Jmbm *^^:^^g|p-; Class Book Gopight}^". COFVRIGHT DEPOSm '^!:, 'j^^^^V ®!^iilii::illiilliS^ (I) of Olol^rtJug^, Poif and EoaSPttt Containing only those poems which time has proven immortal of Containing only those poe??ts which tiine has pr^oven i^nmortal ;V»Te?'V^ NEW YORK : THE CLOVER PRESS, INC. N in e te en- H n n dre d -and' Ten ©CI.A2?::5^;; ®o iMg Iflnuf^ Parents Page One m v. , — these ■ three of tfife^ immortals are linked/to all trW, l&vers of tHe beautiful, the mystical and the.^-hythmical : as expressed in the divineL language of ver^e. // Sufficient time has Separated us frt^^the adven| of Christabel, Annabel Lee,-md The Blessed Damozel, to obliterate all that is personal :and earthy from the ma^s of companion verse. For in a l^fe-time the fancies of joui\\ and tile maturer thoughts of later years — when inscribed- may be large in vqlume, but to no man is it given that all his act^ shall b^reat, ^nnoblhag or enduring. In comrnuning >/^ith these rare musicians, it would seem as though they had played upon the sanie instrument; for a reader of one s6on becomes absorbed ^n a second, and inevitably an ardent worshipper at the shrines of all three. So it is that the following pages contain all that grips the heart, and haunts the memory of the worshipper of to-day,— as distinct from that one of yester-year,— (who could not dis-associate the song from the singer), and lifts us from the "throng to peace remote in sunny silences." CONTENTS PAGE Preface 1 PART I. IntrodxTction to Samub|:- Taylor Coleridge. - • 5 KuBi^k Khan • • • • 7 CRIStTABEL 10 SONG|S OF THE PiXIBS 36 HY]vm ^Before Sunrise, infhe 'vale of Chamouni) 41 Lewti 45 Ode to Sara 48 The Rose 52 The Rimb of thb, Ancient Mariner • 53 ^^ Selections : Reflections 78 The Pains of Sleep 80 Religious Musings 80 Lines Written in Early Youth 81 The Kiss 82 Lines on a Friend . . • • 82 Youth and Age 83 To C. J.loyd 84 PART II. PAGE Introduction to Edgar Allan Poe 85 To Helen 87 A Dream Within a Dream 88 Lenore 89 The City in the §ea . • ■ . 91 /Annabel Lee^ 93 Israfel 95 The Haunted Palace 97 Evening Star 99 EuiyALIE 100 The Sleeper To -^ . 103 The ^fkLLEY OF /Unrest. • • 104 The Conqueror Worm • ■ 105 Dream-Land • 107 Selections from Al Aaraaf . ■ 109 Spirits of the Dead • . • • 112 The Bells 113 Bridal Ballad 117 For Annie ■ 118 To One in Paradise 122 Ulalume 123 To Science {A Prologue to Al Aaraaf) • 126 PAGE . Eldorado 12^ The Raven ;••■*» 128 Selection from Tamerlane 134 PART III. Introduction to Dante Gabrikl Rossktti 135 Sudden Light 137 The Blessed Damozel 138 True Woman (The Bmse of Life) 143 John op. Tours • • • 144 Parted Presence • 145 Youth's Antiphony (Th^ Hou^ of Life) 147 The Staff and Scrip 148 The Ballad of Dead Ladies {TranslatiofLfrom Francois Villon) • 155 The Song of the B6wer • 156 Even So ■ - • • ■ 158 The White Ship • 159 The King's Tragedy 170 The One Hope {The House of Life) 202 Nuptial Sleep (The House of Life) 203 PART I. Pate Five Bmmti ©aglor CnUrthg? SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE was born at the Vicarage of Ottery St. Mary, in Devonshire, on the 21st of October, 1772. His father was the Rev. John Coleridge, Vicar of the Parish, and Master of its Grammar School. His mother was the Vicar's second wife, and Samuel Taylor was the ninth son by the second wife. Coleridge's parents died within a short time of one another when he was nine years old. Our knowledge of Coleridge's childhood is derived entirely from his letters to Poole in 1797. He describes himself as a precocious and imagina- tive child, never mixing with other boys. As a scholar, Coleridge's talents proved as great as his genius, and in spite of his persistant waywardness he always took the best honors the school afforded. "'At twenty- five he had already defined for himself his peculiar line of intellectual activity,* Walter Pater writes. Madam de Stael observed of him : /that he had an odd, attractive gift of monologue ;* and another says, *His voice rose like a stream of rich, distilled perfume. ' '* "In 1795, Coleridge married Sarah Fricker, and settled at Clevedon. With these responsibilities and interests, the earnest endeavors of his pen scarcely relieved their financial troubles beyond eking out a ^ere subsistence. The following year he published the first volume of his earlier poepis, and in 1797 appeared a second edit^Onr. This year produced the works by which he will be longest arid" always remembered. It was in November, 1797, that Coleridge and' Wordsworth planned a joint composition, but the attempt failed, and Coleridge took the matter into his own hands. The magnificent result was 'The Anaent Mariner: It was not completed then, btit 'grew and grew' (says Wordsworth) until March of the following year. "Of Cmstahel, which Coleridge says was begun in Stowy. in 1797, there is no contemporary record; though it was published in 1816, with its attendant, Kuhla Khan and The Pains of SUep ; and while the pamphlet met with large sale, and went into a Page Six second edition almost at once, its receptioii by the critics was disappointing, Kubla Khan had been the costly, but delightful result of Coleridge's retirement to Porlock in 1798. In 1800 'Lyrical Ballads and a Few Other Poems' was published, but without success. "Prose writings on philosophy, politics and religion filled the last migration of the poet's life. "And so glided away the length- ening twilight of his days, — yet not without active, intellectual life at the centre" — writes W._M. Rqssetti — "and after four years of confinement to a sick-r«f6m tlTe end caine. on the 25th of July, 1834." Mr. Swinburn h^i expressed his enthusiasm, in the following truth about Coleridgpp — "As a poet, his place i§ indisputable, it is high amon^ .the., hignest at all time: That may %^ said of this one which/can hardly b^aid of afty fcut the greatest!among men, — that, com^ what may t«i the^>world ih the couifse of tji^tlte, it will never see his v^lace filled* Tke htf^hest lyrical work ^ ,,eittleF'"p^ssionate or iafaginative. , Olf plk^siqn Coleridge's hapea*cd to himself to have a distilict recollection of the whokf, and taking his ij>en, ink, and paper, instantly «nd eagerly wrote down thiriines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called oiut by a person on business'vfrom Porlock, and. detained by him above an houf , and on his return to tl^e room, found, to his no small surprise and mortifidation, that though he still Vetamed some va#ue and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight pr ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the imagJes on the surlface of a stream into which, a ftone had been cast, but alas I without the after restoration of the Ij^ttbr*' '< Then, all the charm Is broken— all that phantom-world so fair, Vanislvcs,' and a thousand circlets spread, 'And each misshape the other. Stay awhile, Poor yi^uthi who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes — The sti'pm will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return! And lo! he stays. And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, unite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror. Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given to him. AuptOV aStOV OCdd) : but the to-morrow is yet to come. A5 a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a fragment of a very different character, describing with equal fidelity the dream of pain and disease.— 1816. Page Poetical IVorlf* of Eight SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And there were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place ! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted $y woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man. And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! Poetical Wor^s of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Nint The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, t would build that dome in air. That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice. And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed. And drunk the milk of Paradise. Page Poetical IVorlgs of Ten SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE The first part of the following poem was written in the year one thou- sand seven hundred and ninety-seven, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year one thousand eight hundred, at Keswick, CumTfcrhrtl37''"^'Sl^nce the latter date, my poetic powers hare been, till very lately, in a state of stjapendcd animation. But at, in my very first conception of the tale, I had the wli6i^e present to my mind, with the wholeness no less than with the loveliness, of ^ vision; I trust that I shall yet be able to^ embody in verse the three parts yefMo come. It is probatle, that H the j)oem had been finished at either of the former periods, or ,if even the first andv.second part "had been finished In the year 1800, the impres^on of its origiriklity Vould have been much greater than I dare at present.:i^pect. But for thijf, I nave only my own indorrencc to' U^me. The dates //kre mentioned for the eJifclusive purpose of pi^cluding cli%rges of plagriafism or servile imitation '^rom. myself. For, there is among us a set of criticJL who seem to hold that r-—" — •''- *^.ought'and image is traditional; who nave no notion that there ;s fountains in the worki, small as wdl as great; and who wo ; haritably derive every rill they behol4 flowing, for * perforation Bjade in some other man's tank. I hm con- fident however, that as far v ' tJft present poem is concerned, the Celebrated poets ^whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, tither in particuikf passages, or in the tone and the' spirit of the whole, would be among the first \.o vindicate me from the chargtj an^i who, on any striking coinci- dence, wotiid permit me to address them in this doggerel ver^on of two monkish Latin, hexameters: 'Tis mine and it is likewise yuis. But an if this will not do, llet it be mine, good friend! for I Am thfe poorer of the two. I have only to add, that the metre of the Chrisubel i» 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 accent* 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 coa- venience, but in correspondence with some transition in the nature of the imagery or passion. Poetical Works of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Eleven Part the First. 'Tis the middle of the 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, Ha^h a toothless mastiff,, which Fjpm her keimfe} beneath the rock / Maketh answer to the clock, - Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; ; Ever and aye, by shine and Sliower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud ; . Some say, she sees ini^ lady's shroud. Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but no$ dark. 'I'^ie thin grey 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 grey: 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the spring comes slowly up this way. The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away. Page Poetical Works of Twelve "SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERJDCE 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 mistletoe: 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 seemed to be Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan. That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. Hush, beating heart of Christabel! Jesu, Maria, shield her well! She folded her arms beneath her cloak. And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there? Poetical Works of P<^9* SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thirtetn There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white, That shadowy in the moonlight shone: The neck that made that white robe wan, Her stately neck, and arms were bare; Her blue-veined feet unsandaled 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 ipeak 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 yester-mom, 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. Page Poetical Work* of Fourteen SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 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 lojig it is (For I have lain entranced I wis) Since one^ the tallest of the five, Took iiie from the palfrey's back, ^ A weary\wohjan, scarce alive. | ^J^ome muttiared words his comrader spoke ; -' He placed nte underneath this oalsj" / He swore they would return with haste ; \ i Whither they Went I cliiTpot tell— ■ ^ I thought I heard, some minutes past. Sounds as of a castle bell, Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she), v And help a wretched maid to flee. Then Chtistabel stretched forth her hand. And comforted fair Geraldine: O well bright dame ! may you command The service of Sir Leoline; And gladly our st;out chivalry Will he send forth and friends withal To guide and guard you safe and free Home to your noble father's hall. Poetical Works of page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Fifteen 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 as silent as the ceU, Sir Leoline is weak in health And may not well awakened be, But We wiil^moYe as if in stealth : Andf I besee^l;^ y^siur courtesy This night, to $har^ your couch witlvme*. < \ \ :They crossed the mbat, and Qhristibel [Took the key that'^fitted welU' " jA little door she open^ straight, I All in the middle of the gate; / 'The gate that w^s ironed within and without, Where an arnfiy in battle array had marched out; The lady ssj^k, belike through pain. And Christabel with might and^main Lifted her up, a weary weight, ^ ^-^ Over the thi-eshold 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 has rescued thee from thy distress! Page Poetical Works of Sixteen SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 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 ^il the mastiff bitch? Never till n6w she uttered yell Beneath the eye of Christabel. f Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail 4ie 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 lady's 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. Poetical Wor^s of Pm%e SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seventeen Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, And jealous of the listening air They steal their way from stair to stair, Now in glimmer, now in gloom. And now they pass the Baron's 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 there. 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 fastened to an angel's 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 jBoor below. weary lady, Geraldine, 1 pray you, drink this cordial wine! It is a wine of virtuous powers; My mother made it of wild flowers. I would, s4id Geraldine, ^ she wei'e Page Poetical Works of Eighteen SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE And will your mother pity me, Who am a maiden most forlorn? Christabel answered — ^Woe is me I 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, upoa.mjr-wedding day. O mother d^ar ! that thou were here ! ine,^she wei^ftu But soon vnth altered voice, said she-^ 'Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! ^Jl have power* to bid thee flee.' Alas! what ails poor Geraldine? Why stares she with unsettled eye? V Can she the bodiless dedd espy? '' And why with hollow voice cries she, 'Off, woman, ofiF! this^ hour is mine — Though thou her guardian spirit be, Off, woman,'off ! *tts 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 wildered you! The lady wiped her moist cold brow. And faintly said, ' 'tis over now !' Poetical Worlds of p^g^ SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Nmtteen 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 countree. And thus the lofty lady spake — All they who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you lovefthem, and for their sake And for the good which me befell, Even I in my degree will try, Fai^ maiden, td rec^uite you well. Btit now unrobd yourself ; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie. "Quoth Christabel, so let it be J 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. Page Poetical Works of Twenty SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 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 Maiden's 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! Poelical IVor^s of p^g^ SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Tvenly-one Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; But vainly thou warrest. For this is alone in Thy power to declare. That in the dim forest Thou heardest a low moaning, And found'st 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 THE FIRST. It was a lovely sight to ^ee The lady Christabel, when she Was praying at the old oak tree Amid the jagged shadows V Of mossy leafless boughs, Kneeling in the moonlight, Td 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. (3) Pagt Poetical Work* of T9tnirti»o SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDCB 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 taim and rill, ; The night-birds all that hour were still. But now they are jubilant anew, ^ From cliff and tower, tu— whoo ! tu— whoo 1 \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! Po^ical ]Vork» of p SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Ti»ents.ihret 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 jthis she knows, in joys and woes, That saints will aid if men will call: For the blue sky bends over all! \ PART THE SECOND. Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us bachytp 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. Poetical Work^ of ^?^' , SAMVEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Twenty-four 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-ghyll 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 p^al 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 frond the bed; iPuts 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! Poetical Works of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 7»en/i,-/rve 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' sinned !' said Christabel, *Now Heaven be praised if all be welV!* 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 oi> the cross did groan, ^ight 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 6n through page and groom Enter the Baron's 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! Pa§e Poetical Wor^s ef Tmmtn-Bix SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE But when he heard the lady's tale, And when she told her father's name, Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, Murmuring o'er the name again, Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? Alas! they Kad been frieft^ J.J5 youth; But whispering tongues can poisbn truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be ^rotti with one we love, ^,.xT)oth work lil^e itadness in the brain. f And thus it clianced, as I divine, ( With Roland and Sir Leoline. Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother : , They parted — ne'er to meet again! But never either fouftd 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 moment's space. Stood gaaing on the damsel's face; And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine Came back upon his heart again. Poetical lVork» of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE r DcnO-seven then the Baron forgot his age, His noble heart swelled high with rage; He swore by the wounds in Jesu's 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 infam^rf-. 'And if they dare deny the same. My herald shall appoint a week, And let th6 redi^eant traitbrs seek My tourney court — that there and tjben 1 may dislodge their reptile souls/' From the bodies of and forms of men! ■ He spakeT his eye in lightning rolls! ' For the lady was ruthlessly seized ; and he kepsed In the beautiful lady the child of his friend^ And now the tears were on his face, And fondly in his arms he took Pair 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. Page Poeiitui tr uii^» ^ With riew surprise, *What ails then my beloved child?' The Baron' said— His daughter mild Made answei*^ 'AH will yet be weM!' '/^'l ween she had rto power to tell f Aught else: so mighty was the sJpell. ^ Yet he, who saw tJ^is Gerzildine, ^' Had deemed her sure a thing divine. Such sorrow with such grace she blended, \ As if she feared she liad offended ^^weet Chri^t^bel, that gentle maid! And with such lowly tones she prayed. She might be sent without delay Home to her father's mansion* 'Nay! Nay, by my soul!' said Leoline. *Ho ! Bracy the bar4, the charge be thine I Go thou, with music sweet and loud. And take two steeds with trappings proud. And take the youth whom thou lov'st 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. Poetical Works of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Tv^eniynine And when he hath 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 Scotland's wastes. Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet, You must rid^ up the hall, your music so sweet, More,Jloud,-jthaii your horses' echoing feet! And/loud arid loud to Lord Roland calli Thy daughter is safe in Langdale halU Tny beautiful daughter is safe and, free — Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me. (He bids thee come without delay, iWith all thy numeroiw array, ;And take thy lovely daughter home: And he will meet thee on the way With all his jfiumerous array White with, their panting palfreys' foam. And, i>y mj^ honor! I will say. That I repeat me of the day. When I spake words of fierce disdain To Ronald de Vaiix of Tryermaine ! — — For since that evil hour hath flown, Many a summer's sun have shone; Yet ne'er found I a friend again Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.' Page Poetical Wor^i of Thirty SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE The lady fell, and clasped his knees, Her face upraised, her eyes overflowing; And Bracy replied with faultering voice, His gracious hail on all bestowing: — Thy words, thy sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell. Yet might I gain a boon of thee, This day my journey should nbt be ; So Strange a dream hath come to me; That I vowed with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unbleati. Warned by k vision in my rest! ' 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 aloAe. Which when I saw and when I heard, I wondered what might ail the bird : For nothing near it could I see, Save the grass and the green herbs underneath the old tree. Poetical Works of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thiri^-one 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 h^jr distressful cry; But yet for hy^f dear lady's sake I stooped, mlthought, the dove to take. When lo I I sa^ a bright green snake Coi^ifed rounla^^it^^wings and neck. Green as the )if rbs on which it coucljcd. Close by the d<>ve its head it crouchedl And with the ddye it heaves ^nd^^tirs, 'Swelling its neck as she Swelled hers! I awoke; it was the midnight hour. The clock was ecjjojiig in the tower; But though my slumber was gone by, This dream it would not pass away — It ^eems to^lt^e upon my eye! And thcn^se i vowed this self-same day, With music strong and saintly song To wander through the forest bare Less 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, Thy sire and I will crush the snake! Page Poetical Worki of Thirtytvo SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 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 gatheiring up her tr^in, That o'er Iyer right arm fell agaiin; And folded her arms across her chest, And couched her head upon her breast, And looked askance at Christabel— >' .Jesu, Maria, shi^d her well! A snake^s small e^ye blinks duU and shy, f And the lady's '^y <^ they shrunk in her h^ad, \ Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, f And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread At Christabel siae looked askance != — \One moment and the isight was fled! ^ut Christabel in dizzjt trance, Stumbling on the unsteady ground — Shuddered aloud with a hissing soijnd; 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. Poetical Works of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thirtythrcc The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees — no sight but one! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not now, 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 tnind: And passively did imitate That look of dull and treacherous hate. And thus si^e stood, in dizzy trance. Still picturing that look askance, With forced unconscious sympathy Full before her father's view — 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 her father'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'er-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 dead mother Think thou no evil of thy child! p^gg Poelical Worlds of ThirtrUar SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 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 lord's joy and pride I That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled. Sir Leoline! And wouldst thou wrong thy only child. Her child' aiid thine ?^. Within the/ Baron's heart and 1>rain If thought^ like these, had any Share, They oftly swelled his rage and pain. And did but Wprk confusion there. / liis heart wsls c^eft with pain and rag**- His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild. Dishonored thiis irt his qld age; Dishonored by hiis only child, '! And all his hospitality ' To th' insulted daughter of his friend, By more than woman's jealousy, Brought thus to a disgraceful end- He rolled his eyes with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel 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 aged knight. Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine! Potiical Works of Pagt SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Tbirt^-fi*€ THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND. 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 father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Mus^t needs es^press his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together ^Thoughts so unlike each other; ITo 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 t) Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it's most used to do. Page Poetical IVorks of Thirtyf-six SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE S)ong0 of tbt ^itm The Pixies, in the superstition of I>evonshirc, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' parlor. The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable ciphers, among which the author discovered his own cipher and those of his brothers, cUft by the hand of their chflabood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this place the author conducted a party of young ladies, during the summer months of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colorless yet dear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: on which occasion, and at tlrl^ich time, the following irregular /png Dashed o'er t&e^ rdiqky channel froths along; Or where, his sifver '>vaters smoothed %q rest, Tile tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast. \ VII. I Hence ! thou Im^er, Light ! \ Eve saddens ihio Night. Mother of wil0y-working dreams ! we view The sombr0 .liours, that touriid thee stan.. To joyless regions of the sky— - ^ And^-now Sis whiter ^^ thin before !^'vv As white x^s kiy pdoi^; cheek will be, ; When, Lewti ! on my couch I lie, y A dying main fre$s A temper iore with tenderness, . Where aches the void withjn. But why with sable ^and unblessed Should Fancy rouse within my breast Dim visaged shapes of Dread? Untenanting its beauteous clay, My Sara's soul has winged its way, And hovers round my head! Poetical IVorlfs of Pa^t SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Foriy,^nine I felt it prompt the tender dream, When, slowly sank the day's last gleam, You roused each gentler sense; As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume With viewless influence. And hark, my Love! the sea-breeze moans Thro' yon reft house! O'er rolling stones. In ambitious sweep The onward-surging tides supply The silence of the cloudless sky With mimic thunders deep. Dark-redd'ning from, the channel'd^Isle (Where stands onfe^fiolitary pile Unslated by the blast) The watchfire, likje a sullen star, Twinkles to i3S;^y a dozing Tar, Rude-cramed on the mast. Ev'n there— beneath that lightt:house tower- In the tuntultuous evil hour Ere Peace with Sara came, Time was, I should have thought it sweet To count the echoings of my feet. And watch the troubled flame. Page Poetical Worki of Fifty SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE And there in black soul-jaundiced fit A sad gloom-pampered Man to sit, And listen to the roar, When mountain surges, bellowing deep. With an uncouth monster leap Plunged foaming on the shore. Then by tho^tightrimg^s^^lgze to mark. Some toili^ tempest-shattered bark: Her va^n distress-sruns hear: And wnen a ^second sheet of light Hashed o'dr the blacktieiss of jthe night — To see "-^ x/^^ucel there! ;' But Fancy now rnpre gayly sings; Or if awhile she drpop her wings, j As skylarks *mi# tlie corn. On summer fields she grounds her breast:; Th' oblivious poppy dkf her nest, '. Nods, ^ji returning morn. O mark those smiling tears, th^ swell,/ The opened rose ! From heaven they fell. And with the sunbeam blertd; Blesst visitations from above: Such are the tender woes of Love Fost'ring the heart they bend! Poetical Worlds of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Fifty^-on* When stormy Midnight howling round Beats on our roof with clatt'ring sound. To me your arms you'll stretch: Great God! you'll say— To us so kind, shelter from this loud bleak wind The houseless, friendless wretch! The tears that^frem'Ble down, your cheek. Shall bathe njjy kisses chaste and meek In Pity's\dew divine: And^-om 5^ur Jieart the sighs that steV Shajfl make yopr i;;ising bosom feel ^/ The answering swell of mine ! fHow o£t^ my Lov^ with sh^pings^ sweet 1 paint the morhent^fe sKalJ, rtieet ! ' With eager speed I dart — I seize you in the -vacant air, And fancy, witjl^a husband's care, I press yfi^ to my heart? *Tis said, ill Summer's evening hour Flashes the golden-coloured flower A fair electric flame: And so shall flash my love-charged eye When all the heart's big ecstacy Shoots rapid through the flame! Page Poetical Work* of Fiftiftipo SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Cfte iao0e As late each flower that sweetest blows I plucked, the garden's pride! Within the petals of a rose A sleeping Love I spied. Around his brows a beamy wreath Of many a lucent hue; All purple glowed his cheek, beneath. Inebriate with dew. I softly seizfed the unguarded power, Nor scared his balmy rest; And placed him', caged within the flower, On spotless Sata*s breast. But when unweetinjg pf the guile Awoke the pris'ner sweet, He struggled to escape awhile And stamped his fairy feet. Ah! soonlthe soul-entrancing i^ght Subdued the impatient boy ! He gazed! he thrilled with deep delight! Then clapped his wings for joy. 'And oh!' he cried — *Of magic kind What charms this throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find — I'll fix my empire here.' Poetical Worlds of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Page Fifi}f-three An Ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one. The Wedding- Guest is spell- bound by the eye of the old sea-faring man, and con- strained to hear his tale. C6e Kime of tfte ancient partner Part the First. It is an Ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one o£ three, "By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp*st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin ; The guests are met, the feast is set : M'ay'st hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand, *^There was a ship," qupth he. *'Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!" Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye — The Wedding-Guest stood still,. And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a ^tone ; He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. (5) Page Fifty-four Poetical Work^ of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair wea- ther, till it reached the line. "The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The Sun came up upon the left Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day. Till over the mast at noon — " The Wedding-Guest here beat his, breast, J^OT he heard the loud bassoon. The Bride hath paced into the hall. Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding- Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man The bright-eyed Mariner. "And now the Storm-blast came, and he storm toward Was tyrannous and strong: the south pole. -' . , , . , , i • He struck with his o'ertakmg wings, And chased us south along. The Wedding- Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner con- tinueth his tale. The ship driven by a Poetical IVorks of SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. Page Fifly-five And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no liv- ing thing was to De seen. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: /^ ^ "^ Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken - frhe ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled. Like noises in a swound! Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came' through the snow-fog, and was re- ceived with freat joy and ospitahty. At length did cross an Albatross: Through the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul. We hailed it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had eat. And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! Page Fift^-six Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Andlo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned north- ward through fog and float- ing ice. And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white. Glimmered the white Moon-shine. The Ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen. "God save thee. Ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee Why look'st thou so?"- I shot the Albatross. thus ! -— 'With my cross-bow Part the Second. The Sun now rose upon the right Out of the sea came he, ^^till hid in inist, and Oh the left "^ent down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind. But no sweet bird did follow. Nor any day, for food or play, Came to the mariners* hollo! His shipmates cry out against the Ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck. And I had done an hellish thing. And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah, wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Poetical IVorl^s of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Page F if i\f -seven But when the fog cleared off, they justi- fy the same, and thus make themselves ac- complices in the crime. The fair breeze con- tinues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it '•'-"ohes the The ship hath been suddenly becalmed. Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay. That bring the/ fog and mist. The fair bree?;e blew, the white foanj flew. The furrow followed free: We .were the first that ever burst Intd that silent sea. Down drop t the tree^, the ss&s^^v^pt down,--| *Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sim, at noon, Right up above the mast did Stjand, No bigger than the Moon. "^ - Day after day, day after day. We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. And the Albatross '^'""^ins to be nged. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. Page Fift^-eight Poetical Works of SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDCE A Spirit had followed them; one of the in- visible inhabi- tants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Joscphus, and the Platonic Constantinopo- litan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or ele- ment without one or more. The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the Ancient Mariner: in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt "gr«en;v and blue, jand white. And some in dre?ims assured were i^^Oi the Spirit that plagued us so: f Nine fathom deep he had followed us i From the land of ipist 'and snow. [' And every tongue, through utter drought; \ Was withered at the root ; ^ We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. Part the Third. The Ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar ofF. There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward I beheld A something in the sky. Poetical Worlds of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Finynine At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist: It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from tne bonds of thirst A flash of joy; A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! And still it tieared and neared: As if it dodged a water-sprite. It p^nge(i and tacked ai^ veered. "■-' ■ ' -■ / . With throats unslaked, with blac^'Jips- baked. We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, *A sail ! a, sail !' With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin. And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. And horror fol- lows. For can it be a ship that comes on- ward without wind or tide? *See ! see !' (I cried) *she tacks no more ! Hither to work us weal ; Without a breeze, without a tide. She steadies with upright keel!* The western wave was all aflame. The day was well-nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. Page Sixt}f It seemeth him but the skele- ton of a ship. And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun. The Spectre- Woman and her Death- mate, and no other on board the skeleton- ship. Like vessel, like crew ! Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the Ancient Mariner. No twilight within the courts of the Sun. Poetical Work* of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered, With broad and burning face. Alas! (thoughi|; i; atid niy 4ieart beat loud,) How fast sh^ nears and neafS! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres ! Ar^ those her\rib>5 through which the Sun /Did peer, as through a grate? 'And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a Death? and ar^ ther6' two? ; lis Death that Womkil*s mate? f _. '"■'"'' ,.' Her lips were ted, he?^ looks were tree, i Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin W^^ white as leprosy, The Night-Mare, Life-inrDeath, was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked Rull^ alongside came; And the twain were casting dicie; *The game is done! I've, I've won!* Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre bark. Poetical Worlds of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Page Sixl\f-c ■ f the Mooi 'ne after ; nother, We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night. The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white From the sails the dew did drip — Till clombe above the eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright star Withir^ the n.ether tip. On^. 'after one, ^y^'sthe star-dogged Moon, Tidb quick for grpaii or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his ,^ye. i^o/drn'*'^ ^ouT times fifty liyiiig men '^^''.^- (And I heard npr/Ugh nor groan). With heavy ththnp, a lifeless lump. They dropped down one bj^ one. But Life-in- Death begins her work on the Ancient Mariner. The souls did from their bodies fly, They fled to bliss or woe! And every souly it passed me by. Like the whizz of rily cross-bow f Part the Fourth. iles^felrlth" "^ ^^^^ thcc, Ancicnt Mariner ! :lking'tfhi^^ I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. Page Sixt^-tiDo Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE But the An- cient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and pro- ceedeth to re- late his horrible penance. He despiseth the creatures of the calm. "I fear thee, and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown." — "Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men,\ so beautiful ! And they all dead did lie; And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did Jl. And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead. I looked upon thV rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. j ■ \ \ V ■ I looked to Heaven; and tried to pfay But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close. And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky, Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Page S'lxt})- three But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men. In his loneli- ness and fixed- ness he yeam- eth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move on- ward; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they en- ter unan- nounced, as lords that are certainly ex- pected and yet there is a si- lent joy at their arrival. By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's creatures of the great calm. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they; The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from, on high; ^ "• But oh! mori horrit>le\th|in that Is a ctfr^Tln a dead mail's eye! 4 Seveji days, ^^en, nights, I saw that lurse, Aryi yet I CQulJi n^t die. The moving Mooti went up the sky, And no where did abide : Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside — Her beams bemocked th^ sultry main, Like. April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay. The charmed water burnt alway ^ A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow" of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white. And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Page Sixl^-four Poetical WorJ^a of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things ! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware! S>ire my kind , saint took pity on me, /And I blessed 'tjiei^ unaware. The self same mi&ml.ntyi'^^cQuld pray; And from my neck S0 free • The Albatross fell c>fT, and sank \Like lead into the sea. Part the FifK By grace of the holy Mother, the Ancient Mariner is re- freshed with rain. Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle , sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamed that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. Poetical lVor}(5 of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Page Sixlyi-fn^e He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in the sky and the element. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light — almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. ;The upper air bur^t into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen. To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and iti and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud. And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain poured down from one black cloud The Moon ^s at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. Page Sixt\f-i Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Sfsh?p's^c°ew '^^^ ^°^^ wind never reached the ship, and'Sfeyhi^* ^^* "°^ *^^ ^^^P moved on! moves on; Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose. Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. But not by the souls of the men, nor by dsmons of the earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of an- gelic spirits, sent down by the invocation of the guardi- an saint. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up blew; The mariners all 'gan work the rope^, y/here they were wont to do: /They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — i We were a ghastly crew* ■ The body of my brother's son ' Stood by me, knee to knee: .The Body and I pulled at one rope. But he said nought to me." "I fear thee. Ancient Mariner!" "Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain. Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest: For when it dawned — they dropped their arms^ And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths And from their bodies passed. Poetical Works of p^g^ SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Sixtyf-seven Around, around, flew each sweet sound. Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are. How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their svfeet jargoning! And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the Heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still me^sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we quietly sailed on. Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship. Moved onward from beneath. Page Sixfy-eight Poetical IVorks of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE The lonesome Spirit from the south-pole carries on the ship as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth ven- geance. The Polar Spirit's fellow- daemons, the invisable inhab- itants of the element, take part in his wrong; and two of them relate one to the other, that penance long and heavy for the Ancient Mariner hath been accorded to the Tolar Spirit, who re- turneth south- ward. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The Spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune And the ship stood still also. The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion — Backwards ^ and forwards half her length With a shotf. lineasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound; It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. //" V How long in /that sar1r^e fit I lay, 1, have not to declare ; But ere my living life returned, I heard, and in my soul discerned Two voici^s in the air. ^Is it he?* quoth one. Is this the man? By Him who died on cross. With his cruel bow he laid full low, The harmless Albatross. Poetical M^orJ^s of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Sixlyf-nine The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, *Thf man hath penance done, And penance more will do/ iVt the Sixth. First Voice. *But tell me, tell me ! speak again, Thy soft response renewing — What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?' Second Voice. *Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Mooii..Js cast — If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.' (6) Page Se)>eni}f Poetical Work* of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE The Mariner hath been cast into a trance; for the angelic power causeth the vessel to drive north- ward faster than human life could endure. First Voice. *But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?* Second Voice. *The air is cut away before, And closes I from behind. \ Fly, brother, fly! more high, ^more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and. slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated.' The super- natural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance be- gins anew. I woke, and we Were sailing on As in a gentle weather: *Twas night, calm night, the moon was high? The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck. For a charnel-dungeon fitter: All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs. Nor turn them up to pray. Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Page Seventy-one The curse is finally expi- ated. And now this spell was snapt: once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen — Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth/ close behind him tread. Bu€ soon there breathed a wind on me Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea. In ripple or in shade. It raised my haic^'^itf fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of Spring — It mingled strangely with my fears. Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship. Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — On me alone it blew. And the An- Q dream of joy! is this indeed cient Manner •' -^ behoidethhis The light-house top I see? native country. ** & f Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree? Page Stventyf-two Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies, And appear in their own forms of light. We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, And I with sobs did pray — let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway. The harbor-bay was clear as glass. So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the ifioonlight lay And the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no 4ess, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. ! And the bay was white with "silent light,' Till rising from the. same, : Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colors came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: 1 turned my eyes upon the deck — Oh, Christ! what saw I there! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat. And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph-man. On every corse there stood. Poetical IVorl^s of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seventy-three This seraph-band, each waved his hand : It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light ; This seraph-band, each waved his hand. No voice did they impart — No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like mtisic on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, And I saw a boat appear. The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coining fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw alEhir^ — I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth lo^^ his godly hymns That he makes iii^c wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood. Page Poeiical Works of Seventxf'four SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Part the Seventh. The^^ermitof xhis Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far coun tree. He kneels it morn, and noon, and eve — He hath a cushion , plump : It is the moss that wholly hides ht rotted old oak-stump. I T The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,i f * Why this is strange, I trowf'^' / Where are those lights so many and fair,\ That signal made but now ? ' Approacheth ^ * Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit saidn- with wonder. \And they answered not our cheer! The planks looked i warped ! and see those sails How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below That eats the she-wolf's young. * Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE * Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look (The Pilot made reply) I am a-f eared ' — * Push on, push on I * Said the Hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake hbr stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Page Seventlf-five The ship sud- denly sinketh. The Ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat. Under the watdk, it rumbled /on, Still louder and niore dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay/; \ The ship went down like lead. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote. Like one that hith bee^ seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat span round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes And prayed where he did sit. Page Sevent}f'3ix Poetical Works of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. *Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row. ' The Ancient Mariner earnestly en- treateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the pen- ance of life falls on him. And ever and anon through his future life an agony con- straineth him to travel from land to land, And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth liropa. the boat, And scarcely he \could stand. * O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man I * The Hermit crossed his brow. * Say quick, * quoth he, * I bid thee say — What manner of man art thou?' Forthwith this .fra^e' ><>f mine was wrenched With a woful agony. Which forged me to begin my tale; And then it loft jmel free. i Since then,. at an uncertain hour. That agony returns; And till my ghastly tale is told. This heart within me bums. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. Poetical Works of SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Page Seveniyf-seven And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth. What loud uproar bursts from that door! 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 Scarie seemed there to be. car^( O sweeter than the marriage feast» *Tis sweeter far to jne. To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! — To walk together to theikirk And all together pray, Whili^ each to his great Father bends, Old mei; and babes, and loving friends. And youths ^nd 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." Page Poetical Work* of Seventy-eight SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense Idrl^ri: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. ^tltttion (Reflections) Low was bur pretty Cot! our tallest rose Peeped at the chamber-window. We could )iear "^At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, ; The sea's faint murmur. In the open air; Our myrtles blossomed; and across the porch Thick jasmins twined: the little landscape round Was green and woody and refreshed the eye. It was a spot, which you might aptly call The Valley of Seclusion! Once I saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calmed His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings: for he paused, and looked With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around. Then eyed our cottage, and gazed round again, And sighed, and said, it n>as a blessed place. Poetical Works of P^i^ SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seventh-nine And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark*s note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wings) in whispered tones IVe said to my beloved, *Such, sweet girl! The inobtrusive song of Happiness, Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard When the soul seeks to hear; when all is hushed And the heart listens !' But the time, when first Fropfi that low Hell, steep up the stony mount I climbed with perilous toil and reached the tap, O what a goodly scene! Here the bleak mount, I'he bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep; Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields; And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrowed,. Now winding bright and full, with naked banks ; And seats, and Ijiwns, the abbey, and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire: The Channel there, the islands and white sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean—' It seemed like Omnipresence! God, methought. Had built him there a Temple : the whole world Seemed imaged in its vast circumference. No wish profaned my overwhelmed heart. Blest hour! it was luxury, — to be! Page Poetical Works of Eighty, SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE %tltttion {The Pains of Sleep) Ere on my bed my limbs I lay. It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose, In humble trust mine eye-lids close. With reverential resignation, No wish conceived, no thought -cxprest. Only a sense of, supplication; A sense o'er all my soul imprest That I am weak, yet not unblest, Since in me^ round me, everywhere Eternal stt^gth iind wisdom are. To be beloved is all T need, And whom I love, I love indeed. ©election (Religious Musings) Believe thou, O my soul, Life is a vision shadowy of truth; And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave. Shapes of a dream ! The veiling clouds retire. And lo! the Throne of the redeeming God Forth flashing unimaginable day Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest helL Poetical Works of Poi' SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Eighiy,-one Selection (Lines Written in Earl^ Youth) Now sheds the sinking sun a deeper gleam, Aid, lovely sorceress! aid thy poet's dream! With fairy wand O bid the maid arise. Chaste joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes; As erst when from the Muses' calm abode I came, with learning's meed not unbestowed : When, as she twined a laurel round my brow. And met my kiss, and half returned my vow. O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart. And every nerve confessed the electric dart. Q dear deceit ! I see the maiden rise. Chaste joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes, When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note, I trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn, I mark her glancing 'mid the gleams of dawn. When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps, And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps. Amid the paly radiance soft and sad She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad. With her along the streamlet's brink I rove ; With her I list the warblings of the grove; And seems in each low wind her voice to float Lone-whispering pity in each soothing note! Page Poetical Works of Eighfy-iD,o SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Selection (The Kiss) Yon viewless wandVer of the vale, The spirit of the western gale, At morning's break, at evening's close Inhales the sweetness of the rose. And hovers o'er th' uninjured bloom ; Sighing back the soft perfume. Vigor to the zephyr's wing Her nectar-breathing kisses fling ; / And he the glitter of thp deW ( Scatters on the rose's hue. \ Bashful, lo ! she bends her head And darts a blush of deeper r^d! Selection (Lines on a Friend) Is this piled earth our Being's passless mound? Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd? Tired Sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod. And fain would sleep, though pillowed on a clod ! Poetical Works of Page SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Eighiy-ihree Selection {Youth and Age) /' I Q^ Youth! for years so many and so sweet, jfis known, that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit — It cannot be that Thou art gone ! The Vesper-bell hath not yet tolled :— And thou wert aye a Masker bold I What strange Disguise hast now put on, To MAKE BELIEVE, that thou art gone? I see these Locks in silvery slips, This drooping Gait, this altered Size : But Springtide blossoms on thy Lips, And Tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but Thought : so think I will That Youth and I are House-mates still. Page Poetical Worlds of Eight]f'four SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Selection (ToC.Llo})d) O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime; And from the stirring world uplifted high (Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind, To quiet musings shall attune the mind. And oft the melancholy theme s\ipply), There, while the prospect thro* the gazing eye Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, Well smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame. Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, As neighboring fountains image each the whole. PART II. (7) Page Eight\f-five lEbgar Allan l^at THE following is largely, taken Jrom the work of Mr. Chas. F. Richardson of Dartmouth Gollege, whose Biography of Edgar Allan Poe in the Arnheim Edition is most excellent. "Edgar Allan Poe, was born in Boston, on the 19th of Jan- uary, 1809. ^He was the son of stfollipg players;, an adopted orphan, a \/ayward but hrilliant student, a literary back, in his short care^dr of forty years — often years of bitter poverty he * **hitche4' his wagon to ^ a star" ' as truly as did -the^v favored Emerson in his sheltered nook. His life was as chaste as his writings ; he was the center of a little home in which he was the idol of his young wife and her mother; his intense ambition did not in itself color his view of the world, though the tone of indreasing regret for thiugs past re-echoes through much of his verse. ) "E'%ar Allan Poe died on Sunday, the seventh of October, 1849, and was buried the next day in the burial ground of Westminster Church, Baltimore. "The personal appearance of the poet was striking and in- dividual according to all testimony. A lady who well remembers him, writes — ' "His quiet elegance, courtly manners, musical voice, and refined accent, his glorious head and wonderful eyes made an impression which time does not efface." ' "Bishop Fitzgerald who saw Mr. Poe in 1849 said: '"There was a fascination about him that everybody felt. Meeting him in the midst of thousands a stranger would stop to get a second look and to ask '"Who is he"?' As regards his voice Thomas Higginson says : ' "that Poe read Ligeia before a Boston audience in a voice, whose singular music he never had heard equaled." ' "What new thing can be said of Poe's verse? True poetry is as self-explanatory as a bird-song or a gem. Scarcely less familiar than The Raven are the figures of Lenore or Annabel Lee, sweeping mystically from the hitherto to the hereafter. Page Eighiy-slx There is an indefinable mystery in The City in the Sea, The Sleeper, The Valley of Unrest, and The Haunted Palace, and we know that all of these have won a decided place in the temple of fame. "Mr. Lang has well spoken of ' "that rare quality, the strange, the hitherto unheard, yet delightful note which again and again is heard in the verse of Edgar Allan Poe — not his ideas but the beauty of his haunting lines confers on him the laurel."' His poems, known by English readers in their own dialect, transferred into the similar German, not wholly lost even when transmuted into French prose, occupy a place that is unique. And it may be added as Chas. W. Kent has said : " 'His music has in it the haunt- ing sense of something lost. The ipelody with its plaintiveness, the variations with their lingering and recurring themes, suggest far more thart they express. Her^ more is meant than meets the ear, and listeners of varying talents and aptitudes will perceive in these melo4KS different meanings. 'fPoe Stands supreme, even in the only morally pure national literature the world has ever seqli, in the absolute chast^jty of his eyery word. The ideal vision of pure beauty, now incarnate and li'ow but a mist figure, pjillid or rosy, ever floated before the poet's eyes. It hypnotized him like a crystal ball. Tdl it he addressed the shorter lyric, 'To Helen,' most perfect of^jkll his poems. Annabel L^^ was not only th^ song of a single jvloss, but a passionate world-cry of the immortal to the immortal. Past One in Paradise flows the eternal streams. H Poe's assertive belief in the immortality of the soul of beauty sometimes veered toward the mood of despair, we must not forget that to every man, at times, death seepis death indeed, and the door of the tomb appears open to receive those who pass into the dreamless sleep with never a hint of release or renewal." Poetical Works of Page EDCAR ALLAN POE Eight},-5cven Co J^elen Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicaean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his ^wn native shore. On desperate seas long Wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. Thy naiad airs, have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur t^iai Syas Rome. Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue4ike I see thee stand. The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the /eJ^ions which Are Holy Land! Page Poetical Wor^s of Eighty-eight EDGAR ALLAN POE a Dream Mlftbin a Dream Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow: You are not wrong, wKo deem That my days have been a^Mjream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, pr in none, Is it therefore the less goner^ All that we see or seem Is but a dream within ti dream. I stand amid the ''roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep, — while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? Poetical Works of Page EDCAR ALLAN POE Eighi^-n'me ILenore Ah, broken is the golden bowl! — the spirit flown forever ! — Let the bell toll ! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river ; And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear ? -i^r weep now, or nevermore! \ i \ See, on/yon dre^r ahd rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Coine, let the burial rite be read — the funeral song I be sung! — Ari anthem for the queenliest de^d' that ever died so . young,— ; A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so ' young. 'Wretches! ye loved her for hei:^ wealth and hated her for her pride. And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — that she died! How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem how be sung By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the slanderous tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" Page Poetical Work* of Ninety, EDGAR ALLAN POE PeccavimusI but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong ! The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope that flew beside. Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride ! — For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes,— The life still there, upon her hair,— the death upon her eyes ! "Avaunt! To-night my heart is light! no dirge will I upraise. But waft the angel an her flight with a paean pf old days! K ) Let no bell UAt\ — lest n^r Isweet soul, anrfd its hallowed mirth, i , Should catch the note, as^ it doth float up from the damned Earth! To friends above, from fiends belcwv, the indignant ghost is riven, — From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven, — From grief and groan to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven." Poetical Works of ^««« EDGAR ALLAN POE Ninel}f-one Cfie Citp in tfte ®ea Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. Thei'e shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, ' Resignedly beneath the sky \ The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently, Gleams up the pinnacles far and free — Up domes—up spires — up kingly halls — Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls — Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers — Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers — Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Page Poetical Worijfa of Nintlytwo EDGAR ALLAN POE Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets* and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigaQtica^down. There open fanes and gaping gloves Yawn level with the luipinous waves, But not the riches there tl^at lie In each idol's diamond eye, — Not the gayly-jewelled dead Tempt the waterk from their. bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass; No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea; No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. But Id, a stir is 'in theW! The wave — there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide ; As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow. The hours are breathing faint and low ; And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. Poetical Works of ^^8« EDGAR ALLAN POE Nintt^-ihrtt annabel Jl.ee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the narji'e'of ANNABEL LEE; And this maidfen she lived with no other thought Than to li^ve and be loved by me^. / was a child ^a^>$/ie was af child, • In this kingdom by the sea, put we loved w\th \a love that was more than ' love, — ''\ '\ ..■—'^'\ ■■• ' I and my ANNABEL LEE ; With a love that the' winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea : A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful ANNABEL LEE; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven. Went envying her and me, — Yes!— that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE. Page Poetical Works of N'meiy-four EDGAR ALLAN POE But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, — Of many far wiser than we; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE: For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; ^ And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the /side Of my darling — my darling — my life and ray bride. In her sepulchre there by the sea. In her tomb by the sounding sea. Poetical Worlis of Pag* EDGAR ALLAN POE Nmely,-fi\,e 30tafel And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. — Koran. In Heaven a spirit doth dwell, "Whose heart-strings are a lute.** None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell), Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his vbice,\all mute. "■'"\ '^ \ Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamoured moon Blushes with love*— While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even. Which were seven) Pauses in Heaven. And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings, — The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. Page Poetical Works of Ninefy-six EDGAR ALLAN POE But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a duty — Where Love's a grown-up God — Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Therefore /thou art not^wrong, Israfeli, who despisest An unimpassioned song ; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest! Merrily live, and long! The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suit Thy grief, thy joy; thy hate, thy love. With the fervor of thy lute: Well may the stars be mute! Yes, Heaven is thine; but this Is a world of sweets and sours; Our flowers are merely — flowers. And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours. If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, — While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky. Poetical Worlds of Page EDCAR ALLAN POE Nmefy-.cvcn In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace — Radiant palace—reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion, It stood there I . Never seraph spread a pinion /^ dv6r fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago). And every gentle air that dallied. In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away Wanderers in that happy valley Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene !) In state his glory well befitting. The ruler of the realm was seen. Page Poetical Worki of Ninety-eight EDCAR ALLAN POE And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty. The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow. Assailed the monarch's high estate; (Ah, let us mourn ! — for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate !) And round about his home, the glory That blushed and bloomed Is but a dim-remembered story ' Of the old time entombed. And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody; . While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever. And laugh — but smile no more. Poetical Works of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE Ninely-nine 'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, through the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid Planets her slaves. Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gazed awhile On her cold smile, Too cold — too cold for me ; There passed, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud. And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be ; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night. And more I admire Thy distant fire Than that colder, lowly light. «6) Page Poetical Works of One Hundred EDGAR ALLAN POE Culalie I dwelt alone In a world of moan, And my soul was_a stagnant tide, Till the fair and/'^entle^ Eulahfe-~became my blushing brid^- ^, Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie becahie my smiling Ah, less^le^ bright The star^ dS the night 'han the^^yes o€ tKe radiant ^irfl/ • And never a mtkc .^'^ .^' ' '. That, the vapor cab..tok^e (With the . moon- tin J»fOt purple and pearl < Can(vie with the modeit'^ulalie's most unregarded^ curl, Can Compare with ttie bright-^yed Eulalie's most hiimble and /ateless curlNv Now'~DX)upt — now Pain Come never again, For her soul gives me sigh for sigh ; And all day long . ' Shines, bright and strong, Astarte within the sky. While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye, — While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. Poetical Works of Page EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and One Cfte Sleeper At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And, softly dripping*. dtQp by drop, Upon the quiet mountain-^top,..,^ Steals drowsily and musically V, Intathev universal valley, ^x T\fe rosemary ^ods upon^ the grave ; ] 'ptie lily loll^\ upon the wave ; /'AA/^rapping the fog about its breaSt^ / The ruin mout4ei^ into rest>- \,/ ( Looking like Le^he^; seeT "tfip-^lake j ! A conscious slumber^ Se«ffis to take, / And would not, .foj- t^e world, awake. \ All Beauty slet^'s'l — 'And Lo ! where lies \(Her casement open to the skies) ' trene, with .her Destinies! Oh; lady' bright ! can it be right, — This window open to the night?- — The wanton airs, from the tree-top. Laughingly through the lattice drop, — The bodiless airs, a wizard rout. Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully — so fearfully — Above the closed and fringed lid 'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, That, o'er the floor and down the wall. Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Page Poetical ]VoTk» of One Hundred and Ti»o EDCAR ALLAN POE Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? Why and what art thou dreaming here? Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor ! strange thy dress ! Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness ! The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep ! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye, While the pale sheeted ghosts go by. My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep! (Soft may the worms about her creep!) Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold, — Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls Of her grand family funerals: Some sepulchre, remote, alone. Against whose portal she hath thrown. In childhood, many an idle stone, — Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more. Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within. Poetical Works of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Three Co I saw thee on thy bridal day, When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee; And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of loveliness could see. That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame: As such it well may pass, Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas ! Who saw thee on that bridal day. When that deep blush would come o'er thee Though happiness around thee lay. The world all love before thee. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Four EDGAR ALLAN POE Cf)e IPallep of Onteist Once it smiled a silent dell Where the people did not dwell; They had ^one...uiito . the wars, Trusting, to the mild-eyed^^ars, Nightly,! from their azure tov\hers, Jo ke^p watch aboye'the flowere^,^ In the tnid^ of which all day The red sunlight lazily lay. Norv each yisitor shall confess- The sad valley\ restlessness!. Nothing theresia motionless, Nothing save th^^/dtr^" that brood \ Over the ma^c solitude. . ' Ah, by noviind are^ stirred those trees That pa)t);tate like t|lt chill seas Around -the misty H^bjri^s! Ah, 'by no wind those clouds are driven That rustle through the unquii&t-Hleaven Uneasily, from morn till evW, Over the violets there that lie In myriad typeis-pf the human eye, — Over the lilies there that wave And weep above a nameless grave ! They wave : — from out their fragrant tops Eternal dews come down in drops. They weep : — from off their delicate stems Perennial tears descend in gems. Poetical IVorks of ^<'8« EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Five Cfte Conquetot itaorm Lo! 't is a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throU"^ be^Vtliged, bedight In veils/ and drowned in^^iws, Sit in a tjjeatre, to see N^.,^^ yA"play 61 hope^ and fears, \ yVhile thfe^rbhestra breathes fitfullv/ The mus^ oft the spheres. /v--" --^ Mimes^ln thdsiol?^ of Go^^oii^liAgh, Mutter and ttuirnbltf^'lpw,' And hither and th^het fly, — Mere puppet^h^y, who come^ajid go { At bidding of^ast fbirnless things \^ That sh^/the scen^y tp and fro, "'^lapping/'Vom out theiKifbridor wing^ '^Inyisrbl^e Woe! , That mo%y drama — oh, be siyre It shall hot.be forgot! / With its Phantom>>Qhase(i„for evermore By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot; And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Six EDCAR ALLAN POE But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! — it writhes! — with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the Angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbrued. Out — out ate the lights — out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall. Comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan. Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, *'Man," And its hero, the Conquerpr Worm. Poetical Worki of ^fl«« EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Seven Dream^LanD By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule : From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime. Out of Space — out of Time. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms and caves ahd Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the dews that drip all over; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore; Seas that restlessly aspire, Surging, unto skies of fire; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone^ waters, lone and dead, — Their still waters, still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead, — Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily; By the mountains — near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever; By the gray woods, by the swamp Where the toad and newt encamp ; Page Poetical IVorki of One Hundred and Eight EDGAR ALLAN POE By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls; By each spot the most unholy, In each nook most melancholy, — There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of Nthe Past: Shroudefd forms that start and sigh As they bass the wanderer by,^v .White-robed forms of 'friends long^given, / In agortj^ toahe Earth — and Heaven. For the h^rt\whose woes ar^. l^^gi^^n 'Tis a peaceiul^N^oothingjc^egipri; ■ ^ For the spirir^at y^k^Ati shadow ' ) 'Tis — oh, 'tis an^ldotado ! But the trav^Jfer, travelling thrxjugh it, / V May not -7^'ji^e li^t openly view it ; ( \^ Never it/^mysteriesXare exposed J X To the.Xy^feak human ^e unclosed; / ^^^wilis its King, who hath Corbid / The up^lifting of the fringedjid; ^' And thijs the sad Soul that hijre passes Beholds iVlHit through darkened glasses. By a route obscure and -lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wandered home but newly From this ultimate dim Thule. Poetical Wor^s of p^g^ EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundrtd and Nine Selections from ai aataaf '"Neath blue-bell or streamer, Or tufted wild spray That keepsj^ h-om the dreamer, The^/inoohb'eam^-a^vay, Bright beings! that ponder, With half closing eyes, 'XXri the ^tars which ' your wondv liilth "idrawn from the skies, ^ Till the5^^ gll^pce through the sh^e, and Z' Com^ d^wn to your bro^'^"' Like — eyes 6| the maiden ^'^ Who c^Hs .on yoiJi no^, — Arise from youl;. dreartiing In violet -bowers '» To duty be&eeming \ The^e star-litten hours ! \ And sja'^ke from yd^rtiresses, \ ^pfcumbered wit:h^.,dew, " The breath of those kisses iThat cumber them too— '" (Oh, "^^ow, without you, !Love ! Could ^g^ls be blest? — )/ Those kisses "bf^ true Ipye That lulled ye to rest! Up! shake from your wing Each hindering thing! The dew of the night. It would weigh down your flight; And true love caresses, Oh, leave them apart. They are light on the tresses. But lead on the heart. Pagt Poetical Work* of One Hundred and Ten EDGAR ALLAN POE "Ligeia! Ligeia! My beautiful one! Whose harshest idea Will to melody run, Oh, is it thy will On the breezes to toas? Or, capriciously still, Like the lone Albatross, Incumbent on night (As she on the air) To keep watch with delight On the , harmony there? "Legeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee. Thou hast bound many eyes In a dreamy sleep, But the strains still arise Which thy vigilance keep: The sound of the rain, Which leaps down tp the flower, And dances again In the rhythm of the shower; The murmur that springs From the growing of grass, Are the music of things, But are modelled, alas! Away, then, my dearest, Oh, hie thee away To springs that lie clearest Beneath the moon-ray, — Poetical Works of Pagt EDGAR ALLAN FOE One Hundred and El^en To lone lake that smiles, In its dream of deep rest, At the many star-isles That enjcwel its breast! Where wild flowers, creeping. Have mingled their shade, On its margin is sleeping Full many a maid; Some have left the cool glade, and Have slept with the bee; Arouse them, my maiden, On moorland and lea! Go! breathe on their slumber, All softly in ear, The musical number They slumbered to hear: For what can awaken An angel so soon. Whose sleep hath been taken Beneath the cold moon. As the spell which no slumber Of witchery may test, — The rhythmical number Which lulled him to rest? What guilty spirit,, in what shrubbery dim, Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn? But two; they fell; for Heaven no grace imparts To those who hear not for their beating hearts A maiden angel and her seraph-lover. Oh, where (and ye may seek the wide skies over) Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known? Unguided Love hath fallen 'mid "tears of perfect moan." Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Tv>ehe EDGAR ALLAN POE Spirit of tfte DeaD Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone ; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent id that solitude,-. Whi cr*ystalline delight; Keeping tirfte, ^ime, time. In a sort of I^urnc rhyme, ^,^y' T0 the tintinnabulatilan that .^st) musically wells \ From the bells, bejlJs,^. bells, bells, i Bells, bells, bells — ^ From the jingling ahd^th6 tinkling of the bells ( // ^\ V, Hear the mellow ' wedding^ b^ls. Golden bells! \^ ^ What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes. And all in tune. What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Page Poetical Work* of One Hundred and Fourteen EDGAR ALLAN POE Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! in Hear the loud alarum bells, Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak. They can only shriek, shriek, shrjek. Out of tune. In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher. With a desperate desire. And a resolute endeavor Now; — now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! Poetical IVorki of Page EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Fifteen How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twangi^ig And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling. How the danger sinks and swells, — By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells. Of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. Bells, bells, bells — In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells. Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people. They that dwell up in the steeple, - All alone. <9) Page Poetical IVorki of One Hundred and Sixteen EDGAR ALLAN POE And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone. Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman. They are neither brute nor human, They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells; AncJ hi§ merry bosom swells With th^ paean of the bells, And he dances, and he yells : Keeping time, time time. In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells. Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time. In a sort of Runic rhyme. To the throbbing of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells — To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time. As he knells, knells, knells. In a happy Runic, rhyme. To the rolling of the bells. Of the bells, bells, bells: To the tolling of the bells. Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. Bells, bells, bells — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. Poetical Works of p^ge EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Se)>enteen IBtiDal TBallaQ The ring is on my hand. And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command. And I am happy now. And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my bosom swell, For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seemed his who fell In the battle down the dell, And who is happy now. But he spoke to reassure me. And he kissed my pallid brow. While a revery came o'er me. And to the church-yard bore me, And I sighed to him before me. Thinking him dead D'Elormie, '*0h, I am happy now!" And thus the words' were spoken, And this the plighted vow; And though my faith be broken. And though my heart be broken, Behold the golden token That proves me happy now! Would God I could awaken! For I dream I know not how. And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken, Lesft the dead who is forsaken May not be happy now. p^g^ ^ Poetical Works of One Hundred and Eighteen EDGAR ALLAN POE jFor annie Thank Heaven! the crisis— The danger is past, And the Hngering illness Is over at last, And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length: But no matter! — I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly Now, in my bed. That any beholder Might fancy me dead, Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing. Are quieted now. With that horrible throbbing At heart : — ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness, the nausea. The pitiless pain. Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain. With the fever called "Living' That burned in my brain. Poetical Works of p^ge EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Nineteen And oh! of all tortures. That torture the worst Has abated — the terrible Torture of thirst For the napthaline river Of Passion accurst: I have drunk of a water That quenches all thirst: Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground, From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy, And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed: And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes. Forgetting, or never Regretting, its roses: Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses; Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Tt,eniy EDGAR ALLAN POE For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies: A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies, With rue and the beautiful puritan pansies. And >so it Kes| happily, ; Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie, Drowned in a bath ., I Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed. And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast, Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm. And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm. To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. Poetical Works of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Tr»enl\f-one And I lie so composedly Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead; And I rest so contentedly Now, in my bed, (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead — That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead. But my heart it is brighter Thah, all of the many Stars in the skyi For it sparkles with Annie: It glows AVith the light Of the love of my Annie, With the thought of the light Of the eyes of ixjy 'Annie. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Tj»enly-tv>o EDCAR ALLAN POE Co ffl)ne in paraDi0e Thou wast that all to me, love, For which my soul did pine: A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! .. Ah, starry Hope, that didsf arise But to be overcast ! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!" but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast! For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! "No more — no more — no more — " (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar! And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances. And where thy footstep gleams — In what ethereal dances. By what eternal streams. Poetical Works of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Tvieniyf -three Olalume The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere, The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir: It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcaniq As the scoriae rivers that roll, As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole, That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere, Our memories were treacherous and sere. For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year, (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) ; We noted not the dim lake of Auber (Though once we had journeyed down here), Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and T-a>eniy-four EDGAR ALLAN POE And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn, As the star-dials hinted of morn, At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn, Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said— "She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs. She irevels\in ia region of sighs: She has seen thaf ^the tears Ate not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies. And has come past the stars of the Lion ' To point us the path to the skies. To the Lethean peace of the skies: Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes : Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said — "Sadly this star I mistrust. Her pallor I strangely mistrust: Oh, hasten! — oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly! — let us fly! — for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust; In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust. Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. Poetical IVor^s of Page EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Tt>eni)f-fi»e I replied — "This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night: See, it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely niay trust to its gleaming, And be sute it will lead us aright: We safely may' trust to a gleaming That cannpt but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom. And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb, . By the door of a legended tomb; And I said — "What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied — "Ulalume — Ulalume — 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Page Poetical IVorks of One Hundred and Ti»enl]f'six EDGAR ALLAN POE Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere, As the leaves that were withering and sere. And I cried — "It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed — I journeyed down here, That I brought a dread burden down here : On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber, This misty mid region of Weir: Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Co Science A PROLOGUE TO "AL AARAAF" Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art. Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet*s heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise. Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jeweled skies. Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car, And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood. The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind-tree? Poetical Worlds of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Ti»eniyseven OBIDoraDo Gayly bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long. Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old, — This knight so bold, And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow: "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be— This land of Eldorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied, "If you seek for Eldorado!" Page Poetical Worlfs of One Hundred and Trvenijf-eight EDGAR ALLAN POE Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary. Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, n.,^^ As of some one gently rapping, rapping kt my chamber door." " 'Tis some visitor," I ijiuttered, ''tapping at my chamber door: , '^ ' Only this and nothing more." Ah, ; distinctly I f emember |t \yas in tfte bleak December, And' each separate dying enjbef wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books siurcease of sorrew-^-sorrow for the lost Lenore, ' ; \ \ \\. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore : Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating Poetical IVorlfs of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Ttoeniy-nine " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door : This it is and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, -^*h^ *■ 'Sir," said I, ''or Ma^am, truly youf forgiveness I im- plore ; But the fact is I was napping, and sp gently you came rappilig, And so faintly you canae tapping, tapping at my chamber dpdr, V That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door: — Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, \ Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token. And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore !" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" Merely this and nothing more. Page Poetical IVork* of One Hundred and Thirty EDGAR ALLAN POE Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice ; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore ; Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore : *Tis the wind and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord ox lady, perched above my cham- ber door. Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on. the Night's Plutonian shore?" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Poetical Works of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Thiri^-one Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham- ber door, With such name as "Nevermore." But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered, Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have flown before, — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore : Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of *Nevcr — nevermore.* " (10) Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Thiriy-iivo EDGAR ALLAN POE But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungginl^^^astly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yo;^ f Meant in cro^kyig "Nevermore.' \ ' ! This I ''Sat fenga^ed in ' gikesfeing, but no^j syllable ex- pressing '^.^ 'x^ To tHe fowl whi^e 'fiery eyes now fauf hed** into my bosom's cbret This and more I sa\ divining, w^th my head At case reclining '"* V / ^^ ■'^ \ Onj the cushion's velvejt^itting that the lamplight ^gloated [ o'er, Xy \ I But whose velvet viblet liniiftg with the lamplight gloat- Xing o'er 5/ie shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels He hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Poetical Works of Page EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Thirl^-three "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- chanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore : Is there — is there ^alm in Gilead? — teltme — tell me, I implore!" ' I ? > / 'Quoth the/ Rkven, "NeVermore." / '" \ y "Proph^!" said I, "t^inglof evil — prophe4r>tiH;*if. bird /or devil! ^^ \ \ ^y \ By tl^at Heaven that bends above tis,"!:^ that Godjwe \both adore, — \\ Tell talis soul with sorrow laden if, within the disfant \Aidenn, >"^*^ ^^ / .clasp a sain^ted maideli^ whom the angels i^ame Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore !" '^^^^^ Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Be that word our sign of parting, Ijflrd or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting:' "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Pluton- ian shore! Page One Hundred and Thirly-five iattt^ ^abrtfl Eoas^ttt DANTE GABRIEL RQSSETXL was born on the 12th of May, 1828, at N6r"38"*'tirarloift^^reet, Portland Place, London. In blood he was three- fourtliKjtalian, and only one-fourth English, — being on . the fatheKg,^ side wholly Italian (Abru5?««e-L andv,on the mothefs $ide half itlfclian (Trus- can), and hjflf Englwh, ^'Die means ^f the family were always strictly moderate, and Ik 1^ Dantie Gaoriel left J^g's College School, ■v^re he had, leabnecfi Latin, French, and'^'tyegmTfing of Greek ;jlie then entered upton \he study of th^^.-'^yof painting, to which lie had from earliesk cMdhoodjsJcMBjjbro a very mafked bent, pfter a while "he was ahdimtted^o^tke school of the I%)yal Acader^. In 1848 Rossetti co-oofpfttcfn with two of his felfow- student! in painting— ^John Ej^i^fett Millais and^ William Holman and with' the, scul^^J*<5);*^h6imas Woolner, in 'forminf the btherhoq^^ In the spring of |1860 Eleanor ^dcTjfcL Their marrioa life she die4 in tn^^Na;i_oilth of Februa*^, 1862. of the ^Pra^rapha^rh^BrotherJj?ood, with friends,\ bought ou\ al^horflived mag- (afterwards 'Art cmd Poetry'). Here published by Rossetii, including 'The lite Hunt,- so-callek Praeraphae Rossetti flaarried Eliza was of shon;^ duration "In 1850 the co-operation ot s azine named 'The G appeared the first pr me Blessed Damosel'. "Rossetti had contemplated l3hk]^ng.-oiTfr in or about 1862, a volume of original poems ; but in the grief and dismay which overwhelmed him in losing his wife, he determined to sacrifice to her memory this long-cherished project, and he buried in her coffin the manuscript which would have furnished forth this volume. With the lapse of years he came to see that as a final settlement of the matter this was neither obligatory nor desir- able; so in 1869 the manuscripts were disinterred, and in 1870 his volume, named 'Poems', was issued. For some considerable time this work was hailed with general and lofty praise, checkered only by moderate stricture or rl-^-i--- but in 1871 Mr. Robert Page One Hundred and Thiriy-six Buchanan published under a pseudonym, in the 'Contemporary Review', a very hostile article named 'The Fleshly School of Poetry', attacking the poems on literary, and more especially, on moral grounds. The assault produced on Rossetti an effect altogether disproportionate to its intrinsic importance. Unfortun- ately there was in him already only too much of the morbid material on which this venom of detraction was to work. 'Tor some years the state of his eyesight had given very grave cause for apprehension, he himself fancying from time to time that the evil might »end in absolute blindness. From this or other causes, insomnia had ensued, coped with by too free a use of chloral, which may have begun near the end of 1869. In the summer of 1872 he had a dangerous crisis of illness; and from that time forward, but more especially from the middle of 1^4, he became secluded in his habits of life, and often de- pressed, fanciful, and gloomy. Not indeed that there wete no intervals of serenity, even of brightness; for in fact he was often geniaj and pleasant, and a most agreeable companion, wjith as mucb 'bonhomie' as acuten^^s for whiling an evening away. Tb speak of Rossetti's poems, which perhaps appesil to a special' and limited assembly, it is not astonishing to note that 'The Blessed Damozef, — with its visionary theme of imagery — was written at the age of eighteen; because the poem was the work of a painter, who detailed as minutely as did Dante and his contemporaries, the music of his verse. "The second of his original volumes, 'Ballads and Sonnets,' was published in the autumn of 1881. About the same time he retired to the Vale of St. John, near Keswick, Cumberland, for change of air and scene; but he returned to town shattered in health and mental tone. He died on Easter Sunday, April 9, 1882, and lies buried in the churchyard of Birchington." The above short sketch, which is found in the American edition of Dante Gabriel Rossetti's works, is taken from an article published in London in 1886 by William M. Rossetti, and it is in this article that reference is made to the strong influence, the writings of Coleridge and Poe, had on the mind of Rossetti. Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Thiri^-seven Suaoen Usbt I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before, — How long ago I may not know : But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall, — I knew it all of yore. Has this bedn thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more? Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Thirty-eight DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes \^ere-^e£peF, than the depth Of w^ers stilled at She had ihree lilies in her hai ,. —Aod tiiie starX in\ heir l^air wer'&^seven. Her robe/Singirt from /clasp to he|ji! No wrought flowers did a^^rn But a white ispsW of Mary's ,gif|^''^ For servic^meetly 'wQrrt'; Her hair that lay^ong-^Iier back Was yellow li^** T-ipe corn. Herseemed sne scarce .had been a day J One ,6/ God's chorj:,stets ; f "The wpA^er, w;as hot yet^uite gone "'fi'rom thali still look ot-^^^Ks^]^^ Albeit, ^ them shie left, herviay Had^Sjp^nted as ten yeari. (To one, it is ten ^ars'm years. . . . Yet now, and in this place, Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair Fell all about my face. . . . Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace.) Poetical JVorl^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Thirt\,-mne It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on ; — By God built over the sheer depth The which is Space begun ; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun. It lies in H^^ven, across tng^i^ood Of eth^, as a bridge. Benea4ii^.th^, tides of day land night'' / With^'^^arrti^ and. darkness ridge Xhe void, a^sloXas where- this earth .y Spins Uka a Iretful midge. . '.But it\ those fligc^s, wijja.41^1*^ was The peace ofhiiteE'^'ngirt And silence. For pBi- Breeze may stir Along the^^tfJiSady flight Of seraphim/^o echcKjthere, Beyoncyarll depth "ih height, Ar&unt The lists are set in Heaven to-day, The bright pavilions shine; Fair hangs thy shield, and hone gainsay; The trumpets sound in sign That she is thine. Not tithed witl>^"ay»'andxy ears' decease He pays thy wage He owed, But with imp.erishable peace Hpre in his own abode,: /Thy jea^us\God. Cran^Iation /torn jfrancoi^ ©illon (THE BAI^trAD OF BEAp LADIES) Tell'me now in what hidden wky is Lady Flojra the lovely Roman? Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man, Only heard on river and mere, — She whose beauty was more than human? But where are the snows of yester-year? Where's Heloise, the learned nun. For whose sake Abeillard, I ween, Lost manhood and put priesthood on? (From Love he won such dule and teen!) Page Poetical Wor^i of One Hundred and Finy^ix DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl And where, I pray you, is the Queen Who willed that Buridan should steer Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine? . . But where are the snows of yester-year? White Queen Blancherlike a queen of lilies, With a voice like any mermaiden, — Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,, And Ermengarde the lady of Maine, — And that good Joan whom Englishmen At Rouen doomed and burned her .there,. — Mother of God, where are they then? But where are the snows of yester-year ? Nay, never ask this w^ek; fair lord, Where they arj& gone, nor yet this year, Except with this for an overword, — But where are the snows of yester-year. C6e ftonj of tfee TSotoer Say, is it day, is it' dusk in thy bower, Thou whom I long for, who longest for me? Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis Love's hour, Love's that is fettered as Love's that is free. Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber. Oh! the last time, and the hundred before: Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember. Yet something that sighs from him passes the doon Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower, What does it find there that knows it again? Poetical iVorks of ' Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fifi^-seven There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower, Red at the rent core and dark with the rain. Ah ! yet what shelter is still shed above it, — What waters still image its leaves torn apart? Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it, And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart. What were my prize, could I enter thy bower. This day, to-morrow, at eve or at morn? Large lovely arms and a neck like a tower. Bosom then heaving that now lies forlorn. Kindled with love-breath, (the sun*s kiss is colder !) Thy sweetness all near me, so distant to-day; My hand round thy neck and thy hand on my shoulder, My mouth to thy mouth as the world melts away. What is it keeps me afar from thy bower, — My spirit, my body, so fain to be there? Waters engulfing or fires that devour? — Earth heaped against me or death in the air? Nay, but in day-dreams, for terror, for pity. The trees wave their heads with an omen to tell; Nay, but in night-dreams, throughout the dark city, The hours, clashed together, lose cbunt in the bell. Shall I not one day remember thy bower. One day when all days are one day to me? — Thinking, '*I stirred not, and yet had the power !" — Yearning, "Ah God, if again it might be!" Peace, peace! such a small lamp illumes, on this high- way. So dimly so few steps in front of my feet, — Yet shows me that her way is parted from my way. . . Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we meet? Page Poetical IVorka of One Hundred and Fifly-eighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl (B'ctn So So it is, my dear. All such things touch secret strings For heavy hearts. to hear. So/It is, my dear. - -vVery like indeed: Sea aii4 sky, afar, on high. Sand an4 strewn seaweed, — VeryVikfe indeed. But the'^ftil stands .spread As one wall with th^^flat skies. Where the lean black craft like flies Seem well-nigh stagnated, Soon to drop pff -dead. ^ / \. Seemed it so to us When I was thine and thou wast mine. And all these things were thus, But all our world in us? Could we be so now? Not if all beneath heaven's pall Lay dead but I and thou. Could we be so now! Poetical IVorks of p DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fin,.Z HENRY I. OF ENGLAND.-25TH NOVEMBER, 1120 By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. {Lands are sTva\)ed k^ it King ma throne.) 'T was a royal t^ain put forth to sea. Yet the tale can|be told by none but me. (The se^hmh^no King but Cpdlahne.) King ^enry heiait^s life's whole gain Thatif^fter his dea^ Ws son should rjign. "lywas so in'my yo^lKr heard men 'eay, Ai|d my old age calls it baqk to-day. King Henry of England's realm was he, Ai^d Henry Duke of Kormandy. Th^ times had changed when on either coast "Clerkly Harry'* was all his boast. Of ruthless strokes full many an one He had struck to crown himself and his son; And his elder brother's eyes were gone. And when to the chase his court would crowd, The poor flung ploughshares on his road. And shrieked: "Our cry is from King to God!" But all the chiefs of the English land Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand. And next with his son he sailed to France To claim the Norman allegiance: Page Poetical Wor^t of One Hundred and Sixl^ DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI And every Baron in Normandy Had taken the oath of fealty. 'T was sworn and sealed, and the day had come When the King and the Prince might journey home : For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear, And Christmas now was drawing near. Stout Fitx- Stephen came to the King, — A pilot famous in seafaring; And he held to the King, in all men's sight, A mark of gold for his tribute's right. **Liege Lord! my father guided the ship From whose boat your father's foot did slip .When he caught the English soil in his grip, "And cried: *By this clasp I claim command O'er every rood/jf English land!* "He was borhe to the realm 3ri)u rule o'er now In that ship with the archer carved at her prow : "And thither I'll bear, an* it be ifty due, Your father's son and his grandson too. "The famed White Ship is mine in the bay; From Harfleur's harbor she sails to-day, "With masts fair-pennoncd as Norman spean And with fifty well-tried mariners." Quoth the King : "My ships are chosen each one, But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son. Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Ont Hundred and Sixtyf-one "My son and daughter and fellowship Shall cross the water in the White Ship." The King set sail with the eve's south wind, And soon he left that coast behind. The Prince and all his, a princely show. Remained in the good White Ship to go. With noble knights and with ladies fair, With courtiers and sailors gathered there, Three hundred living souls we were: And I Berold was the meanest hind In all that train to the Prince assigned. The Prince was a lawless shameless youth; From his father's loins he sprang without ruth: Eighteen years till then he had seen. And the devil's dues in him were eighteen. . \ And now he cried: "Bring wiM irom below; Let the sailors revel ere yet they row: "Our speed shall overtake my father's flight Though we sail from the harbor at midnight." The rowers made good cheer without check; The lords and ladies obeyed his beck; The night was light, and they danced on the deck. But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay, And the White Ship furrowed the water-way. The sails were set, and the oars kept tune To the double flight of the ship and the moon : (12) Pogg Poetical Works of One Hundred and Sixty,-ii^o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped Till she flew as the spirit flies from the dead: As white as a lily glimmered she Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea. And the Prince cjie^JJEri^s, 't is the hour to sing! Is a songbird'^s" course so s^^-43tn the wing?" And under tm winter stars' still throng, Fronl'browh thhjats, white throats, merry and strong, Th0 knights acnd the ladies raised a song. x\ \ A song, — nay, a shriek that rent the sky, That leaped o'er tb^e ideepl— the grievous crj^ Of three hundred livTiig .fiiat^now must die. \ An instant shriek J^at sprang to the shocks As the ship's k^ef felt the sunken rock. 'T is said thfiit afar — a shrill strange sigh — The King's ships heard it and knew not why. Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm 'Mid all those folk that the waves; must whelnL A great King's heir for the waves to whelm, And the helpless pilot pale at the helm! The ship was eager and sucked athirst, By the stealthy stab of the sharp reef pierc'd; And like the moil round a sinking cup, The waters against her crowded up. Poetical Wor^s of p DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI On. Hundred and Si.i,tZ A moment the pilot's senses spin,— The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din. Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in. A few friends leaped with him, standing near. *'Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!" "What! none to ^e saved but these and I?" "Row, row as ydu'd live! AH here mW die!" Out of ^' . .^'■■' Despite of all England's bended knee And maugre the Norman fealty! .^-'/'^ ' He was a Princfj of lust and pride ; He showed no grace till the hour he died. . When he should be King, he oft would vow. He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough. O'er him the ships score their furrows now. God only knows where his soul did wake, But I saw him die for his sister's sake. By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. (Lands are swaged b]) a King on a throne.) *T was a royal train put forth to sea. Yet the tale can be told by none but me. {The sea hath no King but Cod alone.) Poetical Works of ' Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sixty-five And now the end came o'er the waters' womb Like the last great day that's yet to come. With prayers in vain and curses in vain, The White Ship sundered on the mid-main : And what were men and whaDt-was a ship Were toys and isplinters in the sea's grip. I Berold was down in the sea ; And passing strange though the thing may be, Of dreams then known I remember me. \ V Blithe is the shout"* orrvHarfleur's strand When morning lights the sails to land: Aiid blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam When mothers call the children home: And high to the bells of Rouen beat When ^the Body of Christ goes down the street. These things and the like were heard and shown In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone; And when I rose, 't was the sea did seem, And not these things, to be all a dream. The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, And the deep shuddered and the moon shone. And in a strait grasp my arms did span The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; And on it with me was another man. Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, We told our names, that man and I. Page Poetical Worlfs of One Hundred and Sixiyf-six DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl "O I am Godefroy de I'Aigle hight, And son I am to a belted knight." "And I am Berold the butcher's son Who slays the beasts in Rouen town." Then cried we jipQji^jad's name, as we Did drift on,v4he bitter winljec^ea, I But loj^^a third man rose o'er the waye, Ai^rfwe slid, *^hank dodj! i^s three mky He save!" / \ ^^^ ' / fie clutched to the yard with panting stare, /'And we. looked aind knew Fitz-Stephen th^e. \\ ., ^. \ -■■ y ;i He cluhgrand "Wh^t of tlie Prince ?" quoth he. "Lost, lost!" we cried. He cried, "Woe on me!" '\ And loosed his hoM and sank through the ^ea. ir .•■ ,y , ---. \\ • ' . \And soul wi^h^soul agmn in that space >ye two wetei together face to face: And each knew each, as the moments sped. Less for one living than for one dead; And every still star overhead Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead. And the hours passed; till the noble's son Sighed, "God be thy help! my strength's foredone! "O farewell, friend, for I can no more !" "Christ take thee !" I moaned ; and his life was o'er. Three hundred souls were all lost but one. And I drifted over the sea alone. Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sixiyf-ieven At last the morning rose on the sea Like an angel's wing that beat towards me. Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat; Half dead I hung, and might nothing note, Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat. The sun was high o'er the eastern brim As I praised God and gave thanks to Him. Thay'SajTTNtol^.my tale to a priest, Who charged me,. till the shrift were^feleas'd, That I should ki^ep ^it in mine own h^BtSC'^^\ •And with the priest I then(:e. """' ^f^'' This old arm's Whlier^d no^. 'T was once^ Most deft 'mong' maidens all / To rein the steed, to wing the shaft. To smite the palnwplay ball. In hall adown the close-iinfecd dance It has shone most white and fair;. It has been the rest for a trt^e l6rd*s head. And many a sweet babe's nursing-bed, And the bar to a King's chambere. Aye, lasses, draw round Kate Barlass, And hark with bated breath How good King James, King Robert's son. Was foully done to death. .:. Tradition says that Catherine Douglas, in honor of her heroic act when she barred the door with her arm against the murderers of James the First of Scots, received popularly the name of "Barlass." This name remains to her descendants, the Barlas family, in Scotland, who bear for their crest a broken arm. She married Alexander Lovell of Bolunnie. Poetical Wor^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Seventy-one Through all the days of his gallant youth The princely James was pent, By his friends at first and then by his foes, In long imprisonment. For the elder Prince, the kingdom's heir. By treason's murderous., brood Was slain ; arid the father quaked ^^r the child With the broyal mortal blood. "\ ^— ^. \ ^ ^ I ; '-^^^ V the Bass^Roi^lj: fort, by his father's c^re, ./Was his cbildhpod's life assured; ,.^^ /"And Henry the siibtle Bolingbrols^, '' ' , Proud England'ii. King, 'neatbthV southron yoke His youth for l6n.g y©a(rsjiiwfnured. ; Yet in all things mfeet for a kingly man V Himself did He approve; 'And the nigh^ngale through his prison-wall VPaught bim both .lore land love. For once, when the bird's song dtcvv him close To the opened window-pane. In her bower beneath a lady stood, A light of life to his sorrowful mood, Like a lily amid the fain. And for her sake, to the sweet bird's note. He framed a sweeter Song, More sweet than ever a poet's heart Gave yet to the English tongue. Page Poelical Wor^s of One Hundred and Seveni^-ti»o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI She was a lady of royal blood; And when, past sorrow and teen, He stood where still through his crownless years His Scotish realm had been. At Scone were the happy lovers crowned, A heart- wed Kiiig and' Queen. But the bird may fall from the boiigji of youth. And song be turned to moan, N^ And Love's storm-cloud be the shadoW of Hate, When the tempest- waves of a troubled State Are beating against a throne. Yet well they loved; and th^ god of Love, Whom well the King Md sung. Might find on the earth no truer hearts His lowliest swiains among. From the days when fifst she rode abroad With Scotish maids in her train, I Catherine Douglas won the trust Of my mistress sweet Queen Jane. And oft she sighed, "To be born a King !" And oft along the way When she saw the homely lovers pass She has said, "Alack the day!" Years waned, — the loving and toiling yearg: Till England's wrong renewed Drove James, by outrage cast on his crown, To the open field of feud. Poetical H''or^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Seveni],-three *T was when the King and his host were met At the leaguer of Roxbro' hold, The Queen o' the sudden sought his camp With a tale of dread to be told. And she showed him a secret letter writ That spoke of treasonous strife, And how a band of his noblest lords Were sworn to take his life. "And it may be here or it may be there, In the camp or the court." she said: "But for my sake come to your people's arm» And guard 3^ou^ royal head." Quoth he, " 'T is the fifteenth day of the siege, And the castle's nigh to yield." "O face your foes on your throne," she cried, "And show the power you wield; And under your Scotish people's love You shall sit as under your shield." At the fair Queen's side I stood that day When he bade them raise the siege. And back to his Court he sped to know How the lords would meet their Liege. But when he summoned his Parliament, The louring brows hung round. Like clouds that circle the mountain-head Ere the first low thunders sound. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Seveni^-i our DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI For he had tamed the nobles' lust And curbed their power and pride, And reached out an arm to right the poor Through Scotland far and wide; And many a lordly wrong-doer By the headsman's axe had died. 'T was then/upspoke Sir Robert Graeme, The bold (o'ermastering man : -^* "O King, in\the name of -your Thre■^^ Estates I^ set yrfU^urtder their Ha»! "For, as yourMords made oath to you f Of service and fealty, ^..■''/ ! Even in like wise you pJLedged your oath ' Their faithful snetojb^^ fy '"* I "Yet all''we-her<^-^at are nobly sprung Have mourned' dear kith and kin Since first for the Scotish Baron's curse ^Pid your bloody rule begin." With that he laid his hands oil liis- Kifig : — "Is this not so, my lords?" But of all who had sworn to league with him Not one spake back to his words. Quoth the King: — "Thou speak'st but for one Estate, Nor doth it avow thy gage. Let my liege lords hale this traitor hence!'* The Graeme fired dark with rage : — "Who works for lesser men than himself, He earns but a witless wage !" Poetical Worlds of p^g^ DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Seven/y./fve But soon from the dungeon where he lay He won by privy plots, And forth he fled with a price on his head To the country of the Wild Scots. And word there came from Sir Robert Graeme To the King aj^^dinhro;: — "No Liege of mine thou art ; "but J. see From this da| forth alone in thee^' > God'§,..cireatUre, my, mortal foe. "Though the^^rlSmy wife and childre|*' lost, jAy heritage ^d knds ; y^^.«**--*N*,^ And when my G6d shall show me a .i^ay, Thyself my mortal foe will I slay , With these my proper hands." Against iiie coming of Christmastide \That year the King bardie call T the Black Friar's Charterhotise of Perth A solemn festival. And we of his household rode with him In a close-ranked company; But not till the sun had sunk from his throne Did we reach the Scotish Sea. That eve was clenched for a boding storm, 'Neath a toilsome moon half seen; The cloud stooped low and the surf rose high; And where there was a line of the sky. Wild wings loomed dark between. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Se^enlysix DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI And on a rock of the black beach-side, By the veiled moon dimly lit, There was something seemed to heave with life As the King drew nigh to it. And was it only the tossing furze Or brake of the waste sea-wold? Or was it an eagle bent to the blast? When near we came, we knew it at last For a woman tattered and old. But it seemed as though by a fire within Her writhen limbs were wrung; And as soon as the King was close to her, She stood up gaunt and strong. 'T was then the moon sailed clear of the rack On high in her hollow dome; And still as aloft with hoary crest Each clamorous wave rang home, Like fire in snow the moonlight blazed Amid the champing foam. And the woman held his eyes with her eyes : -— "O King, thou art come at last; But thy wraith has haunted the Scotish Sea To my sight for four years past. "Four years it is since first I met, *Twixt the Duchray and the Dhu, A shape whose feet clung close in a shroud. And that shape for thine I knew. Poetical Work' of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sereni^-seven "A year again, and on Inchkeith Isle I saw thee pass in the breeze, With the cerecloth risen above thy feet And wound about thy knees. "And yet a year, in the Links of Forth, As a wanderer without rest, Thou cam'st with both thine arms i* the shroud That clung high up thy breast. "And in this hour I find thee here. And well mine eyes may note That the winding-sheet hath passed thy breast And risen around thy throat. "And when I meet thee again, O King, That of death hast such sore drouth, — Except thou turn again on this shore, — The winding-sheet shall have moved once more And covered thine eyes and mouth. "O King, whom poor men bless for their King, Of thy fate be not so fain; But these my words for God's message take. And turn thy steed, O King, for her sake Who rides beside thy rein!" 'While the woman spoke, the King's horse reared As if it would breast the sea. And the Queen turned pale as she heard on the gale The voice die dolorously. <13) Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Sevenlyf-eighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI When the woman ceased, the steed was still, But the King gazed on her yet. And in silence save for the wail of the sea His eyes and her eyes met. At last he said: — "God's ways are His own; Man is but shadow and dust. Last night I prayed by His altar-stone ; To-night I wend to the Feast of His Son; And in PRm I set my trust. "I.iiave held rhy people in sacred charge, , And have not feared the sting Of proud men's hate, — to His will resign'd Who has but one same death for a hind And one same death for a King. "And if God in His wisdom have brought close The day when I must die, That day by water or fire or air My feet shall fall in the destined snare Wherever my road may lie. "What man can say but the Fiend hath set Thy sorcery on my path. My heart with the fear of death to fill, And turn me against God's very will To sink in His burning wrath?" The woman stood as the train rode past, And moved nor limb nor eye; And when we were shipped, we saw her there Still standing against the sky. Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sex^enty-nine As the ship made way, the moon once more Sank slow in her rising pall; And I thought of the shrouded wraith of the King, And I said, *'The Heavens know all.'* And now, ye lasses, must ye hear How my name is Kate Barlass : — But a little thing, when all the tale Is told of the weary mass Of crime and woe which in Scotland's realm God's will let come to pass. 'T was in the Charterhouse of Perth That the King and all his Court Were met, the Christmas Feast being done, ( For solace and disport. *T was a wind-wild eve in February, And against the casement-pane The branches smote like summoning hands And muttered the driving rain. And when the wind swooped over the lift And made the whole heaven frown. It seemed a grip was laid on the walls To tug the housetop down. And the Queen was there, more stately fair Than a lily in garden set; And the King was loth to stir from her side; For as on the day when she was his bride. Even so he loved her yet. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Eighty, DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI And the Earl of Athole, the King's false friend, Sat with him at the board; And Robert Stuart the chamberlain Who had sold his sovereign Lord. Yet the traitor Christopher Chaumber there Would fain have told him all. And vainly four times that night he strove To reach the King through the hall. But the wine is bright at the goblet's brim Though the poison lurk beneath; And the apples still are red pn the tree Within whose shade may the adder be That shall turn thy life to death. There was a knight of the King's fast friends Whom he called the King of Love ; / And to ^uch bright cheer and courtesy That name might best behove. And the King and Queen both loved him well For his gentle knightliness ; And with him the King, as that eve wore on. Was playing at the chess. And the King said, (for he thought to jest And soothe the Queen thereby ;) — "In a book 't is writ that this same year A King shall in Scotland die. Poeiical Worki oi Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eighty-one "And I have pondered the matter o'er, And this have I found, Sir Hugh, — There are but two Kings on Scotish ground, And those Kings are I and you. "And I have a wife and a new-bprn heir. And you ate yourself alone; ^ So stand you stark at my side with me To guard oufNdouble throne;. \ \^ • / "Fdr here sit ranalmy wifcf and child, As well your heart shall approve, In full surrender and soothfastness. Beneath your Kingdom of Love." ^nd the Knight laughed, and the Queen too smijfed ; \ But I knew her heavy thought, And I strove to find in the good King's jest What cheer might thence be wrought. DtieeiTsr^ai And I said, *^My Liege, for the Qtieen*Sf dear love Now sing the song that of old You made, when a captive Prince you lay. And the nightingale sang sweet on the spray, In Windsor's castle-hold." Then he smiled the smile I knew so well When he thought to please the Queen; The smile which under all bitter frowns Of hate that rose between. For ever dwelt at the poet's heart Like the bird of love unseen. Pagt Poetical Work* of One Hundred and Eighiy-tno DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl And he kissed her hand and took his harp, And the music sweetly rang; And when the song burst forth, it seemed 'T was the nightingale that sang. "Worship, ije lovers, on this Ma}^: Of bliss your k^ltnds are begun: Sing mth i^s, Awa}), Winder, away? I Come, Summer, the street season and sun! An>ake for shame, — y^our heaven is rvon, •■- jAnd amorously your heads lift all: Thank JLo^j ^^ai.you to his grace doth call!'* But when he bent to the Queen, and sang The speech whose praise was hers, It seemed his voice was the voice of the Spring And the voice of the bygone years. **The fairest and the freshest florver That ever I sar» before that hour. The which o* the sudden made to start The blood of my body to my heart. 4e « 4^ « 4i Ah sjuee/, are ye a T»orldly creature Or heavenly thing in form of nature?" And the song was long, and richly stored With wonder and beauteous things; And the harp was tuned to every change Of minstrel ministerings ; But when he spoke of the Queen at the last, Its strings were his own heart-strings. Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eightyihree **UnJi)orih}) but only of her grace. Upon Love's rock that's easyf and sure. In guerdon of all my loves space She took me her humble creature. Thus fell my blissful aventure In youth of Igi^e thoTfrom day. to day Flowereth aye nen?, and further 1 say, **Xho therein fell Came no more up, ^tidings to tell: Whereat, astoiind of the fearful sight, ; / wist not whai\fo do for fright** -'< '' -^ '■'^ *■> And oft has my thought called up again These words of the changeful song: — **Wisi thou th)) pain and thy travail To come, well mighfst thou Weep and Wail!** And our wail, O God! is long. But the song's end was all of his love; And well his heart was grac'd With her smiling lips and her tear-bright eyes As his arm ^y^ent round her waist. And on the swell of her long fair throat Close clung the necklet-chain As he bent her pearl-tir'd head aside, And in the warmth of his love and pride He kissed her lips full fain. Poetical IVorks of Pag^ DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Elght}f-five And her true face was rosy red, The very red of the rose That, couched on the happy garden-bed In the summer sunlight glows. And all the wondrous things of love That sang S9 sweet through the song Were in the look that met }n their eyes, And the look >yas d^ep arid long. *T yas then a knocl? came at the outer gate, y^nd the ushef sought the King. |*The woman you met by the Scotish Sea, ■^ My Liege, would t^U yoti a thing; And she says that her present need for speech Will bear no gainsaying." Ai;id the King said : "The hour is late ; To-morrow will serve, I ween." Then he charged the usher strictly, and said : "No word of this to the Queen.'* But the usher came again to the King. "Shall I call her back?" quoth he: "For as she went on her way she cried, *Woe! Woe! then the thing must be!*" And the King paused, but he did not speak. Then he called for the Voidee-cup: And as we heard the twelfth hour strike, There by true lips and false lips alike Was the draught of trust drained up. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Eightyf-six DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI So with reverence meet to King and Queen, To bed went all from the board; And the last to leave of the courtly train Was Robert Stuart the chamberlain Who had sold his sovereign lord. And all iiie locks of the chafr^er-door Had the traitor riven and brast ; And that Fate might win sure way from afar, He had drawn out every bolt and bar That made the entrance fast. And now at midnight he. stole liis way | To the moat of the outer wall, And laid strong hurdles closely across • Where the traitor's tread should fall. ^ V But we that were the Queen's bower-mads Alone were left behind; And with heed we drew the curtains close Against the winter wind. And now that all was still through the hall, More clearly we heard the rain That clamored ever against the glass And the boughs that beat on the pane. But the fire was bright in the ingle-nook. And through empty space around The shadows cast on the arras'd wall 'Mid the pictured kings stood sudden and tall Like spectres sprung from the ground. Poetical Works of ^««« DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eighiyf-seven And the bed was dight in a deep alcove; And as he stood by the fire The King was still in talk with the Queen While he doffed his goodly attire. And the song had brought the image back Of many a bygone year ; And many at loving word they said With hand in hand and head laid to bead; And none of us went anear. But Love was weeping outside the notlse,- A child in the piteous rain ; ; And as he watched the arrow of Death, He wailed for his own shafts close in the sheath That never should fly again. ,.■' /^- \ 1 '" \ And now beoia'th the -vvindow arose A wild voice suddenly: And the King reared straight, but the Queen fell back As for bitter dule to dree ; And all of us knew the woman's voice Who spoke by the Scotish Sea. "O King,'* she cried, "in an evil hour They drove me from thy gate; And yet my voice must rise to thine ears; But alas! it comes too late! Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Eighi^f-eighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI "Last night at mid-watch, by Aberdour, When the moon was dead in the skies, O King, in a death-light of thine own I saw thy shape arise. "And in full season, as erst I said. The dooni had gained its growjth; And the shrbud had risen. above th^^neck Arid covered, thin6 eyei and mouth\ \ \_ '■• 7 ; / "And no moon woke, but the pale dawn broke. And still thy soUl stood there; ' And I thought its silence cried to my soul As the ftrst rayW dproWn^d its hair. "Since then have I journeyed fast and fain In very despite of F^te, Lest Hope might still be found in God's will ; ^^ut they drove me from thy gate. ""■'"^•"^ ," \ J "For every man on God's ground, O King, His deati^ grows up from his birth In a shadow-plant perpetually; And thine towers high, a black yew-tree, O'er the Charterhouse of Perth!" That room was built far out from the house ; And none but we in the room Might hear the voice that rose beneath. Nor the tread of the coming doom. Poetical IVorl^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eight), -nine For now there came a torchlight-glare. And a clang of arms there came; And not a soul in that space but thought Of the foe Sir Robert Graeme. Yea, from the country of the Wild Scots, O'er mountain, valley, and glen. He had brought with him in murderous league Three hundred armed men. The King knew all in an instant's flash, And like a Kang did he stand; But there was no armor in all the room, Nor weapon lay ^ to his hand. And all we women flew to the door And thought to have made it fast; But the bolts were gone and the bars were gone And the locks were riven and brast. And he caught the pale, pale Queen in his arms As the iron footsteps fell, — Then loosed her, standing alone, and said, "Our bliss was our farewell !'* And 'twixt his lips he murmured a prayer, And he crossed his brow and breast; And proudly in royal hardihood Even so with folded arms he stood,— The price of the bloody quest. Page Poetical Worlds of One Hundred and Ninety DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Then on me leaped the Queen like a deer : — "O Catherine, help!" she cried. And low at his feet we clasped his knees Together side by side. "Oh! even a King, for his people^s sake. From treasonous death must hide!" "For her sake most!" I cried, and I marked The pang that my words could wring. And the iron tongs from the chimney-nook I snatched and held to the King:-^ "Wrench up the plank! and the vault beneath /Shall yield safe harboring." y With brows low-bent, from nT^yea^er hand The heavy heft 4id he i:ake; And the plank at his feet he wrenched and tore; And as he frowned through the open floor, Again I said, "For her sake!" The he cried to the Queen, "God*s will be done !" For her hands were clasped in prayer. And down he sprang to the inner crypt; And straight we closed the plank he had ripp'd And toiled to smoothe it fair. (Alas! in that vault a gap once was Wherethro' the King might have fled: But three days since close-walled had it been By his will; for the ball would roll therein When without at the palm he play'd.) Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Nmefy-one Then the Queen cried, "Catherine, keep the door. And I to this will suffice !" At her word I rose all dazed to my feet, And my heart was fire and ice. And louder ever the voices grew, And the tramp of men in mail; Until to my brain it seemed to be As though I tossed on a ship at sea In the teeth fof a crashing gale. Then, back f flew to the rfes^; and hard Wc strove with sinews knit T9..force the table against the door; 'But we might not compass it. ■ '^----^ \. ■'■''^"'^,^^"" Then my wild gaze sped far down the hall To the place of the hearthstone-sill ; And the Queen bent ever above the floor. For the plank was rising still. And now the rush was heard on the stair. And "God, what help?'* was our cry. And was I frenzied or was I bold? I looked at each empty stanchion-hold, And no bar but my arm had I! Like iron felt my arm, as through The staple I made it pass : — Alack! it was flesh and bone — no more! 'T was Catherine Douglas sprang to the door, But I fell back Kate Barlass. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Nmti}fti»o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI With that they all thronged into the hall, Half dim to my failing ken; And the space that was but a void before Was a crowd of wrathful men. Behind the door I had fall'n and lay, Yet my sense was wildly aware, And for all the pain of my shattered arm I never fainted there. Even as I fell, my eyes were cast Where the Kink leaped down to the pit; And lo! the plank was smooth in its place. And the Queen stood far from it. And under the litters and through the bed And within the presses all The traitors sought for" the King, and pierced The arras around the wall. And through the chamber they ramped and stormed Like lions loose in the lair. And scarce could trust to their very eyes, — For behold! no King was there. Then one of them seized the Queen, and cried, — "Now tell us, where is thy lord?" And he held the sharp point over her heart: She drooped not her eyes nor did she start. But she answered never a word. Poetical Works of ' PaS^ DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninety-three Then the sword half pierced the true, true breast : But it was the Graeme's own son Cried, "This is a woman, — we seek a man!" And away from her girdle zone He struck the point of the murderous steel ; And that foul deed was not done. And forth flowed all the throng like a sea. And 'twas empty space once more; And my eyes sought out the wounded Queen As I lay behind the door. / V. . '• i / Aiid I said : *^ea^ Lady, 'leave me here, For I cannot help you now; But fly while you may, and none shall reck Of my place here lying low." And she said, "My Catherine, God help thee !** Then she lopped to the distant floor, And clasping4i'er hands, "O God help /iiVn," She sobbed, "for we can no more!" But God He knows what help may mean, If it mean to live or to die; And what sore sorrow and mighty moan On earth it may cost ere yet a throne Be filled in His house on high. And now the ladies fled with the Queen; And through the open door The night-wind wailed round the empty room And the rushes shook on the floor. (14) Page Poetical WoT^i of One Hundred and Ninety-four DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI And the bed drooped low in the dark recess Whence the arras was rent away; And the firelight still shone over the space Where our hidden secret lay. And the rain had ceased, and the moonbeams lit The window high in the wall, — Bright beams that otl the plank that I knew Through the painted pane did fall And gleamed with the splendor of Scotland's crown And shield armorial. / But then a great wind swept up the skies, And the cHmbing moon fell back; And the royal blazon fled from the floor, And nought remained on its track; And high in the darkened window-pane The shield and the crown were black. And what I say next I partly saw And partly I heard in sooth, And partly since from the murderers' lips The torture wrung the truth. For now again came the armed tread, And fast through the hall it fell; But the throng was less ; and ere I saw. By the voice without I could tell That Robert Stuart had come with them Who knew that chamber well. Poetical IVor^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninely- five And over the space the Graeme strode dark With his mantle round him flung; And in his eye was a flaming light But not a word on his tongue. And Stuart held a torch to the floor, • And he found the thing he sought; And they slashed the plank away with their swords ; And O God ! I fainted not ! And the traitor held his torch in the gap, All smoking and smouldering; ^d through the vapor and fire, beneath In the dark crypt*s narrow ring, With a shout that pealed to the room's high roof They saw their naked King. Half naked he stood, but stood as one Who yet could do and dare: With the crown, the King was stript away, — The Knight was reft of his battle-array, — But still the Man was there. From the rout then stepped a villain forth, — Sir John Hall was his name; With a knife unsheathed he leapt to the vault Beneath the torchlight-flame. Of his person and stature was the King A man right manly strong, And mightily by the shoulder-blades His foe to his feet he flung. Page Poetical Works of One Hundred and Ninety-six DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Then the traitor^s brother, Sir Thomas Hall, Sprang down to work his worst; And the King caught the second man by the neck And flung him above the first. And he smote and trampled them under him; And a long month thence they bare All black their throats with the grip of his hands. When the hangman's hand came there. And sore he strove to have had thei^^knives, But the sharp blades gashed his hands. Oh James! so armed, thou hadst battled there Till help had come of thy bands; And oh ! once more thou hadst held our throne And ruled thy Scotish lands ! '■, ^ ~ ) But while the King o'er his foes still ragea With a heart that nought could tame, \. Another man sprang down to the crypt ; Arid with his sword in his hand hard gripp'd, There stood Sir Robert Graeme. (Now shame on the recreant traitor's heart Who durst not face his King Till the body unarmed was wearied out With two-fold combating! Ah! well might the people sing and say, As oft ye have heard aright : — "O Robert Graeme, O Robert Graeme, Who slew our King, God give thee shame!'* For he slew him not as a knight.) Poetical Worlds of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninelx^-seven And the naked King turned round at bay, But his strength had passed the goal, And he could but gasp : — "Mine hour is come ; But oh! to succor thine own soul's doom, Let a priest now shrive my soul!" And the traitcp looked on the King*& spent strength, And said : -V- "Have I kept my word? — Yea, King, the mortal pledge that I gave? No black friar's shrift thy soul shall have. But the shrift of this red sword!"/ |w; ith that he smote his King through the brea^; And all they thre^ m that pen Fell on him and stabbed arid stabbed him there,/ } Like merciless murderous men. ^^ Yet seemed it now that Sir Robert Graeme, Eire the King's last breath was o'er, / Turned sick at heart with the deadly sight And would have done no more. n But a cry came from the troop abbve : — "If him thou do not slay. The price of his life that thou dost spare Thy forfeit life shall pay!" O God ! what more did I hear or see, Or how should I tell the rest? But there at length our King lay slain With sixteen wounds in his breast. Page Poetical IVorks of One Hundred and Ninel})-eight DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI O God ! and now did a bell boom forth, And the murderers turned and fled ; — Too late, too late, O God, did it sound ! — And I heard the true men mustering round, And the cries and the coming tread. But ere they came, to the black death-gap Somewise did I creep and steal; And lo ! or ever I swooned away. Through the dusk I saw where the white face lay In the Pit of Fortune's Wheel. And now, ye Scotish maids who have heard Dread things of the days grown old, — Even at the last, of true Queen Jane May somewhat yet be told. And how she dealt for her dear lord's sake Dire vengeance manifold. *T was ill the Charterhouse of Perth, In the fair-lit Death-chapelle, That the. slain King's corpse on bier was laid With cn^vint and requiem-knell. And all with royal wealth of balm Was the body purified; And none could trace on the brow and lips The death that he had died. In his robes of state he lay asleep With orb and sceptre in hand; And by the crown he wore on his throne Was his kingly forehead spann*d. Poetical Works of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninely-nme And, girls, *t was a sweet sad thing to see How the curling golden hair. As in the day of the poet's youth, From the King's crown clustered there. And if all had come to pass in the brain That throbbed beneath those curls. Then Scots had said in the days to come That this their soil was a different home And a different Scotland, girls! And the Queen sat by him night and day. And oft she knelt in prayer. All wan and pale in the widow's veil That shrouded her .joining hair. And I had got good help of my hurt : And only to me some sign She made ; and save the priests that were there No face,.o Hundred DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI And evermore as I brought her word, She bent to her dead King James, And in the cold ear with fire-drawn breath She spoke the traitors' names. But when the name of Sir Robert Graeme Was the pne she had to give, I ran to hol^ her up from the floor^; For the" froth was on her lips, and sore I feared that she could not live. And the month of March wore nigh to its end. And still was the death-pall spread; For she would nb^Jburv'^her slaughtered lord Till his slayers a^^^effe dead. And now of their dooms dread tidings camq. And of torments fierce and dire ; And nought she spake, — she had ceased to speak, — ^tj^^>yes were a soul on fire. But when I told her the bitter end Of the stern and just award. She leaned o'er the bier, and thrice three times She kissed the lips of iier lord. And then she said, — "My King, they are dead!" And she knelt on the chapel-floor, And whispered low with a strange proud smile, — "James, James, they suffered more!" Poetical IVor^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Tv,o Hundred and One Last she stood up to her queenly height, But she shook like an autumn leaf. As though the fire wherein she burned Then left her body, and all were turned To winter of life-long grief. And "O James!" she said, — "My James!" she said, — "Alas for the woful thing, Tha^ a poet true g,nd a friend 6i man. In desperate days hi bale and ban, -Should needs be i>om a King!" Page Poetical Works of Two Hundred and Tno DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl Cfte Oou0e of Life CII.— THE ONE HOPE When vain desire at last and vain regret Go hand in hand, to death, and,^!! is vain. What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgetful to forget? Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet; — Or may the soul at once in a green plain Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet? Ah! whenr'tfie wan soul in that golden air Between the scriptured petals softly blown Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown, — Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er But only the one Hope's one name be there, — Not less nor more, but even that word alone. Poetical Wot^s of Page DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Tn,o Hundred and Three Cfie l£)pu0e of Life 'VII.-t-NUPTIAL SLEEP.;. At length their long kiss severed, with s^et smart: And as the last, slow, sudden drops are ished From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled, Sq singly flagged the pulses of each heart. Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red, E^awned on each oj^jprr where they lay apart. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away. Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day ; Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke, and wondered more : for there she lay. .♦.The sonnet entitled Nuptial Sleep, is omitted from most editions, has been replaced in its proper position in the House of Life. This sonnet was chosen for admiration by Tennyson, being deeply impressed by the passion and imaginative power of the sonnet. The Immoriul \Edition of the l^mXu^ MJorkfi oj QIitlertbgF, '^rxt anjd j%\xmtX% consisting of Thr^ TkmisaHcl volumes^ compiled and edited by Gurtrude Flower^ is published in New York^ N, K,, V« the year /Nine teen-Hiindred-and- Ten \,r ia^-' 'im' One copy del. to Cat. Div. ccr 4 Kao ^•^ ^_^BR^B'' ^' ;0A4 457 92A5