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COMPLETION OF 
 
 Qdleridge'S Qhristabel 
 
 Anb ©tfyer poems 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM TURK 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 THE EDITOR PUBLISHING CO 
 
 C-erJMHL '• 
 

 Copyrighted 
 EDITOR PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Cincinnati. 
 
 APR20 ! 26 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface to Christabel - 
 
 Part Third ----- i 
 
 Conclusion to Part Third - - - - 11 
 
 Part Fourth ----- 14 
 
 Conclusion to Part Fourth - - - -27 
 
 Part Fifth - - - - - 29 
 
 Conclusion to Part Fifth - - - - 42 
 
 On a Portrait of Keats 47 
 
 On a May Morning in the Woodland - - 48 
 
 Platonic Love ----- 49 
 
 The Vale of Rest (From Uhland). - - - 50 
 
 The Rose Garden (From Uhland). - 51 
 
 To Phyllis (From Bellamy). - 54 
 
 Verselets - - - - - - 56 
 
 Lines - - - - - - 58 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In carrying on to completion Coleridge's fragmentary 
 poem, Christabel, and thus setting my own work in antitheti- 
 cal approximation to his, I am sensible of the dangerous 
 ground u}}on which I am treading. Yet as the adventurer, 
 in full knowledge of the dangers he must run, will continue 
 in the pleasing excitement of the hazard he pursues, so I, 
 despite a prescience of almost certain failure, entered upon 
 this venture in happy indifference to everything but the 
 pleasure in the work. I have no other plea to offer for the 
 reason of the undertaking. 
 
 In the preface to his Christabel, Coleridge says that he 
 had nothing but his own indolence to blame for writing only 
 two out of the five parts planned, and trusts he "will yet be 
 able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come/' He 
 left the poem so incomplete that no one can tell how he in- 
 tended to end it. Consequently, I had to construct the re- 
 maining part of the plot, and, dove- tailing it with the frag- 
 ment of his own, proceed upon original ground of work. At 
 the demands of the story I was compelled to add three more 
 personages to the primary number of four. 
 
 As to the verse, I have used the same meter that 
 Coleridge used, occasionally varying the processional 
 tramp of iambic lines by the insertion of a trochaic, and 
 sometimes breaking over the prevailing tetrameters into a 
 pentameter, or lapsing into a trimeter. I have also con- 
 tinued the practice of writing little conclusions to the parts 
 of the poem. These, I may add incidentally, were the 
 hardest of all for me to write, presumably because, partak- 
 
ii PREFACE. 
 
 ing of a lyric quality, they were somewhat aside from the 
 bias of my knack at writing. 
 
 For those who may not have read the original fragment 
 of Chritsabel, I prefix a resume of its argument. 
 
 One night in "the month before the month of May" 
 Christabel was in the wood u a furlong from the castle gate," 
 praying underneath the old oak tree "for the weal of her 
 lover that's faraway." Suddenly hearing a moaning near 
 her, she sprang up, and, stealing to the other side of the 
 oak, found a "damsel bright, dressed in a silken robe of 
 white," and "beautiful exceedingly." In answer to 
 Christabel's question, the damsel replied that her name was 
 Geraldine, and said further that five warriors had seized her 
 yestermorn, and, tying her on a palfrey's back, had ridden 
 to the old oak tree, where one of them placed her, saying 
 "he would return in haste." 
 
 Christabel helped fair Geraldine to rise, and led her to 
 the castle, beseeching her to share her couch for the night. 
 She also assured Geraldine that the service of her father, 
 Sir Leoiine, was at her command, and that their 
 
 "stout chivalry 
 Should guide and guard her safe and free 
 Home to her noble father's hall." 
 
 When they crossed the court the mastiff, which 
 
 "Never till now had uttered yell 
 
 Beneath the eye of Christabel," 
 
 moaned angrily as she lay asleep in her kennel. 
 
 After Christabel and Geraldine had gone silently and 
 unmolested through the passages of the castle, and arrived 
 at the former's room, they had some talk concerning Chris- 
 tabel's mother, who had died when her child was born. Sud- 
 
PREFACE. Hi 
 
 denly Geraldine stared vacantly into the air and cried : 
 u Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine ! 
 I have power to bid thee flee." 
 And soon again : 
 
 "Off woman, off! this hour is mine — 
 Though thou her guardian angel be , 
 Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me." 
 Christabel tenderly sought to console her, and soon 
 Geraldine 
 
 "wiped her moist cold brow 
 And faintly said, w 'Tis over now !' " 
 
 But the fair damsel proved to be a witch in disguise, 
 and that night obtained a magic influence over the sleeping 
 Christabel. Next morning when Christabel led Geraldine 
 into the presence room of Sir Leoline, and he learned the 
 damsel's father was Sir Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine, he 
 became pale. u They had been friends in youth," but on ac- 
 count of a quarrel "had parted,— ne'er to meet again." 
 Their mutual affection had survived, however, and both had 
 been unhappy for years. 
 
 This chance meeting with the daughter of his quondam 
 friend found Sir Leoline ready to renew the old ac- 
 quaintance, and he waxed wroth when told of Geraldine's 
 abduction, and vowed revenge upon the perpetrators. In a 
 moment of tenderness he took her into his arms, and 
 
 U A vision fell 
 
 Upon the soul of Christabel. 
 
 * * ■& * * 
 
 Again she saw that bosom old, 
 Again she felt that bosom cold, 
 And drew in her breath with a hissing sound, 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 Whereat the knight turned wildly round," 
 
 but, seeing nothing unusual, asked what ailed his beloved 
 child, and his daughter could only answer "all will yet be 
 well. ,, 
 
 Then calling Bard Bracy, Sir Leoline told him to guide 
 the fair Geraldine home to her father, and to acquaint him 
 of his (Sir Leoline's) repentance. But on the night before 
 Bracy had had a vision in which he had seen Christabel in 
 the wood pitilessly trammelled in the coils of a snake. 
 Fearful of evi] consequences he had vowed that day 
 
 "With music strong and saintly song 
 To wander through the forest bare 
 Lest aught unholy loiter there." 
 
 Sir Leoline dismissed his forebodings with a jest, and 
 again kissed the forehead of fair Geraldine. The latter 
 looked at Christabel furtively and askance and with such 
 intensity of malice that the face of the gentle maiden, in her 
 weakness to resist the evil influence of the beautiful witch, 
 unconsciously took on the selfsame expression. Her father 
 beheld the look, and, wrongly ascribing it to jealousy, felt 
 that his old age and hospitality had been dishonored by his 
 only child. Still more l 'his heart was cleft with rage and 
 pain" when Christabel fell at his feet, and, unable to tell 
 the real meaning of her action, entreated him by her 
 mother's soul to send the woman away. After a few 
 moments of utter confusion and silent rage he ordered 
 Bracy from the room, 
 
 "And, turning from his own sweet maid, 
 The aged knight Sir Leoline 
 Led forth the lady Geraldine." 
 
 
COMPLETION OF 
 
 COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL 
 
PART THIRD. 
 
 I. ween a gentle maiden sweet 
 Can ill such cruel treatment meet. 
 E'en where she fell fair Christabel lay 
 With all her senses fled away, 
 And pale and still as still could be, 
 A fair yet painful sight was she. 
 Thus she lay as she were dead, 
 
 Until her brain came back again 
 To the full knowledge of her pain, 
 And to her chamber fast she fled, 
 A bitter sorrow in her breast. 
 In tears she sank upon her bed, 
 And, though at times a spell of peace 
 Would bring her respite and surcease, 
 Yet no abiding ease or reat 
 Found her sweet spirit so distressed. 
 The aged knight, Sir Leoline, 
 Led forth the lady Geraldine, 
 And, choosing a noble escort train, 
 
2 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Placed her on a palfrey vain, 
 
 And gave her to Bard Bracey's care 
 To ride beside her, guide her rein, 
 
 And carry home the lady fair. 
 "And tell, Bard Bracey, " Sir Leoline spake, 
 "Her noble father for my sake 
 The years agone since last we met 
 Have cost me sorrow and regret, 
 And that, repenting, fain am I 
 To meet again before I die 
 
 The comrade of my youthful heart, 
 And bind once more the sacred tie 
 
 Our youthful fury rent apart." 
 Then spake the knight to Geraldine, 
 But ill, I ween, could he divine 
 What deep impatience all the while 
 Lurked beneath her modest smile, 
 And how her heart once more felt free 
 When his last farewell ended he. 
 
 The train its journey then began ; 
 Bard Bracy was the one sad man, 
 And all the rest wore free and fair 
 The gentle air, the gladsome air 
 That, smiling on them everywhere, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 
 
 Nature invited them to wear. 
 
 Smooth was the road, the trees beside 
 
 Were flowering in their springtime pride ; 
 
 Their leaves, yet moist with morning dew, 
 
 Like diamonds glittered to the view. 
 
 The feathered singer's morning song 
 
 The gale took pleasure to prolong; 
 
 No creature was worthy of Nature's scorn, — 
 
 All were favorites of the morn. 
 
 Eair Geraldine, her palfrey sat 
 
 As one who had the graces pat, 
 
 And deftly did she spur and guide, 
 And tartly bandied gibe and chat 
 
 With the fair youths who rode beside. 
 Her beauty in the glancing light 
 Seemed fallen from heaven upon their sight, 
 And when she smiled and when she spoke 
 Ecstatic longing in them woke. 
 Onward they rode, the talk still flowed, 
 And she and they showed little care 
 Eor gentle Bracy's saddened air. 
 His harp he held within his hand, 
 
 And the train had not proceeded long 
 
 Ere they insisted for a song, 
 
4 COMPLETION OF 
 
 And grew so urgent their demand 
 
 He yielded to the pressing throng. 
 The air he played was light yet sad, 
 
 A plaintive warbling of mated birds; 
 The song, (the sweetest that he had,) 
 
 Was clothed in airy, careless words, 
 And yet breathed out, despite its dress, 
 A catching plaint of soul-distress. 
 But the mood of the train was gay and glad, 
 And they hinted the song was all too sad, 
 And Geraldine requested one 
 Of gayer mood and lighter tone; 
 And the minstrel Bard, with cast down pride, 
 Was urged and pressed till he complied. 
 Full glad was the Bard with rising cheer 
 When the journey's end was drawing near. 
 
 O'er Irthing Flood the journey went, 
 Up Knorren Moor without event, 
 And time and space unnoticed flew 
 Till Halegarth wood appeared in view. 
 Thick were the trees, and twined o'erhead, 
 And gloomed the road that through them led ; 
 And when the chatting caravan 
 To tread its labyrinth began, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 
 
 A mutual shudder crept along, 
 
 And stilled the laugh and hushed the song. 
 
 For all observed with keenness fine 
 
 A change come over Geraldine, 
 
 And how in such a little space 
 
 The bright smile faded from her face, 
 
 And their instead a sternness came 
 
 That, shedding round the lovely dame 
 
 Its chilling influence withal, 
 
 Checked the gaiety of all. 
 
 None might divine and none might know 
 
 What made the lady alter so. 
 
 For all upon her features read 
 
 It was not born of fear and dread, 
 
 But rather still she wore the air 
 
 Of one not unfamiliar there. 
 
 With look of confidence and pride 
 
 They saw her glance from side to side. 
 
 At length when they passed from the sombre reign 
 
 Beyond to the cheering light again, 
 
 So deeply was the chill impressed 
 
 On all the train that, how they tried, 
 None could regain his former zest, 
 
 Nor what he felt within him hide ; 
 
6 COMPLETION OF 
 
 And the rest of the journey, though brighter the air, 
 Was passed in silence broken rare. 
 
 Soon cried the lady Geraldine, 
 And pointed with her finger fine 
 Where Langdale Hall, her father's home, 
 Dimly through the foliage shown. 
 Bard Bracy brought his harp to bear, 
 And played a shrill and merry air, 
 Till soon the echoes of the strain 
 E-eached Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine, 
 And forth he came without delay 
 To meet the party on their way. 
 An old and white-haired man was he; 
 On his features you might see 
 
 How glad surprise lit up his eyes, 
 And gave to all a welcome free. 
 However bent his form was now, 
 However furrowed was his brow, 
 There lingered still a noble trace 
 About his figure and his face. 
 
 The minstrel lighted from his selle, 
 And with salute advanced to tell 
 His explanation fair and meet; — 
 How Geraldine, his daughter sweet, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRXSTABEL. 
 
 At midnight by the castle hell 
 
 Was found in the wood by Christabel, 
 
 And taken to Sir Leoline, 
 
 Who in the early morning shine 
 
 Had chosen the minstrel and his train 
 
 To guide the lady home again. 
 
 And then the gentle minstrel told 
 
 The words Sir Leoline had said, — 
 How when the past before him rolled 
 
 His heart within him beat and bled ; 
 And by his honor he did say 
 That he repented of the day 
 When he spake words of fierce disdain 
 To Roland de Yaux of Tryermaine, 
 And that once more he longed to know 
 The friend he loved so long a^o. 
 Sir Roland listened in surprise, 
 
 His aged countenance aglow, 
 And when he spoke the tears were in his eyes : — 
 "Bard Bracy, let thy master know 
 That I have felt repentance, too, 
 
 But pride wrought hard to stifle pain ; 
 And that full often to my view 
 
 His form in youth has come again — " 
 
8 COMPLETION OF 
 
 But lo ! with shrinking look of pain 
 
 Ceased speaking Sir Roland of Tryermaine, 
 
 And turned a face of suppliant fear 
 
 To where his daughter sat anear, 
 
 Who, cheeks aflame and eyes afire, 
 
 Regarded stern her aged sire. 
 
 What could it mean? — A father gray 
 
 Held beneath a daughter's sway? 
 
 A child so fair, yet vile of soul 
 
 As thus her parent to control? 
 
 The company could only stare, 
 
 And wounded countenances wear ; 
 
 And they to greater wonder woke 
 
 When Geraldine, alighting, spoke : — 
 
 "I cannot think of ought to gain 
 By holding this weary parley vain ; 
 And well I trow 'tis best for thee 
 To cease thy speech and come with me." 
 She wore a look of high command, 
 
 And more implied than she did say ; 
 She took her father by the hand, 
 
 And to the castle led the way. 
 No further parley did she deign 
 To minstrel Bracy or his train, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 
 
 But left them in amazement strong 
 "While she her father led along. 
 A comely youth who sat his steed 
 
 As one who, struck by strong surprise, 
 
 Is roughly in a trice made wise, 
 Spoke to his comrade to take heed : 
 "Though she seems gentle and so f-iir, 
 Methinksit 'hooves us to beware; 
 Her heart is false, and well I trow 
 She hath the power to work us woe." 
 The gentle minstrel, sad at heart, 
 Reined round his palfrey to depart, 
 And, followed by the youthful train, 
 Returned in silence home again. 
 
 Now speech was short and words were few, 
 For all were silent with surprise, 
 And lively charms of nature drew 
 
 But small attention from their eyes. 
 Right glad they were when far ahead 
 They marked the castle rise to view. 
 The moat they reached, and to the ground 
 Bard Bracy vaulted with a bound, 
 Crossed o'er the bridge and court withal 
 To enter straight the castle tall, 
 
10 COMPLETION OF 
 
 And, glancing neither left nor right 
 Sought for Sir Leoline the knight. 
 
 In a fit of surliness and gloom 
 Sir Leoline sat in his room, 
 And much he did in spirit drie 
 To mind his daughter's jealousy, 
 And how it brought him grief and shame 
 Because so patert to the dame. 
 
 The knight was deep in bitter thought 
 When Bracy there admission sought, 
 And to his sorrow and dismay 
 Was gruffly cut and sent away. 
 This to the minstrel was the drop 
 Into his overflowing cup; 
 And sadder than for many a day, 
 He turned about and went his way. 
 
 His deepening gloom did not depart, 
 And leave an unencumbered heart, 
 But all the day it grew apace, 
 And bowed his head and paled his face. 
 For Christabel he turned to seek, 
 And when the servants told him eke' 
 That she had to her chamber hied, 
 And had no longer been espied, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 11 
 
 And that in shame and sorrow deep 
 
 They had stood without and heard her weep, 
 
 His heart, though like a warrior's brave, 
 
 Sank deeper, deeper and misgave; 
 
 A grief he could not drive away 
 
 Clung to his soul throughout the day; — 
 
 A prescience that some dark abyss 
 
 Of whelming and chaotic woe, 
 Cloven by remorseless Nemesis, 
 
 Its greedy maw was opening slow 
 Beneath the castle in whose close 
 Dwelt all his hopes and joys and woes. 
 
 CONCLUSION TO PART THIRD. 
 
 They only who are given to bear 
 The burden of a sensitive soul 
 Know the full measure of their dole 
 When through the world they try to fare, 
 And like their comrades do and dare. 
 Failing to meet with brazen front 
 The world's unquailing bale and brunt, 
 Again they feel their grief's excess 
 In gibes of their unmanliness. 
 
12 COMPLETION OF 
 
 What wonder is it that, distressed 
 
 Beyond the limit of relief, 
 
 They leave the gauds that lure to grief, 
 And, searching every phase of rest, 
 Find solitude befits them best? 
 There can they, from all apart, 
 Let flow the feelings of the heart, 
 Give free reign to the visions high 
 That mould the soul to symmetry, 
 And find in every rolling plain 
 A stage whereon to ease their pain ; 
 In every grove, in every tree 
 A patient audience of sympathy, 
 Thy murmurs but approval mild 
 To Solitude's distempered child. 
 The world may whirl its life away 
 
 With not an inkling of the joy 
 
 They feel who, free from its annoy, 
 Know the sweet might of Nature's sway; 
 But well-a-day ! and well-a-day! 
 For those who love the quietude 
 Of meadow, mountain, stream and wood, 
 And fain would commune fair and free 
 With the sweet maid of Poesy, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 13 
 
 Yet still are forced the streets to tread 
 And mix with spirits dull and dead 
 Who have not sympathy and art 
 To understand a poet's heart. 
 Theirs cannot be the kind of woe 
 By others shared ; and well I trow 
 They must withdraw to mourn apart, 
 Like Bracy of the gentle heart. 
 
PAET FOURTH. 
 
 The day moved on with noiseless shoon, 
 And now had neared the hour of noon. 
 The air without was warm and whist, 
 The sun was beaming through a mist 
 Which let the light but faint and dim, 
 And made a halo round its rim. 
 About the castle and around 
 Were little life and little sound ; 
 For rumors of their master's pet 
 
 To all the occupants had run, 
 And caused the silence of regret 
 
 As they some injury had done. 
 Yet this a change did undergo : 
 Soon trilled a bugle-blast below, 
 And was admittance given fain 
 To Aldingar and eke his train, — 
 The noble knight Sir Aldingar 
 
 Who had plighted his troth to Christabel,- 
 
 The same for whom in the forest dell 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 15 
 
 She had prayed her prayer the night before. 
 
 He had long been gone, and they thought him far 
 
 Winning high honors in the war. 
 
 But, warfare ended, he had sped 
 
 To Christabel unheralded ; 
 
 And now to others all amort, 
 
 He met Bard Bracy in the court. 
 
 His eyes were bright, his breath came fast 
 
 With thrills of blissful antepast ; 
 
 His glowing features well expressed 
 
 The eager tremors in his breast ; 
 
 And ready queries he applied 
 
 About the welfare of his bride. 
 
 The minstrel tried to cast aside 
 
 All the traces of his gloom, 
 And answered light the youthful knight, 
 
 And led him to the presence room. 
 "Sir Aldinger," with suasive tone 
 
 He spoke with simulated heart, 
 "Thy gentle dove hath lately flown 
 
 To her apartment far apart; 
 And I beseech with love sincere 
 That, since the noontide is so near, 
 You calm the fears that thee enthrall. 
 
16 COMPLETION OF * 
 
 And meet her in the banquet hall. 
 Her handmaid shall be sent apace 
 To cite her to the dinner place, 
 With not a mention of thy name, 
 And when appears our little dame, 
 The holy meed 
 
 Of seeing rise 
 
 In her sweet eyes 
 
 The spreading impulse of surprise 
 Will glad our hearts indeed. 
 Sir Leoline, as well you know, 
 
 Is frail in health and bent and gray ; 
 And, though with pleasure he will glow 
 When I acquaint him who is here, 
 
 He cannot leave his room to-day. " 
 Bard Bacy finished, and amain 
 
 A maid was sent for Christabel, 
 
 But soon returned the news to tell 
 That all persuasion was in vain : 
 Her mistress wab ill, and chose to stay 
 In her apartment for the day. 
 And by her fay ! the maiden said, 
 Her mistress' eyes were large and red, 
 As though many tears she'd shed. 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 17 
 
 Such words could not but quickly blight, 
 
 The prelibation of the knight, 
 
 Though Bracy uttered words of cheer : — 
 
 "She would recover and appear, 
 
 And perchance they had not done aright 
 
 In leaving untold the name of the knight.'' 
 
 Not long this anxious time did last ; 
 
 The banquet summons sounded clear, 
 
 The Bard assumed an air of cheer, 
 And, while went on the noon repast, 
 He sought by a pretended gladness 
 The slow communicated sadness 
 To lure from out the passive breasts 
 Of sympathetic guests. 
 
 When over was the banquet, all 
 Assembled in the lofty hall 
 Where with his harp of magic tone 
 
 The minstrel plied his happy art, 
 
 Chanted a ballad of the heart, 
 And made his passion all their own. 
 
 Meanwhile when fell the twilight hour 
 Fair Geraldine slid from her bower, 
 And wrapped in mantle long and drear, 
 Went forth into the starshine clear, — 
 
18 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Accompanied by her thoughts alone, 
 She wandered forth unseen, unknown. 
 She raised her features to the skies, 
 
 And the starlight , falling on her face, 
 Revealed its beauty and its grace, — 
 Dark hair, disordered by the gale, 
 Blown o'er her forehead clear and pale, 
 Sweet lips of passion where were set 
 Lines showing spirit sufferance, 
 And in her sunken eyes of jet 
 
 A restless, bright and guileful glance. 
 No tears were trembliug in her eyes, 
 And yet her heart, for all so vain, 
 Was beating fast in peerless pain. 
 Far otherwise wrought her distress 
 Than calming her to gentleness ; 
 For, as she wandered on amain, 
 Fierce thoughts were coursing in her brain. 
 To Halegarth wood she took her way, 
 
 And when she saw, inwreathed in gloom, 
 Its spectral trees before her loom, 
 She made no boggling stop or stay : 
 With head erect, and light, swift gait 
 Its dark demesne she entered straight. 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. L9 
 
 Geraldine with long dark hair, 
 And eyes and brow divinely fair, 
 
 Endued with seeming gentle grace, 
 Are not within her maiden breast 
 Expectant fear and sheer unrest? — 
 Eor dark and gloom small care she hath; 
 Still hied she along her forest path, 
 When soon she halted and drew back, 
 And peered into the darkness black. 
 Her eyes grew wide; loudly she cried 
 
 In blended fear and ^rath : 
 "Ah! woman white, again, to-night, 
 
 You seek to bar me in my path ! 
 Though thou her guardian angel be, 
 Though canst not check nor alter me ; 
 I know my soul, I have no fear, 
 And there's a greater power near!" 
 
 The beauteous dame, with flashing eyes, 
 Sprang past the spot, and onward hies. 
 East, fast her feet the distance mete, 
 And home impatience goads her soul 
 To gain the covert of her goal. 
 What seeks this Geraldine so fair? — 
 She seeks the grot of Witch's Lair, 
 
20 . COMPLETION OF 
 
 (Most unfrequented solitude 
 In all the round of Halegarth Wood,) 
 Where in her fell, glum loneliness 
 Dwells Martha, aged anchoress. 
 
 The lonely maiden gazed on high 
 Where, riding dreamily o'er the sky, 
 Through clefts of trees looked down the moon 
 On all that silent scene ; and soon 
 Its pale beams to her vision gave 
 The rocky entrance of the cave. 
 
 Leafy twines of gadding vines 
 Spread all so mazy o'er the Lair 
 That people unfamiliar there 
 Had gazed upon the sylvan spot, 
 And passed in nescience of the grot. 
 Geraldine did then dispart 
 The tangled work of Nature's art, 
 And, hidden quite from prying sight, 
 Gave forth a summons from her throat 
 Not unlike the curlew's note. 
 From far within an answer came ; 
 She hastened on, the beauteous dame, 
 And, thriding a passage of damp and gloom, 
 Emerged into a low-browed room. 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 21 
 
 At farthest end, a-glowing bright, 
 A fire shot flickers of lambent light, 
 And gave the trappings all to sight. 
 
 The walls and ceiling, all of ground, 
 With kip- skin and fells were hung around; 
 A mighty cauldron on the fire 
 Hissed tamely now and now rose higher;. 
 And, lying low within its glow, 
 A sly fox did its head uprear ; 
 A few iron tripods stood anear. 
 
 Upon her entrance Geraldine 
 No person present could divine, 
 But when her dazzled sight 
 Had overcome the blinking light, 
 Her piercing, snake-like eye surveyed 
 A figure standing in the shade. 
 '•Ah! Mother Martha, thou art there! 
 Again I seek thy hidden lair 
 To tell my efforts and success, 
 And how I gave the girl distress." 
 The aged hag came forth to view : 
 
 Her face an hundred wrinkles bore, 
 Yet straight her form as shaft of yew, 
 
 And dark her eyes with magic lore. 
 
22 COMPLETION OF 
 
 "Daughter, seat thyself anear, 
 
 And tell what thou wouldst have me hear." 
 
 Bound Geraldine, as she stood there, 
 
 The woman wrapped her nappy gown, 
 Then drew the girl to the warming glare, 
 
 And close together they sat down. 
 "Now, Daughter mine, here by the shine 
 
 Of the burning cedar tell the whole ; 
 Thou hast a pallid look and wild, 
 Thou art cold and damp: I ken it, child; — 
 
 Some misery sits at the root of thy soul.' 
 Then Geraldine sought to relate 
 
 All her haps since yestere'en ; 
 
 As she proceeded, fierce and keen 
 Her eyes 'gan widen and dilate 
 With sting of old recurring hate, 
 Till, wrought to passion's highest key, 
 She flung her mantle suddenly, 
 And to her feet instanter rose, 
 While, rapid as a torrent flows, 
 Dark words of hatred came and fell 
 Upon the maiden Christabel. 
 With admiration in her eyes, 
 The old witch sat in still surprise. 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 23 
 
 u O, Mother Martha! knowest thou 
 What woes my haughty spirit bow? 
 Though I am wont with studied wiles 
 To wreathe my face in happy smiles, 
 Before the ball-room's giddy press 
 To wear the air of happiness, 
 And answer blushes to their stare, 
 Bright as the roses in my hair, 
 These are but semblances that veil 
 An endless reach of burning bale. 
 My heart, my thoughts are never there ; 
 They ever dwell on Aldingar, 
 The faithless knight who loved me well 
 Until he met this Christabel, 
 And left for her the glowing heart 
 That deemed him of its life the better part. 
 
 "I told thee nothing of this woe, 
 O, Mother, when few nights ago 
 I came to ask thee how to sate 
 The gnawing appetence of hate. 
 I come again, by vengeance backed, 
 To ask thee further how to act; 
 Yet know, I have this Christabel 
 Fast in the clutches of my spell, — 
 
24 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Into my snare with complaisance she fell." 
 Of mercy naught her spirit weet ; 
 Her wild excitement passed away, 
 And Geraldine resumed her seat 
 
 To hearken Mother Martha's say: 
 "Thy beauty, Daughter, is complete; 
 Thy flashing eye and piercing glance 
 Bespake the high intelligence 
 Which in thy childish innocence 
 I knew would bring thee fame and power. 
 Then wert thou like a woodland flower 
 Which, girt with gorse and prickly whin, 
 Seems lovelier for the distance of its kin. 
 Bereft so early of thy mother, 
 With not a sister or a brother, 
 I saw thee often when a child 
 In seach of blossoms roaming wild ; 
 I met thee often in the dell, 
 And lured thee to my hidden cell 
 Where you became acquainted well, 
 And where I taught thee charm and spell. 
 Perceiving all thy spirit rare, 
 I reared thee with a mother's care. 
 Think not thy love affair to me 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 23 
 
 Has ever been a mystery ; 
 
 Thy love and jealousy I kenned 
 
 From the commencement to the end. 
 
 The knight for whom thy heart is sore 
 
 Is now a warrior no more. 
 
 Ha! start not, Girl, at what I said; — 
 
 I do not mean that he is dead : 
 
 This morning near the dawn of light 
 
 I held my crystal to my sight, 
 
 And saw him riding through the land 
 
 Attended by a chosen band. 
 
 It seemed that they had traveled far ; 
 
 Close rode behind his retinue, 
 
 And by appearance well I knew 
 They were returning from the war. 
 
 At noon I took a second view, 
 And before Sir Leoline's castle tall 
 He stood, and gave his bugle call. 
 
 "Ay, Daughter, trust me, he is there 
 In the same castle with his fair, 
 
 And yet because thy snare was laid 
 
 His gentle, unsuspecting maid 
 Knows nothing of his presence there. 
 
 Art thou for vengeance still athirst? — 
 
26 COMPLETION OF 
 
 'Tis thine, if you obey me first. 
 To-night in thickest shadows flee 
 Unto her favorite old oak tree ; 
 Upon its grassy carpet round 
 With magic circles mark the ground ; — 
 Then by thy magic bold and free 
 Lure forth this maiden to the tree. 
 When she is there do thou not shirk 
 To force her in the charmed cirque, 
 And, — well, the rest to thee is known, 
 How this her reason will dethrone, 
 Destroy her charms for mortal man, 
 And Love from her forever ban." 
 
 Her thanks the rising maiden gave, 
 
 Yet lingered by the anchoress : — 
 "Where is thy crystal, Mother grave? — 
 One moment only do I crave 
 
 To glance at Christabel's distress." 
 "My crystal, Daughter, do you say? 
 Alack ! it was this very day 
 
 When I had ta'en those glances fleet, 
 It glided from my hands away, 
 
 And broke in pieces at my feet. 
 'Tis bad ; 'twill cost me trouble sure 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 27 
 
 Ere I another can procure. 
 I would, indeed, I had it now, 
 For, though I know not why nor how, 
 My aged breast is sore oppressed 
 With omen of disaster near ; — 
 
 But go thy way 
 Now maiden dear, 
 
 And come again to-morrow day." 
 Fair Geraldine turned from the light, 
 And wandered forth into the night. 
 
 CONCLUSION TO PART FOURTH. 
 
 Methinks it is a gift of love 
 From that Omniscient Power above 
 That human fates lie unforeseen 
 Behind the future's filmy screen, — 
 That no Cassandra lives to-day 
 To show the serpent in our way. 
 What if the bride 
 
 Who stands to-night 
 Aglow with love and pride, 
 
 And hears the rite 
 
28 CO M PLETION OF 
 
 That links her forever to the side 
 Of him in whom her hopes abide, 
 Could antedate the deeps of woe 
 Which she in after time may know ! 
 What if the mother, in her joy 
 Crooning to sleep her infant boy, 
 Might in that hour be given to scan 
 The degradation of the man! 
 If in the mid-day of to-morrow 
 Shall fall the deepest night of sorrow, 
 Who would desire to see its lower 
 Steal frowning o'er the Present's hour? 
 No, let Time keep his wonted way, 
 And laws of nature hold their sway; 
 For, after all that hath been said 
 
 In bold decrial of our lot, 
 I see but wisdom there displayed ; — 
 
 If aught be wrong I know it not. 
 
PART FIFTH. 
 
 In sun-kissed beauty day had set, 
 
 Like a rainbow fading from the sight, 
 And Night's cerulean coronet 
 
 Gleamed with a million points of light. 
 Soon in the east marked mortal eyes 
 Diana's golden disc arise 
 
 In her blue pathway to begin 
 Her peaceful journey o'er the skies. 
 
 The evening breezes, low and thin, 
 Passed o'er the wanderer's forehead light, 
 And in the tree-tops rustled slight, 
 And seemed like the breathing of a sigh 
 Which the world might whisper to the sky, 
 As, sunken deep in the mazes of sleep, 
 She lay with all her evils hid 
 Beneath the twilight's coverlid. 
 'Twas when upon the birchen spray 
 The nightingale begins her lay, 
 When from her hiding peeps the fay, 
 
30 COMPLETION OF 
 
 And sees the fairies at their play, — 
 
 How upon the green parterre 
 
 They trip their morris light and far. 
 
 Upon this moonlit prospect dwell 
 The tearful eyes of Christabel, 
 As from her couch at eve she came, 
 And sat down by the casement frame. 
 Full sad for her had been the day ; 
 It seemed 'twould never pass away, 
 But now she laid aside her fears, 
 And let the breezes dry her tears, 
 Gazed on the nightly beauty calm, 
 And made the scene her sorrow's balm. 
 Her soul as quiet grew and clear 
 As the distant sheet of Wyndermere, 
 As now on this stilly night it lies 
 
 Calm as a mother-bird in her nest, 
 
 Eepeating in its sleeping breast 
 The blue dome of the gemmy skies. 
 
 She forward leaned, and lightly pressed 
 Against the sill her peaceful breast, 
 And looked beyond to where she sees 
 The green-clad boughs of many trees, 
 And 'mongst them all the old oak's crest 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHMSTABEL. 31 
 
 Like a giant rising o'er the rest. 
 Long had she loved the forest's king, 
 And in her childish wandering 
 Beneath its houghs had stayed to rest, 
 Had plucked the green moss from its breast, 
 And better loved each time to stay, 
 And round its roots to ply her play. 
 And then she thought how yestereve 
 
 She knelt beneath it in her prayer 
 
 For her absent lover's dear welfare, 
 And scarcely could her eyes believe 
 
 When she found the grieving damsel there — 
 Her dreaming ceased, for on her soul 
 A secret, subtle horror stole 
 Like that same thrill she felt the morn 
 Which caused her father's ire and scorn, 
 When in her fear of Geraldine 
 Her sire could naught but hate divine. 
 The maiden drew her in apace, 
 And sat with damp and whitened face 
 Until it passed by slow degrees. 
 
 Came not again her former ease. 
 She rose, and crossed her chamber long 
 To where her mother's portrait hung, — 
 
32 COMPLETION OF 
 
 The mother whose sweet love and care 
 
 Had been denied her daughter fair. 
 
 She drew the beamy gauze aside 
 
 That scantly did the features hide. 
 
 And, gazing at the painting there 
 
 Of a lady gentle, sweet and fair, 
 
 In soft, contemplative distress 
 
 Stood the maiden motherless. 
 
 Some words she murmured faint and low : — 
 
 "How often, O, my mother dear, 
 Have I come hither in my woe, 
 
 And felt thy very self anear. 
 A holy solace seems to rise 
 From out those gentle-painted eyes, 
 Thy soft-drawn lips about to speak 
 A mother's love to my spirit weak. 
 For all his brusque and pettish ways 
 
 My father loves me well, I trow ; 
 
 Yet would he knew as thou wouldst know 
 To shed the meed I often need 
 Of words of love and looks of praise. 
 I would, O mother, thou wert here 
 My longing and my grief to hear. 
 Then might I rest against thy breast 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 33 
 
 My heart so lone and weary oft, 
 And listen to thee speaking soft 
 The words of tender sympathy 
 I have so longed to hear from thee." 
 
 There came a brief and silent spell 
 Till the maiden Christabel 
 Replaced the veil the portrait o'er, 
 And to the window came once more. 
 
 Upon the moon she turned her gaze, 
 And long regarded its yellow haze 
 
 As on it crept; 
 Gone was her feeling of deep dread ; 
 Upon her arm she laid her head, 
 
 And slept. 
 Ay, she is sleeping, sleeping now; 
 Peace lies upon her lily brow 
 Where through the day the seal of pain 
 Had marked the keenness of its reign. 
 The soft pulsations of the air 
 Wooed the light ringlets of her hair, 
 
 And whispered love-tones in her ear. 
 Ah ! why, instead, with tocsin knell 
 Did it not waken Christabel 
 
 To knowledge of the toils anear, 
 
34 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Ere round her unsuspecting heart 
 Were woven the meshes of black art? 
 
 Sleep still held its lulling spell 
 Till midnight struck the castle bell, 
 And then it was that Christabel 
 Regained her senses with a start. 
 She felt a horror round her heart, 
 Within her brain a pulsing flame 
 That slowly spread through all her frame ; 
 A longing for the old oak stole 
 Upon her acquiescent soul ; 
 And all the while she never wisfc 
 This fascination to resist. 
 
 "Mary mother, guard me well," 
 Crossing herself, said Christabel, 
 And put her mantle on withal, 
 And lightly stole into the hall, 
 And swiftly onward doth she fare 
 
 Till came she to the courtyard soon; 
 All was asleep and silent there, 
 
 In the dim glimmer of the moon 
 All was asleep and silent ? Nay ; 
 List to that angry yell and bay 
 Which from her kennel sitting near 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 35 
 
 The mastiff bitch gave half in fear ! 
 O, what can ail the aged hound 
 To give forth such an angry sound, 
 To utter bay and utter yell 
 In presence of sweet Christabel 
 Who ever cared for it so well? — 
 
 The startled damsel hastened on, 
 And crossed the moat and passed the lawn, 
 And reached the edge of the old greenwood, 
 And there in hesitancy stood 
 Bethinking then that not an eye 
 Her timid wandering might spy, 
 In the gloomy forest wandered she 
 To the huge, broad-breasted old oak tree. 
 
 But well I wis she thought amiss 
 In trusting that the shades of night 
 Concealed her course from human sight ; 
 For from above the minstrel bard 
 Of all her actions made regard. 
 His ominous anxieties 
 Had driven slumber from his eyes, 
 And while he tossed and sleepless lay 
 He heard the mastiff's angry bay; 
 And, thinking deeply on the cause 
 
36 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Arose and from his window peered, 
 When lo ! he saw his mistress pause, 
 
 And glance around as if she feared 
 
 The hall might wake that baying weird. 
 Jesu Maria! what did she there, 
 His mistress so tender, young and fair? 
 While on the maiden he looked long, 
 
 The ugly dreams of yester night 
 Came back upon him in a throng, 
 
 And filled his soul with dread and fright. 
 Sure some magician's evil charm 
 Was trolling Christabel to harm ; 
 And when he saw her disappear 
 He straight resolved to follow her. 
 
 Out into the night air free 
 Crept the minstrel noislessly, 
 And hastened after Christabel; 
 
 But when he reached the greenwood fair 
 He looked about and could not tell 
 
 At what point she had entered there. 
 Yet 'twas no time for vain delay, 
 And so he entered anyway. 
 Dark rose the trees, save here and there 
 The moonbeams blinked through branches bare. 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 37 
 
 Bard Bracy stood and listened well 
 
 To hear a sound of Christabel; — 
 
 Instead, there came unto his ear 
 
 A noise that filled his breast with fear, — 
 
 A low, dead roar that slowly died 
 
 Ran through the wood from side to side; 
 
 Dark shapes arose as if in wrath, 
 
 And seemed to flit before his path. 
 
 Unused to scenes so dread and wild, 
 
 The minstrel trembled like a child, 
 
 And turning from these visions black, 
 
 Unto the castle hastened back 
 There to procure his harp so mild, 
 The music of whose dancing strings 
 Could break the charm of evil things, 
 And there to seek SirAldingar 
 Whom, bred to grisly sights of war, 
 No black illusions could debar. 
 There he arrived in hasty plight, 
 Possessed his harp and roused the knight 
 Who, armed with sword and purpose grim, 
 Heard the Bard's tale and followed him 
 Fleet could they speed along the way 
 When Christabel in danger lay, 
 
38 COMPLETION OF 
 
 And vengeance did her lover swear 
 On those who harmed one silken hair. 
 
 Bard Bracy knew she often played 
 Beneath the oak's inviting shade. 
 
 They reached the forest speedily, 
 And sped toward the old oak tree. 
 Despite the noises on the blast, 
 Dark shapes and sights that held aghast 
 The knight and minstrel onward passed; 
 And thus had they but shortly sped 
 Till they perceived the oak ahead. 
 
 But Jesu ! what was lying there? 
 
 Sweet Christabel in the dim moonshine 
 Lay pallid on the frightened grass, 
 
 And o'er her hovered Geraldine. 
 With dark, fierce words and gestures wild 
 The dame stood o'er the maiden child, 
 And far the fury of her soul 
 Had passed the portal of control. 
 The men stood speechless, till at last 
 
 In wild excitement spoke the knight : 
 
 "See you that woman in our sight? 
 I have known her in the past. 
 I loved her once, but found too well 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 39 
 
 She knew and used the arts of hell. 
 
 O ! she has murdered Christabel, 
 
 And I alone will dole her meed : — 
 
 Vengeance, vengeance for the deed!" 
 
 He drew his blade without a sound, 
 
 And reached the fury at a bound. 
 
 * 'Nay, wait!" Bard Bracy cried in fright, 
 
 And sought to check the wayward knight; 
 
 Too late the impulse to arrest, 
 
 The dagger pierced her shrinking breast, 
 
 And Geraldine in death-fit fell 
 
 Beside unconscious Christabel. 
 
 An awful spell of silence came, 
 And damped the heat of passion's flame, 
 Led Mercy in to intercede, 
 And make them realize their deed. 
 The men looked down on the damsel slain, 
 Till turning from the sight of pain, 
 The minstrel bent him o'er his maid, 
 His hand upon her forehead laid, 
 And cried with streaming eyes and wet : 
 "O! haste thou, she is breathing yet, 
 We'll bear her to the castle fleet, 
 And the leech may save our maiden sweet!" 
 
40 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Hasted the knight, and both with care 
 The swooning maiden onward bare. 
 "That I should find thee in this plight, 
 
 When after absence long and wide, 
 
 I came to claim thee for my bride !" 
 With broken manhood sobbed the knight. 
 
 The castle reached, the pallid maid 
 Upon a downy couch was laid, 
 And soon each far apartment through 
 The doleful rumor wailing flew. 
 Fast ran the menials here and there 
 To summon leech or cordial bear. 
 Sir Leoline came, and stood beside, 
 And saw recourses vainly tried ; 
 The feeble flicker of his heart 
 Seemed also ready to depart 
 When on his maiden's white, cold face 
 Death's blighting finger he could trace. 
 The leech had said the hand of death 
 Was surely pressing out her breath. 
 
 Soon from the lips of Christabel 
 Some faint words on the silence fell, 
 And holding down his eager ear, 
 Her father seemed these words to hear: 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 41 
 
 <0, father, I am cold to-night; 
 
 Nay, stay beside me, for I fear 
 
 I cannot bide much longer here ! 
 There swims before my clouded sight 
 A form of grace, a face of light, 
 And much I fear 'tis she again 
 Seeking to give me deeper pain. 
 Yet no, — she nears, — she nears me still ; 
 She cannot have intentions ill, — 
 
 Her features smiles of love assume, 
 And now they bear resemblance fair 
 
 To that dear portrait in my room. 
 She comes to claim her Christabel, — 
 My mother! — it is she — farewell!" 
 Keen was the stinging of the dart 
 That quivered in the old man's heart, 
 As on her brow a kiss he pressed, 
 And turned aside with heaving breast 
 And muttered, "Broken every tie ; 
 Gone, gone, my child! — Now let me die." 
 
 There were lamentations sore, 
 And the castle, gay of yore, 
 Was desolate forevermore. 
 
 In few days the chapel bell 
 
42 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Tolled the moaning funeral knell 
 Of the maiden Christabel, 
 As in the twilight's star-lit gloom 
 They bore her to the ancient tomb, 
 And laid her there in peace to bide 
 Close by her gentle mother's side. 
 
 CONCLUSION TO PART FIFTH. 
 
 Already meseemeth we have fared 
 
 Too far into the Vale of Woe ; — 
 The sky is dark, the ground is bared, 
 
 The leaf is stricken from the bough, 
 And who that once has known the cheer 
 
 Of Spring's lush beauty and glowing guise 
 Would care to dwell and linger here 
 
 When yonder away are balmy skies? — 
 Yet few words more, and I am fain 
 To close at last my tale of pain. 
 Few words indeed have I to write 
 Of how Sir Leoline the knight 
 
 Anon laid by the bale of life, 
 And in another world of light 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 43 
 
 Sought his sweet daughter and gentle wife, 
 And eke of how by dim moonshine 
 Beautiful, wayward Geraldine 
 Was borne on Mother Martha's breast 
 To Halegarth Wood, and laid to rest. 
 
 Her father, when told, sought out apace, 
 The secret of her resting-place, 
 And, kneeling on the little mound, 
 Shed not a tear, moaned not a sound : 
 The memories of her waywardness 
 Were seared too deeply to express. 
 But did he, ere he passed away, 
 Renew with Leoline old and gray 
 The friendship broken long ago? — 
 
 I know not, for no legends tell ; 
 
 But God knows well how frangible 
 Are all our moorings here below, 
 
 And, though we wail and strive amain 
 
 Against the frequency of pain, 
 Yet, looking deeply, we must know 
 How wise the plan that makes to flow 
 Due consequences from a wrong : 
 Therein are we made free and strong. 
 
 About the castle, where of yore 
 
44 COMPLETION OF 
 
 Through mazy wild and palmy more 
 Christabel had wandered free 
 In childish innocence and glee, 
 Hovered a ghostly Presence there, 
 Like the lank spectre of Despair. 
 Yet sometimes when at eventide 
 Time stilly ran as a brooklet's glide, 
 And smiled the spaced stars above 
 With the benignancy of love, 
 Adown the grassy avenue 
 That, seldom trodden now, led through 
 The bloom-white thicket's dewy gloom 
 To where stood waiting the marble tomb, 
 A figure, slight of make and tread, 
 With trembling steps and bended head, 
 And circling crown of floating hair, 
 Had been seen to wander there. 
 Aye to the tomb it wandered clear, 
 Then seemed to flit and disappear ; 
 While ever to those who lent an ear 
 On the gale came swimming sweetly faint 
 The notes of a bosom-wringing plaint. 
 Peasants who chanced to stray anear 
 Had turned away in doubt and fear, 
 
COLERIDGE'S CHRISTABEL. 45 
 
 For it was said that spirits white 
 Came thronging eager in the night 
 
 In that sweet dell 
 
 To sing and tell 
 Of their departed Christabel. 
 I doubt not but their simple wit 
 Enlarged the truth in spreading it : 
 The figure was the Bard's alone, 
 
 B v acy disconsolate and forlorn, 
 
 Who oft at eve and early morn 
 Brought swelling buds and roses blown 
 To deck the tomb's unfeeling stone, 
 While he poured his unavailing moan. 
 
 And now that we are nearly through, 
 The moral, you may say, is due, — 
 That for the dolors we have passed 
 Some lesson we must draw at last 
 To make the pages worth a reading. 
 
 Without restriction I this view 
 Cannot accept as worthy heeding : 
 The subtle Spirit of Romance 
 Brooks charily a probing glance ; 
 Before the philosophic gaze 
 It steals away like morning haze ; 
 
46 COMPLETION OF 
 
 And now, as vulture with its prey, 
 To vivisect my tender lay, 
 And take its glamour all away 
 "Would, were such desecration tried, 
 Rob my heart of its parental pride. 
 The prosiest days of all our life 
 With speaking apologues are rife, 
 And like the hidden growth of seed, ■ 
 Their good is molded deed 
 Not when as stated apothegms, 
 Polished like lapidary gems, 
 They are repeated o'er and o'er 
 As tedious pedagogic lore, 
 But when, as still, implied effect, 
 Growing ever, though often checked, 
 They rouse in the unreflecting breast 
 An aspiration to attain 
 A larger clear, a higher plane, 
 Often dreamed but ne'er possessed. 
 
OTHER POEMS. 47 
 
 ON A PORTRAIT OF KEATS. 
 
 Long had I followed with enraptured eyne 
 Endymion sadly roaming bosk and dell, 
 Drunk deep the pain of tender Isabel, 
 
 And fond belief of love-lorn Madeline ; 
 
 Had felt the fear and heard the tones divine 
 
 That shook the welkin when the Titans fell, 
 And longed amid the fascinating spell 
 
 To see the forger of these fancies fine. 
 
 And now I gaze upon the brow's broad room, 
 The lips of passion and the musing eyes, 
 
 Dark with the prescience of approaching doom, 
 Or wide with sting of fleering enemies, 
 
 And feel, O Keats, a sentience of thy gloom, 
 
 Whence heart-born, self-excluding thoughts arise. 
 
48 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 ON A MAY MORNING IN THE WOODLAND. 
 
 Sweet morn of May, thy spirit in the air 
 
 Breathes its proverbial glory o'er the earth, 
 
 And joys in the ubiquitary birth 
 Of old emotions, now grown new and rare. 
 Low sleeps the tiger Passion in his lair, 
 
 While o'er the greening plain of Peace and Grace 
 
 Lamb-fleeced fancies roam from place to place, 
 And ruminate the Flower-existence there. 
 Now is the swarm of Irritations slain; 
 
 They perished as I fled the city's taint, 
 And in this spot, baring my breast amain, 
 
 I woo Love back into my spirit faint. 
 Here dwells Religion, here its truest fane, 
 
 And here I still all pipings of complaint. 
 
OTHER POEMS. 49 
 
 PLATONIC LOVE. 
 
 I followed Love into a narrow dale, 
 
 Steep, lone, secluded, where I found abode 
 
 The One whose presence in my dreams had glowed ; 
 
 In her sweet eyes I read the mutual tale. 
 
 For long we dwelt alone in that sweet pale 
 
 Bathed in the stream of joy that round us flowed, 
 Until Love came again, and forth we yode 
 
 To a high mountain on his guiding trail. 
 
 Beneath us lay a wide expanse of plain 
 
 In soothing, soft, time-chastened colors dressed; 
 
 Hither and thither mixing, ran amain 
 
 A mass of people, filling each his nest, 
 
 And lo ! no longer drew they my disdain, 
 
 But all stirred kindly feelings in my breast. 
 
60 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 THE VALE OF REST. 
 
 (From the German of Uhland.) 
 
 When the sun sinks in the west, 
 
 And, like Alps against the glow, 
 Mountain-domed the cloud-groups show, 
 I have asked with tears in eyes, 
 "O, among them yonder lies 
 
 My longed-for Vale of Rest?" 
 
OTHEK POEMS. 51 
 
 THE ROSE GARDEN. 
 [From the German of Uhland.) 
 
 Of a beautiful rose garden 
 
 I will sing to thee and tell 
 
 How ladies at morning roamed thro' it, 
 At eve how heroes fought and fell. 
 
 "My lord is king in the land, 
 
 I rule in this garden of roses ; 
 
 He chose the golden crown, 
 
 And I the wreath of posies. 
 
 4 'And list, ye three young warders, 
 
 Dear to my soul ye are, 
 Let tender maidens enter, 
 
 But knights, I charge, debar. 
 
 "They might destroy the roses, 
 
 And then I should be forlorn." 
 
 So spake the beautiful queen 
 
 As she wandered there one morn. 
 
52 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Then before the gate resounded 
 The faithful warders' treads ; 
 
 The roses gave out their perfume, 
 And nodded their lovely heads. 
 
 And there came along the highway 
 Thr;e tender maidens dear : 
 
 "Ye warders, three dear warders, 
 Prithee let us enter here !" 
 
 As the maidens broke them roses 
 
 Their surprise was great exceeding : 
 
 "Have the little roses stuck us? 
 
 Else why are our fingers bleeding?' 7 
 
 And before the gate resounded 
 The faithful warders' treads ; 
 
 The roses gave out their perfume, 
 And nodded their lovely heads. 
 
 Then along the road on horses 
 
 Three impudent knights did ride : 
 
 "Ye warders, three base warders, 
 Haste ye and open wide!" 
 
 "The gate, it shall stay shut, 
 
 Our swords they are bare and brown, 
 
OTHER POEMS. 53 
 
 The roses they are dear, 
 
 And your horses might trample them down ! ■ ' 
 
 Then fought the knights and warders 
 
 And the knights won the bloody fray; 
 
 Like the roses the warders were crushed, 
 And together they dying lay. 
 
 And at evening came the queen 
 Roaming the garden thro' : 
 1 'And are my roses trampled, 
 1 And slain my warders true? 
 
 4 'Then on rose leaves in the earth 
 
 I will lay them peacefully; 
 And where the rose garden nourished 
 
 Shall the lily garden be. 
 
 "And who will watch my lilies 
 
 As faithfully as they? 
 By night the stars and moon, 
 
 And the glorious sun by day." 
 
M OTHER POEMS* 
 
 TO PHYLLIS, 
 
 (From the Dutch of Jacohus Bellamy.) 
 
 Happy the man who, lacking feeling. 
 Has never shed the tears of grief, 
 
 Who, proof to every keen disaster, 
 
 Can steel his heart's unmanliness. 
 
 Ah ! were my heart but so unfeeling, 
 
 I should be happy then ! 
 No tears would then on my cheeks glisten : 
 
 I should be happy then ! 
 
 Yet does the fountain of our pleasure 
 
 Spring from unfeelingness? 
 Ah ! no ; the fount of truest pleasure 
 
 Is in a feeling heart. 
 
 Well, then, my tears, flow on, flow on ! 
 
 Emotion's tears ye are; 
 In hearts impassible and stolid 
 
 True greatness never lives. 
 
OTHEE POEMS. 55 
 
 Who is it yonder diffidently 
 
 Following his wife to the grave? 
 
 No tears swim in his eyes malicious, 
 His bosom heaves no sigh. 
 
 Was his wife to her sex a blemish? 
 
 Was she untrue to him? 
 The image she of Love and Virtue, 
 
 And fame of womanhood. 
 
 He, all unconscious of the beauty 
 
 Of Virtue, Love and Faith, 
 Last upon earth the greatest treasure, 
 
 And never knew its worth. 
 
 So then, flow on, flow on, my tears. 
 
 My heart's true witnesses! 
 Far liefer would I be unhappy 
 
 Than so unfeeling be. 
 
56 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 VERSELETS. 
 
 Kind ladies have often endeavored 
 To break my doltish phlegm, 
 
 And lure me into reading 
 
 My writings aloud to them. 
 
 But I am a modest fellow 
 
 Without pretense or sham, 
 
 And don't just like that manner 
 Of showing how brave I am. 
 
OTHER POEMS. 57 
 
 Little maiden, stay a little, 
 
 Wait and hear me, I implore ; 
 I have found what it is that draws them. 
 
 Thy lovers gallant and galore : 
 
 They love thy lands and rhino ; 
 
 I love thy heart inside, 
 For that, I am told, is a jewel, 
 
 And jewels are my pride. 
 
58 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 In moments of humble sadness 
 Of repentance I am fain. 
 
 And straightway of my comrades 
 Beg forgiveness once again. 
 
 For often on slight provocations 
 Bad words I up and say: 
 
 However by some exalted 
 
 I am moulded of mortal clay. 
 
 And then I am a poet 
 
 Of the usual freaky cast, 
 
 And of all lackadaisical liars 
 Believe the poet last. 
 
OTHER POEMS. 59 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Shalt thou not mourn because thy early days 
 
 Were made the target of thick-thronging woes? 
 
 Shalt thou not bitterly revert to them, 
 
 And, by comparing thy restricted path 
 
 With the wild sweet freedom incident to youth, 
 
 Bewail thy shorn lot? Where is the result, 
 
 The recompense for that untimely blight? 
 
 One voice within me queried thus ; the tone 
 
 Was siren, suave, alluring me to think 
 
 As it suggested. Soon another voice 
 
 Rose up to answer. Now the tone was grave, 
 
 Void of caresses, plain, and modulated 
 
 To one low pitch of sameness. It replied : 
 
 "Woo not illusion; let me undeceive thee. 
 
 Thou hadst denials, hadst bestowals, too. 
 
 Methinks that wild, sweet freedom, were it thine 
 
 In earlier days, had sent thee racing far 
 
 Beyond due limits. Thick thy way was strewn 
 
60 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 With shards and shatter, but at intervals 
 Did not fair flowerets spring and offer up 
 Their humble redolence to freshen thee? 
 Forget not how that Sorrow, thoughtful-eyed, 
 And pale-browed, mother of Reflection, came, 
 And, standing by thee, from her moulded lips 
 Shed the sweet lore that none but she can teach.' 
 
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