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A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:

I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat;
And, by the holy rood!

A man all light, a seraph-man,

On every corse there stood.

"Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf

below,

That eats the she-wolf's young."

"Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look-
(The Pilot made reply,)

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
hand,

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,
Still louder and more dread:

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,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;

sound,

Which sky and ocean smote,

My head was turn'd perforce away, Like one that hath been seven days
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third-I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!

drown'd

My body lay afloat;

But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

riner is saved in the Pilot's boat.

I moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd,
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And pray'd where he did sit.

But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark! the little vesper-bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:

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,
I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the
boat,

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

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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,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been
stunn'd,

What loud uproar bursts from that And is of sense forlorn,
door!

The wedding-guests are there :

A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.

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
Am the poorer of the two.

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,
How drowsily it crew.

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff, which

From her kennel beneath the rock

Maketh answer to the clock,

Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over-loud;
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin gray cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is gray:
"Tis a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

The lovely lady, Christabel,

Whom her father loves so well,

What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle gate?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothed knight;

And she in the midnight wood will pray

For the weal of her lover that's far away.

She stole along, she nothing spoke,
The sighs she heaved were soft and low,
And naught was green upon the oak,
But moss and rarest misletoe:

She kneels beneath the huge oak-tree,
And in silence prayeth she.

The lady sprang up suddenly,
The lovely lady, Christabel!
It moan'd as near, as near can be,
But what it is, she cannot tell.-
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
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,
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,
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:
The neck that made that white robe wan,
Her stately neck, and arms, were bare;
Her blue-vein'd feet unsandall'd were,
And wildly glitter'd here and there
The gems entangled in her hair.
I guess, 't was frightful there to see
A lady so richly clad as she-
Beautiful exceedingly!

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 :
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear!
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:

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;
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.

Some mutter'd words his comrades spoke
He placed me underneath this oak,

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The lady wiped her moist cold brow, And faintly said, " "T is 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 befell,
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 bow'd,
And slowly roll'd her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud,
Like one that shudder'd, 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 well-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 heardest a low moaning,

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Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weer,
Like a youthful hermitess,
Beauteous in a wilderness,

Who, praying always, prays in sleep,
And, if she move unquietly,
Perchance, 't is but the blood so free,
Comes back and tingles in her feet.
No doubt, she hath a vision sweet:
What if her guardian spirit 't were,
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!

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