Poems Of Coleridge Part 7

It was a lovely sight to see The lady Christabel, when she Was praying at the old oak tree.

Amid the jagged 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!

1797.

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: 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 s.p.a.ce between.

In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair, And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful s.e.xtons' 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 Awakens 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"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 th.o.r.n.y; 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sed 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 beloved 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, Warn'd 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.