Christabel

PREFACE     The first part of the following poem was written in the year 1797, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset. The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year 1800, at Keswick, Cumberland. It is probable that if the poem had been finished 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 for this I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imitation from myself. For there is amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and image is traditional; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other mans tank. I am confident, 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 doggerel 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 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.     PART I     TIS the middle of night by the castle clock,     And the owls have awakened 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 bitch;     From her kennel beneath the rock     She 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 ladys 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 betrothd knight;     And she in the midnight wood will pray     For the weal of her lover thats 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 moaned 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 ladys 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,     Dressed 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-veined feet unsandald were;     And wildly glittered here and there     The gems entangled in her hair.     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?     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 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;     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 palfreys back,     A weary woman, scarce alive.     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,     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:     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     Home to your noble fathers 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:     All our household are at rest,     The hall is silent as the cell;     Sir Leoline is weak in health,     And may not well awakened be,     But we will move as if in stealth,     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,     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     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,     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!     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     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     Beneath the eye of Christabel.     Perhaps it is the owlets scritch:     For what can ail the mastiff bitch?     They passed the hall, that echoes still,     Pass as lightly as you will!     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 ladys eye,     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.     Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare,     And jealous of the listening air     They steal their way from stair to stair,     Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,     And now they pass the Barons room,     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,     And not a moonbeam enters here.     But they without its light can see     The chamber carved so curiously,     Carved with figures strange and sweet,     All made out of the carvers brain,     For a ladys chamber meet:     The lamp with twofold silver chain     Is fastened to an angels feet.     The silver lamp burns dead and dim;     But Christabel the lamp will trim.     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,     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?     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     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!     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,     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 ladys side,     And raised to heaven her eyes so blue -     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:     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 countre.     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,     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 bowed,     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,     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 Maidens side! -     And in her arms the maid she took,     Ah wel-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 heardst a low moaning,     And foundst a bright lady, surpassingly fair;     And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,     To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.     THE CONCLUSION TO PART I     It was a lovely sight to see     The lady Christabel, when she     Was praying at the old oak tree.     Amid the jaggd 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 ladys prison.     O Geraldine! one hour was thine -     Thoust 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 oer 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!     PART II     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 space between.     In Langdale Pike and Witchs Lair,     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 tother,     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 Borodale.     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 breasts.     Sure I have sinnd! 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 Barons 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 ladys tale,     And when she told her fathers name,     Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale,     Murmuring oer 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 thorny; 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 hearts best brother:     They parted - neer 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 moments space,     Stood gazing on the damsels face:     And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine     Came back upon his heart again.     O then the Baron forgot his age,     His noble heart swelled high with rage;     He swore by the wounds in Jesus 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 passed away,     And in its stead that vision blest,     Which comforted her after-rest.     While in the ladys arms she lay,     Had put a rapture in her breast,     And on her lips and oer her eyes     Spread smiles like light!     With new surprise,     What ails then my belovd 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 fathers 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 lovst 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 Scotlands 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 summers sun hath shone;     Yet neer found I a friend again     Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.     The lady fell, and clasped his knees,     Her face upraised, her eyes oerflowing;     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,     Warned by a vision in my rest!     For in my sleep I saw that dove,     That gentle bird, whom thou dost love,     And callst by thy own daughters name -     Sir Leoline! I saw the same     Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan,     Among the green herbs in the forest alone.     Which when I saw and when I heard,     I wonderd what might ail the bird;     For nothing near it could I see,     Save the grass and herbs underneath the old tree.     And in my dream methought I went     To search out what might there be found;     And what the sweet birds trouble meant,     That thus lay fluttering on the ground.     I went and peered, and could descry     No cause for her distressful cry;     But yet for her dear ladys sake     I stooped, methought, the dove to take,     When lo! I saw a bright green snake     Coiled around its wings and neck.     Green as the herbs on which it couched,     Close by the doves its head it crouched;     And with the dove it heaves and stirs,     Swelling its neck as she swelled hers!     I woke; it was the midnight hour,     The clock was echoing in the tower;     But though my slumber was gone by,     This dream it would not pass away -     It seems to live upon my eye!     And thence I vowed this self-same day,     With music strong and saintly song     To wander through the forest bare,     Lest aught unholy loiter there.     Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while,     Half-listening heard him with a smile;     Then turned to Lady Geraldine,     His eyes made up of wonder and love;     And said in courtly accents fine,     Sweet maid, Lord Rolands beauteous dove,     With arms more strong than harp or song,     Thy sire and I will crush the snake!     He kissed her forehead as he spake,     And Geraldine in maiden wise,     Casting down her large bright eyes,     With blushing cheek and courtesy fine     She turned her from Sir Leoline;     Softly gathering up her train,     That oer her right arm fell again;     And folded her arms across her chest,     And couched her head upon her breast,     And looked askance at Christabel -     Jesu, Maria, shield her well!     A snakes small eye blinks dull and shy;     And the ladys eyes they shrunk in her head,     Each shrunk up to a serpents eye,     And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread,     At Christabel she looked askance! -     One moment - and the sight was fled!     But Christabel in dizzy trance     Stumbling on the unsteady ground     Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound;     And Geraldine again turned round,     And like a thing, that sought relief,     Full of wonder and full of grief,     She rolled her large bright eyes divine     Wildly on Sir Leoline.     The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,     She nothing sees - no sight but one!     The maid, devoid of guile and sin,     I know not how, in fearful wise,     So deeply had she drunken in     That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,     That all her features were resigned     To this sole image in her mind:     And passively did imitate     That look of dull and treacherous hate!     And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,     Still picturing that look askance     With forced unconscious sympathy     Full before her fathers view -     As far as such a look could be     In eyes so innocent and blue!     And when the trance was oer, the maid     Paused awhile, and inly prayed:     Then falling at the Barons feet,     By my mothers soul do I entreat     That thou this woman send away!     She said: and more she could not say:     For what she knew she could not tell,     Oer-mastered by the mighty spell.     Why is thy cheek so wan and wild,     Sir Leoline? Thy only child     Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride,     So fair, so innocent, so mild;     The same, for whom thy lady died!     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,     Might prove her dear lords joy and pride!     That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,     Sir Leoline!     And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,     Her child and thine?     Within the Barons heart and brain     If thoughts, like these, had any share,     They only swelled his rage and pain,     And did but work confusion there.     His heart was cleft with pain and rage,     His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,     Dishonored thus in his old age;     Dishonored by his only child,     And all his hospitality     To the wronged daughter of his friend     By more than womans jealousy     Brought thus to a disgraceful end -     He rolled his eye with stern regard     Upon the gentle ministrel bard,     And said in tones abrupt, austere -     Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?     I bade thee hence! The bard obeyed;     And turning from his own sweet maid,     The agd knight, Sir Leoline,     Led forth the lady Geraldine!     THE CONCLUSION TO PART II     A little child, a limber elf,     Singing, dancing to itself,     A fairy thing with red round cheeks,     That always finds, and never seeks,     Makes such a vision to the sight     As fills a fathers eyes with light;     And pleasures flow in so thick and fast     Upon his heart, that he at last     Must needs express his loves excess     With words of unmeant bitterness.     Perhaps tis pretty to force together     Thoughts so all unlike each other;     To mutter and mock a broken charm,     To dally with wrong that does no harm.     Perhaps tis tender too and pretty     At each wild word to feel within     A sweet recoil of love and pity.     And what, if in a world of sin     (O sorrow and shame should this be true!)     Such giddiness of heart and brain     Comes seldom save from rage and pain,     So talks as its most used to do.