To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest, -
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
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,
And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.9

CHRISTABEL.

[From the PREFACE prefixed to the edition of 1816.]

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. Since the latter date, my poetic powers have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended animation. But as, in my very first conception of the tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the wholeness, no less than with the loveliness of a vision; I trust that I shall yet be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come The metre of the Christabel is not, prop

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

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

So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemèd there to be.

O, sweeter than the marriage-feast,
"Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company! -

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.

9 The author accompanied the text of this poem with a running comment in prose, and printed in the margin, intended to explain the course of the story. So much of the comment as seems at al. needful for that purpose is here thrown into the preceding notes.

Sounds as of a castle bell.

Stretch forth thy hand," thus ended she, "And help a wretched maid to flee."

Then Christabel stretch'd 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 fort and friends withal
To guide and guard you safe and free
Home to your noble father's hall."

She rose: and forth with steps they pass'd
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 ball as silent as the cell;
Sir Leoline is weak in health
And may not well awaken'd be;
But we will move as if in stealth;
And I beseech your courtesy,
This night, to share your couch with me."
They cross'd the moat, and Christabel
Took the key that fitted well;
A little door she open'd straight,
All in the middle of the gate;
The gate that was iron'd within and with-
Where an army in battle array had
march'd 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.

[out,

So free from danger, free from fear, They cross'd the court: right glad they And Christabel devoutly cried [were. 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, [were.
They cross'd the court: right glad they

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 utter'd yell
Beneath the eye of Christabel.

Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail the mastiff bitch?

They pass'd the hall, that echoes still,
Pass as lightly as you will! [dying,
The brands were flat, the brands were
Amid their own white ashes lying;
But, when the lady pass'd, there came
A tongue of light, a fit of flame;
And Christabel saw the lady's eye,
And nothing else saw she thereby, [tall,
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline
Which hung in a murky old niche in the
"O, softly tread," said Christabel, [wall.
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 Baron's room,
As still as death with stifled breath!
And now have reach'd 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 carver's brain,
For a lady's chamber meet:
The lamp with twofold silver chain
Is fasten'd to an angel's fect.

The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But Christabel the lamp will trim.
She trimm'd 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 answer'd, -"Woe is me!
She died the hour that I was born.
I have heard the grey-hair'd 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 alter'd 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 lady's side,
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue,-
"Alas!" said she, "this ghastly ride-
Dear lady, it hath wilder'd 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 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 I or 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: [a spell,
"In the touch of this bosom there worketh
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know
[sorrow :
This mark of my shame, this seal of my
But vainly thou warrest,

to-morrow,

For this is alone in
Thy power to declare,

That in the dim forest

Thou heard'st a low moaning, [fair. And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly 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 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, O, 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 tarn1 and rill,
The night-birds all that hour were still:
But now they are jubilant anew, [whoo!
From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu -
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!

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 Windermere.
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 Witch's Lair,

And Dungeon-gyll so foully rent,
With ropes of rock and bells of air
Three sinful sextons' 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 seem'd) her girded vests
Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts.
"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 array'd
Her maiden limbs, and having pray'd
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.

2 Ghyll is a short, steep, narrow val ley, with a stream running through it: so used in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Several of the names occurring here are of places in Cumberland, as the author,

was residing at Keswick, in that county.