A little distance from the prow I turn'd my eyes upon the deck- Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. "Brown skeletons of leaves that lag below, That eats the she-wolf's young." "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look- I am a-fear'd"-"Push on, push on!" This seraph band, each waved his Said the Hermit cheerily. hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land Each one a lovely light; This seraph band, each waved his No voice did they impart The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirr'd; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, No voice; but oh! the silence sank It reach'd the ship, it split the bay; Like music on my heart. The ship suddenly sinketh. Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful The ancient Ma The ship went down like lead. But soon I heard the dash of oars, sound, Which sky and ocean smote, My head was turn'd perforce away, Like one that hath been seven days The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I saw a third-I heard his voice: drown'd My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, riner is saved in the Pilot's boat. I moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd, But in the garden-bower the bride I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been while Scarce seemed there to be. His eyes went to and fro. Laugh'd loud and long, and all the So lonely 't was, that God himself "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see, O sweeter than the marriage-feast, The Devil knows how to row." And now, all in my own countrée, The Hermit stepp'd forth from the And scarcely he could stand. The ancient Ma- "O shrive me, shrive me, holy man!" riner earnestly en- The Hermit cross'd his brow. treateth the Her mit to shrive him; and the penance of life falls on him. And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land, "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee Which forced me to begin my tale; He prayeth best, who loveth best And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, I pass, like night, from land to land; All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. The Mariner, whose eye is bright, He went like one that hath been What loud uproar bursts from that And is of sense forlorn, The wedding-guests are there : A sadder and a wiser man And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth. PREFACE.* Christabel. at either of the former periods, or if even the first and second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been much greater than I dare at present expect. But THE first part of the following poem was written in for this, I have only my own indolence to blame. the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety- The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose seven, at Stowey in the county of Somerset. The of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imisecond part, after my return from Germany, in the tation from myself. For there is amongst us a set of year one thousand eight hundred, at Keswick, Cum- critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought berland. Since the latter date, my poetic powers and image is traditional; who have no notion that there have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended are such things as fountains in the world, small as animation. But as, in my very first conception of the well as great; and who would therefore charitably tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforawholeness, no less than with the loveliness of a tion made in some other man's tank. I am confident, vision, I trust that I shall yet be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come. It is probable, that if the poem had been finished * To the edition of 1816. however, that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated poets whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate me from the charge, and who, on any striking coincidence, would permit me to address them in this doggrel version of two monkish Latin hexameters. 'Tis mine and it is likewise yours; But an' if this will not do, Let it be mine, good friend! for I I have only to add that the metre of the Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle: namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless this occasional variation in number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition, in the nature of the imagery or passion. CHRISTABEL. PART I. "Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock; Tu-whit!Tu-whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, From her kennel beneath the rock Maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Is the night chilly and dark? The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away. She stole along, she nothing spoke, She kneels beneath the huge oak-tree, The lady sprang up suddenly, The night is chill; the forest bare; Hush, beating heart of Christabel! There she sees a damsel bright, Mary mother, save me now! (Said Christabel), And who art thou? 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 : My sire is of a noble line, And my name is Geraldine: 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, And they rode furiously behind. They spurr'd amain, their steeds were white; And once we cross'd the shade of night. As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, I have no thought what men they be; Some mutter'd words his comrades spoke The lady wiped her moist cold brow, And faintly said, " "T is over now!" Again the wild-flower wine she drank: And thus the lofty lady spake- 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 To look at the Lady Geraldine. Beneath the lamp the lady bow'd, Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs; And with low voice and doleful look In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, But vainly thou warrest, Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest Thou heardest a low moaning, Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weer, Who, praying always, prays in sleep, |