The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats

Which when she view'd, a vision fell
Upon the soul of Christabel,
The vision of fear, the touch and pain!
She shrunk and shudder'd, and saw again-
(Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee,
Thou gentle maid! such sights to see !)

With all his numerous array,
White with their panting palfreys' foam :
And by mine honor! I will say,
That I repent me of the day
When I spake words of high disdain
To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine !
-For since that evil hour hath flown,
Many a summer's sun hath shone;
Yet ne'er found I a friend again
Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine."

Again she saw that bosom old,
Again she felt that bosom cold,
And drew in her breath with a hissing sound :
Whereat the knight turn’d wildly round,
And nothing saw but his own sweet maid
With eyes upraised, as one that pray'd.

The touch, the sight, had pass’d away,
And in its stead that vision blest,
Which comforted her aster-rest,
While in the lady's arms she lay,
Had put a rapture in her breast,
And on her lips and o'er her eyes
Spread smiles like light!

With new surprise, - What ails then my beloved child ?" The Baron said-His daughter mild Made answer, “ All will yet be well!" I ween, she had no power to tell Aught else: so mighty was the spell. Yet he, who saw this Geraldine, Had deem'd her sure a thing divine. Such sorrow with such grace she blended, As if she fear'd she had offended Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid ! And with such lowly tones she pray'd, She might be sent without delay Home to her father's mansion.

The Lady fell, and clasp'd his knees,
Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing ;
And Bracy replied, with faltering voice,
Her gracious hail on all bestowing ;-
Thy words, thou sire of Christabel,
Are sweeter than my harp can tell ;
Yet might I gain a boon of thee,
This day my journey should not be.
So strange a dream hath come to me,
That I had vow'd with music loud
To clear yon wood from thing unblest,
Warn'd by a 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 alone.
Which when I saw and when I heard,
I wonder'd what might ail the bird :
For nothing near it could I see,
Save the grass and green herbs underneath the

old tree.

“ Nay! Nay, by my soul!" said Leoline. * Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine : Go thou, with music sweet and loud, And take two steeds with trappings proud, And take the youth whom thou Jovest best To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, And clothe you both in solemn vest, And over the mountains haste along, Lest wandering folk, that are abroad, Detain you on the valley road. And when he has cross'd 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.

And in my dream, methought, I went
To search out what might there be found;
And what the sweet bird's trouble meant
That ihus lay fluttering on the ground.
I went and peer'd, and could descry
No cause for her distressful cry;
But yet for her dear lady's sake
I stoop'd, methought, the dove to take.
When lo! I saw a bright green snake
Coil'd around its wings and neck.
Green as the herbs on which it couch'd,
Close by the dove's its head it crouchd !
And with the dove it heaves and stirs,
Swelling its neck as she swell’d hers!
I woke; it was the midnight hour,
The clock was echoing in the tower;
But though my slumber was gone by,
This dream it would not pass away-
It seems to live upon my eye!
And thence I vow'd this self-same day,
With music strong and saintly song
To wander through the forest bare,
Lest aught unholy loiter there.

* Bard Bracy, bard Bracy! your horses are fleet,
Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,
More loud than your horses' echoing feet!
And loud and loud to Lord Roland call,
Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall !
Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free-
Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me.
He bids thee come without delay
With all thy numerous array ;-
And take thy lovely daughter home :
And he will meet thee on the way

Thus Bracy said : the Baron, the while,
Half-listening heard him with a smile ;
Then turn’d 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!
He kiss'd her forehead as he spake,
And Geraldine in maiden wise,
Casting down her large bright eyes,
With blushing cheek and courtesy fine
She turn'd her from Sir Leoline;
Softly gathering up her train,
That o'er her right arm fell again;
And folded her arms across her chest,
And couch'd her head upon her breast,
And look'd askance at Christabel-
Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

The same, for whom thy lady died.
O by the pangs of her dear mother,
Think thou no evil of thy child !
For her, and thee, and for no other,
She pray'd the moment ere she died;
Pray'd that the babe for whom she died
Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride!
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,

Sir Leoline!
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child,

Her child and thine ?

A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy,
And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head,
Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye,
And with somewhat of malice and more of dread,
At Christabel she look'd askance :
One moment—and the sight was fled !
But Christabel, in dizzy trance
Stumbling on the unsteady ground,
Shudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound;
And Geraldine again turn'd round,
And like a thing, that sought relief,
Full of wonder and full of grief,
She roll'd her large bright eyes divine
Wildly on Sir Leoline.

Within the Baron's heart and brain
If thoughts like these had any share,
They only swellid his rage and pain,
And did but work confusion there.
His heart was cleft with pain and rage,
His cheeks they quiver’d, his eyes were wild,
Dishonor'd thus in his old age ;
Dishonor'd by his only child,
And all his hospitality
To the insulted daughter of his friend
By more than woman's jealousy
Brought thus to a disgraceful end-
He rollid his eye 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 obey'd ;
And, turning from his own sweet maid,
The aged knight, Sir Leoline,
Led forth the lady Geraldine !

THE CONCLUSION TO PART IT.

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone,
She nothing sees--no sight but one!
The maid, devoid of guile and sin,
I know not how, in fearful wise
So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resign'd
To this sole image in her mind :
And passively did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate!
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance
With forced, unconscious sympathy
Full before her father's view
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 pray'd:
Then falling at the Baron's feet,
“ By my mother's soul do I entreat
That thou this woman send away!”
She said : and more she could not say ;
For what she knew she could not tell,
O’ermaster'd by the mighty spell.

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
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unieant bitterness.
Perhaps 't is pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 't is 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 lrue)!
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do.

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

Remorse ;

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

ALVAR.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ZULIMEZ.
Remorse is as the heart in which it grows :

If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews
MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy,
Donna Teresa's Guardian.

It is a poison-tree that, pierced to the inmost,
Don ALVAR, the eldest son.

Weeps only tears of poison.
Don ORDONIO, the youngest son.
MONTIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor.

And of a brother,
ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar.
ISIDORE, 2 Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian. Dare I hold this, unproved ? nor make one effort,
FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION.

To save him?—Hear me, friend! I have yet to tell thee NAOMI.

That this same life, which he conspired to take, Moors, SERVANTS, etc.

Himself once rescued from the angry flood, Donna TERESA, an Orphan Heiress.

And at the imminent hazard of his own. ALHADRA, Wife to Isidore.

Add too my oath

ZULIMEZ. TIME The reign of Philip II., just at the close of

You have thrice told already the civil wars against the Moors, and during the The years of absence and of secrecy, heat of the persecution which raged against them, To which a forced oath bound you: if in truth shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing A suborn'd murderer have the power to dictate of Moresco apparel under pain of death.

A binding oath

ALVAR.

My long captivity

Left me no choice: the very Wish 100 languish'd
REMORSE.

With the fond Hope that nursed it; the sick babe
Droop'd at the bosom of its famish'd mother

Bat (more than all) Teresa's perfidy;
ACT I.

The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest,

No motive could have tempted him to falsehood : SCENE I.

In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience, The Sea Shore on the coast of Granada. When with abhorrence of his own black purpose

The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, Don Alvar, wrapl in a Boat-cloak, and ZuLIMEZ Fell from his palsied hand(a Moresco), both as just landed

Heavy presumption ! No sound, no face of joy to welcome us!

It weigh'd not with me-Hark! I will tell thee all: My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment

As we pass'd by, I bade thee mark the base Let me forget my anguish and their crimes.

Or yonder cliffIf aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, *T is surely this—after long years of exile,

That rocky seat you mean,
To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us,

Shaped by the billows ?-
To hail at once our country, and our birth-place.
Hail, Spain ! Granada, hail! once more I press

There Teresa met me, T'hy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers!

The morning of the day of my departure.
Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don Alvar, We were alone: the purple hue of dawn

Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us,
Yes, yet give up your all too gentle purpose.
It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself,

And, blending with the blushes on her cheek,

Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light.
And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt!

There seem'd a glory round us, and Teresa
ALVAR.
Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother:

The angel of the vision ! (Then with agitation

Hadst thou seen
Injured, indeed! O deeply injured! yet
Ordonio's brother.

How in each motion her most innocent soul
Beam'd forth and brighten'd, thou thyself wouldst

tell me,
Nobly-minded Alvar!
This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.

Guilt is a thing impossible in her!

She must be innocent! The more behoves it, I should rouse within him

ZULIMEZ (with a sigh). Pomorse! that I should save him from himself.

Proceed, my Lord!

ZULIMEZ.

ALVAR.

ZULIMEZ.

ALVAR.

ZULIMEZ.

ALVAR.

ZULIMEZ.

ALVAR.

TERESA.

TERESA

VALDEZ.

ALVAR.

Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, A portrait which she had procured by stealth Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain, (For ever then it seems her heart foreboded

I will seek our mariners; and in the dusk Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry),

Transport whate'er we need to the small dell A portrait of herself with thrilling hand

In the Alpuxarras—there where Zagri lived.
She tied around my neck, conjuring me

ALVAR.
With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred I know it well : it is the obscurest haunt
To my own knowledge: nor did she desist,

Of all the mountains

[Both stand listening Till she had won a solemn promise from me,

Voices at a distance! That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it Let us away!

[Ereunt Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, Knew that which none but she could have disclosed.

SCENE II.
A damning proof!

Enter TERESA and VALDEZ.
My own life wearied me!
And but for the imperative Voice within,

I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son
With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. And Alvar's brother.
That Voice, which quelld me, calm'd me: and I

VALDEZ.
sought

Love him for himself, The Belgic states: there join'd the better cause;

Nor make the living wretched for the dead. And there too fought as one that courted death! Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, In death-like trance : a long imprisonment follow'd. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez; The fullness of my anguish by degrees

But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain
Waned to a meditative melancholy ;

Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.
And still, the more I mused, my soul became
More doubtful, more perplex'd; and still Teresa,

Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves, Night after night, she visited my sleep,

And could my heart's blood give him back to thee, Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts; Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me!

Thy dying father comes upon my soul Yes, still, as in contempt of proof and reason,

With that same look, with which he gave thee to me, I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless !

I held thee in my arins a powerless babe, Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here

While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty In the disguise of a Moresco chiesain.

Fix'd her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, The Moorish robes ?

That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom,

And with slow anguish wear away thy life,

The victim of a useless constancy.
Aļl, all are in the sea-cave,

I must not see thee wretched.
Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners
Secrete the boat there.

There are woes
ALVAR.
Above all, the picture

Ill-barter'd for the garishness of joy! of the assassination

If it be wretched with an witired eye

To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean;
ZULIMEZ
Be assured

Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock,
That it remains uninjured.

My hair dishevell’d by the pleasant sea-breeze,

To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again
Thus disguised,

All past hours of delight! If it be wretched
I will first seek to meet Ordonio's wife!

To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, If possible, alone too. This was her winted walk, To go through each minutest circumstance And this the hour; her words, her very looks

of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures

Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them; Will acquit her or convict.

* (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid
ZULIMEZ.

Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes,
Will they not know you? And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft

ALVAR.
With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly

Hung with her lule, and play'd the self-same tune Trust the disguise ; and as to my complexion,

He used to play, and listend to the shadow

Herself had made)—if this be wretchedness, My long imprisonment, the scanty food,

And if indeed it be a wretched thing This scar,and toil beneath a burning sun,

To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine Have done already half the business for us.

That I had died, died just ere his return!
Add too my youth, when last we saw each other.
Vanhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice Then see him listening to my constancy,

Or hover round, as he at midnight oft
A hoarser note—Besides, they think me dead :
And what the mind believes impossible,
The bodily sense is slow to recognize.

• Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness,

which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a sooth ZULIMEZ.

ing half-playful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy "Tis yours, Sir, to command; mine to obey.

by the little tale in the parenthesis.

ZULIMEZ

TERESA.

ALVAR.

VALDEZ..

TERESA

ORDONIO.

TERESA.

Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon;

His wounds and perilous voyages, and how Or haply, in some more fantastic mood,

With an heroic fearlessness of danger To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar. Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, It was not well—You have moved me even to tears. And there to wait his coming! O my sire !

TERESA. My Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness

Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez! pardon me! That eats away the life, what were it, think you,

It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, If in a most assured reality

A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried He should return, and see a brother's infant

Beyond myself, if I but hear of one Smile at him from my arms?

Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not
Oh, what a thought! (Clasping her forehead. Born in one day, like twins of the same parent?

Nursed in one cradle ? Pardon me, my father!
A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. A six years' absence is a heavy thing,
The very week he promised his return-

Yet still the hope survives-
TERESA (abruptly).

VALDEZ (looking forward).
Was it not then a busy joy? to see him,

Hush! 'tis Monviedro.
After those three years' travels! we had no fears-
The frequent tidings, the ne'er-failing letter, The Inquisitor! on what new scent of blood ?
Almost endear'd his absence! Yet the gladness,
The tumult of our joy! What then if now-

Enter MONVIEDRO with ALHADRA.
VALDEZ.

MONVIEDRO (having first made his' obersance to O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts,

VALDEZ and TERESA).
Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless!
Yes, I am old—I have no pleasant fancies Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord,
Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest-

My present need is with your son.
TERESA (with great lenderness)

(Looking forward. My father! We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he. VALDEZ.

Enter from the opposite side Don Ordonio.
The sober truth is all too much for me!
I see no sail which brings not to my mind

My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman
The home-bound bark in which my son was captured (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.
By the Algerine-to perish with his captors!

Hail, reverend father! what may be the business? Oh no! he did not !

My Lord, on strong suspicion of relapse Captured in sight of land ! To his false creed, so recently abjured, From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower The secret servants of the inquisition We might have seen

Have seized her husband, and at my command

To the supreme tribunal would have led him,
His capture, not his death. But that he made appeal to you, my Lord,

As surety for his soundness in the faith.
Alas! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale

Though lessen'd by experience what small trust Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio The asseverations of these Moors deserve,

Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name,
Saw both the pirate and his prize go down,
In the same storm that baffled his own valor,

Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honor
And thus twice snatch'd a brother from his hopes : The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers,
Gallant Ordonio! (pauses ; then tenderly). O beloved Thus far prevail'd with me that
Teresa!

ORDONIO. Wouldst thou best prove thy faith to generous Alvar,

Reverend father, And most delight his spirit, go, make thou I am much beholden to your high opinion, His brother happy, make his aged father

Which so o'erprizes my light services. Sink to the grave in joy.

[Then to ALHADRA TERESA.

I would that could serve you ; but in truth
For mercy's sake, Your face is new to me.
Press me no more! I have no power to love him.
His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow,

My mind foretold me,
Chill me like dew damps of the unwholesome night : That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez,
My love, a timorous and tender flower,

"T was little probable, that Don Ordonio, Closes beneath his touch.

That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely VALDEZ.

Sume four years since to quell these rebel Moors,
You wrong him, maiden! Should prove the patron of this infidel !
You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well The guarantee of a Moresco's faith!
'Tu character by such unkindly phrases

Now I return.
The stir and workings of that love for you
Which he has toild to smother, 'T was not well, My Lord, my husband's name
Nor is it grateful in you to forget

Is Isidore. (ORDONIO starts.) You may remember it

MONVIEDRO.

VALDEZ.

TERESA.

VALDEZ.

MONVIEDRO.

ALHADRA.

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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: complete in one volume