his arms he took
And reaches soon that castle good Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace, Which stands and threatens Scotland's Prolonging it with joyous look. Which when she viewed, a vision fell Upon the soul of Christabel,
“Bard Bracy! Bard Bracy! your horses The vision of fear, the touch and pain !
are fleet, She shrunk and shuddered, and saw Ye must ride up the hall, your music so again
sweet, Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee, More loud than your horses' echoing feet! Thou gentle maid ! such sights to see?) And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, Again she saw that bosom old,
Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Again she felt that bosom cold,
Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free, And drew in her breath with a hissing Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me. sound:
He bids thee come without delay Whereat the Knight turned wildly round, With all thy numerous array, And nothing saw but his own sweet maid, And take thy lovely daughter home; With eyes upraised, as one that prayed. And he will meet thee on the way
With all his numerous array The touch, the sight, had passed away, White with their panting palfreys' foam: And in its stead that vision blest, And by mine honor! I will say, Which comforted her after-rest
That I repent me of the day While in the lady's arms she lay, When I spake words of fierce disdain Had put a rapture in her breast, To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine !
For since that evil hour hath flown, And said in courtly accents fine,
dove, Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine." With arms more strong than harp or
song, The lady fell, and clasped his knees, Thy sire and I will crush the snake!" Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing; He kissed her forehead as he spake, And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, ! And Geraldine, in maiden wise, His gracious hail on all bestowing ! Casting down her large bright eyes, “Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine Are sweeter than my harp can tell; She turned her from Sir Leoline; Yet might I gain a boon of thee, Softly gathering up her train, This day my journey should not be, That o'er her right arm fell again; So strange a dream hath come to me, And folded her arms across her chest, That I had vowed with music loud And couched her heard upon her breast, To clear yon wood from thing unblest, And looked askance at Christabel Warned by a vision in my rest!
Jesu Maria, shield her well! For in my sleep I saw that dove, That gentle bird, whom thou dost love, A snake's small eye blinksdulland shy, And call'st by thy own daughter's name And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her Sir Leoline! I saw the saine
head, Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, Among the green herbs in the forest alone. And with somewhat of malice, and more Which when I saw and when I heard,
of dread, I wondered what might ail the bird; At Christabel she looked askance! For nothing near it could I see,
One moment--and the sight was fled ! Save the grass and green herbs underneath But Christabel, in dizzy trance the old tree.
Stumbling on the unsteady ground,
Shuddered alond, with a hissing sound; “And in my dream methought I went And Geraldine again turned round, To search out what might there be found; And like a thing that sought relief, And what the sweet bird's trouble meant, Full of wonder and full of grief, That thus lay fluttering on the ground. She rolled her large bright eyes divine I went and peered, and could desery Wilily on Sir Leoline. No cause for her distressful cry; But yet for her dear lady's sake
The maid, alas! her thonghts are gone; I stooped, methought, the dove to take, She nothing sees, - no sight but one! When lo! I saw a bright green snake The maid, devoid of guile and sin, ('oiléil around its wings and neck, I know not how, in fearful wise Green as the herbs on which it couched. So deeply had she drunken in Close by the dove's its head it crouched ; 1 That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, And with the dove it heaves and stirs, That all her features were resigned Swelling its neck as she swelleil hers! To this sole image in her mind, I woke; it was the midnight hour, And passively did imitate The clock was echoing in the tower; That look of dull and treacherous hate! But though my slumber was gone by, And thus she stood in dizzy trance, This dream it would not pass away, Still picturing that look askance It seems to live upon my eye!
With forced unconscious sympathy And thence I vowed this selfsame day, Full before her father's view, With music strong and saintly song
As far as such a look could be To wander through the forest bare, In eyes so innocent and blue! Lest aught unholy loiter there."
And when the trance was o'er, the maid
Paused awhile, and inly paved: Thus Bracy said : the Baron the while Then falling at the Baron's feet, Half-listening heard him with a smile; “By my mother's soul do I entreat Then turned to Lady Geraldine,
That thou this woman send away!' His eyes made up of wonder and love, She said : and more she could not say:
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
For what she knew she could not tell, Perhaps 't is tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity. Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, And what if in a world of sin Sir Leoline? Thy only child
(O sorrow and shame, should this be true!) Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, Such giddiness of heart and brain So fair, so innocent, so mild;
Comes seldom save from rage and pain, The same for whom thy lady died ! So talks as it's most used to do. O, by the pangs of her dear mother, Think thou no evil of thy child ! For her, and thee, and for no other, She prayed the moment ere she died, Prayed that the babe for whom she died ROBERT SOUTHEY. Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride! That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,
(1774 - 1843.)
My days among the dead are passed ;
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal, Dishonored thus in his old age;
And seek relief in woe; Dishonored by his only child,
And while I understand and feel And all his hospitality
How much to them I owe,
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the dead; with them Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
I live in long-past years; And said in tones abrupt, austere,
Their virtues love, their faults condenin, “Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? Partake their hopes and fears, I bade thee hence!" The bard obeyed; And from their lessons seek and find And turning from his own sweet maid, Instruction with an humble mind. The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the Lady Geraldine !
My hopes are with the dead; anon
My place with them will he,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all futurity:
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.
THE INCHCAPE ROCK.
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
So little they rose, so little they fell, On the deck the Rover takes his stand, They did not move the Inchcape Bell. So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon, The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok For there is the dawn of the rising moon. Had placed that bell on the Inchcape
Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and “Caust hear," said one, “the breakers
For inethinks we should be near the shore; ind over the waves its warning rung. Now where we are I cannot tell, When the Rock was hid by the surges But I wish I could hearthe Inchcape Bell.”
swell, The mariners heard the warning bell;
They hear no sound, the swell is strong; And then they knew the perilous Rock, Though the wind hath fallen, they dritt And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering The sun in heaven was shining gay,
shock: All things were joyful on that day;
Cried they, “It is the Inchcape Rock!" The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled around,
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, And there was joyance in their sound.
He cursed himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side, The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen The ship is sinking beneath the tide. A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralplı the Rover walked his deck, But even in his dying fear And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell
Sat listening to the rills,
The while to their sweet undersong
And the soft west-wind awoke the wood And he cut the bell from the Inchcape
To an intermitting sound.
Or died away, was borne
The harmony of merry bells to the Rock
From Brough, that pleasant morn. Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."
“Why are the merry bells of Brough, Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away,
My friend, so few?” said I;
Which they should gratify.
“One, two, three, four; one, two, three, So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky They cannot see the sun on high;
'Tis still one, two, three, four: The wind hath blown a gale all day, Mellow and silvery are the tones; At evening it hath died away.
But I wish the bells were more!”