Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition)

“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! 500

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: 510

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; 520

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! 530

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.

Which when I saw and when I heard,

I wonder’d what might ail the bird;

For nothing near it could I see,

Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree.” 540

“And in my dream methought I went

To search out what might there be found;

And what the sweet bird’s 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 lady’s sake

I stooped, methought, the dove to take,

When lo! I saw a bright green snake

Coiled around its wings and neck. 550

Green as the herbs on which it couched,

Close by the dove’s 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 selfsame day 560

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 Roland’s beauteous dove,

With arms more strong than harp or song, 570

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 o’er her right arm fell again;

And folded her arms across her chest,

And couched her head upon her breast, 580

And looked askance at Christabel —

Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

A snake’s small eye blinks dull and shy;

And the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her head,

Each shrunk up to a serpent’s 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; 590

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, 600

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 father’s view — 610

As far as such a look could be

In eyes so innocent and blue!

And when the trance was o’er, the maid

Paused awhile, and inly prayed:

Then falling at the Baron’s feet,

“By my mother’s 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,

O’ermastered by the mighty spell. 620

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: 630

Prayed that the babe for whom she died,

Might prove her dear lord’s joy and pride!

That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,

Sir Leoline!

And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,

Her child and thine;

Within the Baron’s 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, 640

His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,

Dishonoured thus in his old age;

Dishonoured by his only child,

And all his hospitality

To the wronged daughter of his friend

By more than woman’s jealousy

Brought thus to a disgraceful end —

He rolled his eye with stern regard

Upon the gentle minstrel bard,

And said in tones abrupt, austere — 650

“Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?

I bade thee hence!” The bard obeyed;

And turning from his own sweet maid,

The age’d knight, Sir Leoline,

Led forth the lady Geraldine!

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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 660

As fills a father’s eyes with light;

And pleasures flow in so thick and fast

Upon his heart, that he at last

Must needs express his love’s 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 670

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 it’s most used to do.

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Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,

Whose pathless march no mortal may control!

Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe’er ye roll,

Yield homage only to eternal laws!