The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol 1 and 2
Chapter 156
_The murmuring tide Lull'd her, and many a pensive pleasing dream_ Rose in sad shadowy trains at Memory's call. 330 She thought of Arc, and of the dingled brook, Whose waves oft leaping on their craggy course Made dance the low-hung willow's dripping twigs; And where it spread into a glassy lake, _Of the old oak which on the smooth expanse, 335 Imag'd its hoary mossy-mantled boughs_.
FOOTNOTES:
[1027:1] Over and above the contributions to the Second Book of the _Joan of Arc_, which Southey acknowledged, and which were afterwards embodied in the _Destiny of Nations_, Coleridge claimed a number of passages in Books I, III, and IV. The passages are marked by S. T. C. in an annotated copy of the First Edition 4{o}, at one time the property of Coleridge's friend W. Hood of Bristol, and afterwards of John Taylor Brown. See _North British Review_, January, 1864.
[1029:1] Suggested and in part written by S. T. C.
LINENOTES:
[37] not slept] slept not MS. corr. by Southey.
[39] red] S. T. C. notes this word as Southey's.
[46] Firm] S. T. C. writes against this word _Not English_.
E
[Vide _ante_, p. 186.]
THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,[1030:1] IN SEVEN PARTS.
ARGUMENT
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.
I.
It is an ancyent Marinere, And he stoppeth one of three: "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye "Now wherefore stoppest me?
"The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, 5 "And I am next of kin; "The Guests are met, the Feast is set,-- "May'st hear the merry din.
But still he holds the wedding-guest-- There was a Ship, quoth he-- 10 "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, "Marinere! come with me."
He holds him with his skinny hand, Quoth he, there was a Ship-- "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! 15 "Or my Staff shall make thee skip.
He holds him with his glittering eye-- The wedding guest stood still And listens like a three year's child; The Marinere hath his will. 20
The wedding-guest sate on a stone, He cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent man, The bright-eyed Marinere.
The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd-- 25 Merrily did we drop Below the Kirk, below the Hill, Below the Light-house top.
The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the Sea came he: 30 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, 35 For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry Minstralsy. 40
The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent Man, The bright-eyed Marinere.
Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, 45 A Wind and Tempest strong! For days and weeks it play'd us freaks-- Like Chaff we drove along.
Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow, And it grew wond'rous cauld: 50 And Ice mast-high came floating by As green as Emerauld.
And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen; Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken-- 55 The Ice was all between.
The Ice was here, the Ice was there, The Ice was all around: It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd-- Like noises of a swound. 60
At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the Fog it came; And an it were a Christian Soul, We hail'd it in God's name.
The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, 65 And round and round it flew: The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit, The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
And a good south wind sprung up behind. The Albatross did follow; 70 And every day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo!
In mist or cloud on mast or shroud, It perch'd for vespers nine, Whiles all the night thro' fog smoke-white, 75 Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.
"God save thee, ancyent Marinere! "From the fiends that plague thee thus-- "Why look'st thou so?"--with my cross bow I shot the Albatross. 80
II.
The Sun came up upon the right, Out of the Sea came he; And broad as a weft upon the left Went down into the Sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind, 85 But no sweet Bird did follow Ne any day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing And it would work 'em woe: 90 For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That made the Breeze to blow.
Ne dim ne red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird 95 That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay That bring the fog and mist.
The breezes blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free: 100 We were the first that ever burst Into that silent Sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be And we did speak only to break 105 The silence of the Sea.
All in a hot and copper sky The bloody sun at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. 110
Day after day, day after day, We stuck, ne breath ne motion. As idle as a painted Ship Upon a painted Ocean.
Water, water, every where, 115 And all the boards did shrink: Water, water, everywhere, Ne any drop to drink.
The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! 120 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy Sea.
About, about, in reel and rout, The Death-fires danc'd at night; The water, like a witch's oils, 125 burnt green and blue and white.
And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so: Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us From the Land of Mist and Snow. 130
And every tongue thro' utter drouth Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak no more than if We had been choked with soot.
Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks 135 Had I from old and young; Instead of the Cross the Albatross About my neck was hung.
III.
I saw a something in the Sky No bigger than my fist; 140 At first it seem'd a little speck And then it seem'd a mist: It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 145 And still it ner'd and ner'd; And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite, It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Ne could we laugh, ne wail: 150 Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood I bit my arm and suck'd the blood And cry'd, A sail! a sail!
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Agape they hear'd me call: 155 Gramercy! they for joy did grin And all at once their breath drew in As they were drinking all.
She doth not tack from side to side-- Hither to work us weal 160 Withouten wind, withouten tide She steddies with upright keel.
The western wave was all a flame, The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave 165 Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.
And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars (Heaven's mother send us grace) 170 As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she neres and neres! Are those _her_ Sails that glance in the Sun 175 Like restless gossameres?
Are those _her_ naked ribs, which fleck'd The sun that did behind them peer? And are those two all, all the crew, That woman and her fleshless Pheere? 180
_His_ bones were black with many a crack, All black and bare, I ween; Jet-black and bare, save where with rust Of mouldy damps and charnel crust They're patch'd with purple and green. 185
_Her_ lips are red, _her_ looks are free, _Her_ locks are yellow as gold: Her skin is as white as leprosy, And she is far liker Death than he; Her flesh makes the still air cold. 190
The naked Hulk alongside came And the Twain were playing dice; "The Game is done! I've won, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
A gust of wind sterte up behind 195 And whistled thro' his bones; Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth Half-whistles and half-groans.
With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship; 200 While clombe above the Eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright Star Almost atween the tips.
One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger! to me) 205 Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang And curs'd me with his ee.
Four times fifty living men, With never a sigh or groan, With heavy thump, a lifeless lump 210 They dropp'd down one by one.
Their souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe; And every soul it pass'd me by, Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. 215
IV.
"I fear thee, ancyent Marinere! "I fear thy skinny hand; "And thou art long, and lank, and brown, "As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.
"I fear thee and thy glittering eye 220 "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 the wide wide Sea; 225 And Christ would take no pity on My soul in agony.
The many men so beautiful, And they all dead did lie! And a million million slimy things 230 Liv'd on--and so did I.
I look'd upon the rotting Sea, And drew my eyes away; I look'd upon the eldritch deck, And there the dead men lay. 235
I look'd to Heav'n, and try'd to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust.
I clos'd my lids and kept them close, 240 Till 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.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 245 Ne rot, ne reek did they; The look with which they look'd on me, Had never pass'd away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high: 250 But O! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky, 255 And no where did abide: Softly she was going up And a star or two beside--
Her beams bemock'd the sultry main Like morning frosts yspread; 260 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 watch'd the water-snakes: 265 They mov'd in tracks of shining white; And when they rear'd, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship I watch'd their rich attire: 270 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black They coil'd and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.
O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: 275 A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I bless'd them unaware.
The self-same moment I could pray; 280 And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.
V.
O sleep, it is a gentle thing, Belov'd from pole to pole! 285 To Mary-queen the praise be yeven She sent the gentle sleep from heaven That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remain'd, 290 I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew And when I awoke it rain'd.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams 295 And still my body drank.
I mov'd and could not feel my limbs, I was so light, almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed Ghost. 300
The roaring wind! it roar'd far off, It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails That were so thin and sere.
The upper air bursts into life, 305 And a hundred fire-flags sheen To and fro they are hurried about; And to and fro, and in and out The stars dance on between.
The coming wind doth roar more loud; 310 The sails do sigh, like sedge: The rain pours down from one black cloud And the Moon is at its edge.
Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft, And the Moon is at its side: 315 Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning falls with never a jag A river steep and wide.
The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd And dropp'd down, like a stone! 320 Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan.
They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes: It had been strange, even in a dream 325 To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do: 330 They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew.
The body of my brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull'd at one rope, 335 But he said nought to me-- And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be!
The day-light dawn'd--they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast: 340 Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths And from their bodies pass'd.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun: Slowly the sounds came back again 345 Now mix'd, now one by one.
Sometimes a dropping from the sky I heard the Lavrock sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 350 With their sweet 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. 355
It ceas'd: yet still the 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 360 Singeth a quiet tune.
Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! "Marinere! thou hast thy will: "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still." 365
Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn.
Never sadder tale was heard 370 By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return'd to work As silent as beforne.
The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old: 375 Thought I, I am as thin as air-- They cannot me behold.
Till noon we silently sail'd on Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship 380 Mov'd onward from beneath.
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. 385 The sails at noon left off their tune And the Ship stood still also.
The sun right up above the mast Had fix'd her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir 390 With a short uneasy motion-- Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion.
Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: 395 It flung the blood into my head, And I fell into a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return'd, 400 I heard and in my soul discern'd Two voices in the air,
"Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man? "By him who died on cross, "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low 405 "The harmless Albatross.
"The spirit who 'bideth by himself "In the land of mist and snow, "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man "Who shot him with his bow. 410
The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he the man hath penance done, And penance more will do.
VI.
FIRST VOICE.
"But tell me, tell me! speak again, 415 "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: 420 "His great bright eye most silently "Up to the moon is cast--
"If he may know which way to go, "For she guides him smooth or grim. "See, brother, see! how graciously 425 "She looketh down on him.
FIRST VOICE.
"But why drives on that ship so fast "Withouten wave or wind?
SECOND VOICE.
"The air is cut away before, "And closes from behind. 430
"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high, "Or we shall be belated: "For slow and slow that ship will go, "When the Marinere's trance is abated."
I woke, and we were sailing on 435 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: 440 All fix'd on me their stony eyes That in the moon did glitter.
The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never pass'd away: I could not draw my een from theirs 445 Ne turn them up to pray.
And in its time the spell was snapt, And I could move my een: I look'd far-forth, but little saw Of what might else be seen. 450
Like one, that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd round, walks on And turns no more his head: Because he knows, a frightful fiend 455 Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breath'd a wind on me, Ne sound ne motion made: Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade. 460
It rais'd my hair, it fann'd 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, 465 Yet she sail'd softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew.
O dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? 470 Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk? Is this mine own countrée?
We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- "O let me be awake, my God! 475 "Or let me sleep alway!"
The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moon light lay, And the shadow of the moon. 480
The moonlight bay was white all o'er, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, Like as of torches came.
A little distance from the prow 485 Those dark-red shadows were; But soon I saw that my own flesh Was red as in a glare.
I turn'd my head in fear and dread, And by the holy rood, 490 The bodies had advanc'd, and now Before the mast they stood.
They lifted up their stiff right arms, They held them strait and tight; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, 495 A torch that's borne upright. Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on In the red and smoky light.
I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before. 500 There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the shore.
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock: The moonlight steep'd in silentness 505 The steady weathercock.
And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. 510
A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-- O Christ! what saw I there?
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; 515 And by the Holy rood A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood.
This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand: It was a heavenly sight: 520 They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light:
This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice; but O! the silence sank, 525 Like music on my heart.
Eftsones I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer: My head was turn'd perforce away And I saw a boat appear. 530
Then vanish'd all the lovely lights; The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew. The wind, that shade nor motion made, 535 On me alone it blew.
The pilot, and the pilot's boy I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy, The dead men could not blast. 540
I saw a third--I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 545 The Albatross's blood.
VII.
This 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 550 That come from a far Contrée.
He kneels at morn and noon and eve-- He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss, that wholly hides The rotted old Oak-stump. 555
The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow! "Where are those lights so many and fair "That signal made but now?
"Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said-- 560 "And they answer'd not our cheer. "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails "How thin they are and sere! "I never saw aught like to them "Unless perchance it were 565
"The 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-wolfs young. 570
"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look-- (The Pilot made reply) "I am afear'd--"Push on, push on! "Said the Hermit cheerily.
The Boat came closer to the Ship, 575 But I ne spake ne stirr'd! The Boat came close beneath the Ship, And strait a sound was heard!
Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: 580 It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay; The Ship went down like lead.
Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote: Like one that had been seven days drown'd 585 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 spun round and round: 590 And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound.
I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit. The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes 595 And pray'd where he did sit.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro, 600 "Ha! ha!" quoth he--"full plain I see, "The devil knows how to row."
And now all in mine own Countrée I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, 605 And scarcely he could stand.
"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man! The Hermit cross'd his brow-- "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say "What manner man art thou?" 610
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free.
Since then at an uncertain hour, 615 Now oftimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure.
I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; 620 The moment that his face I see I know the man that must hear me; To him my tale I teach.
What loud uproar bursts from that door! The Wedding-guests are there; 625 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 630 Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.
O sweeter than the Marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me 635 To walk together to the Kirk With a goodly company.
To walk together to the Kirk And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, 640 Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And Youths, and Maidens gay.
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well who loveth well, 645 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. 650
The Marinere, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
He went, like one that hath been stunn'd 655 And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.
FOOTNOTES:
[1030:1] First published in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798, pp. [1]-27; republished in _Lyrical Ballads_, 1800, vol. i; _Lyrical Ballads_, 1802, vol. i; _Lyrical Ballads_, 1805, vol. i; reprinted in _The Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, Appendix, pp. 404-29, London: E. Moxon, Son, and Company, [1870]; reprinted in _Lyrical Ballads_ edition of 1798, edited by Edward Dowden, LL D., 1890, in _P. W._, 1893, Appendix E, pp. 512-20, and in _Lyrical Ballads_ . . . 1798, edited by Thomas Hutchinson, 1898. The text of the present issue has been collated with that of an early copy of _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798 (containing _Lewti_, pp. 63-7), presented by Coleridge to his sister-in-law, Miss Martha Fricker. The lines were not numbered in _L. B._, 1798.
LINENOTES:
[63] And an] As if MS. corr. by S. T. C.
[75] Corrected in the Errata to fog-smoke white.
[83] [*weft*] [S. T. C.]
[179] For "those" read "these" Errata, p. [221], L. B. 1798.
[After 338] * * * * * * MS., L. B. 1798.
F
THE RAVEN
[As printed in the _Morning Post_, March 10, 1798.]
[Vide _ante_, p. 169.]
Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree, There was of Swine a large company. They were making a rude repast, Grunting as they crunch'd the mast. Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high-- 5 One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy. Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly; He belong'd, I believe, to the witch MELANCHOLY! Blacker was he than the blackest jet; Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet. 10 He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait, By the side of a river both deep and great. Where then did the Raven go? He went high and low-- O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go! 15 Many Autumns, many Springs; Travell'd he with wand'ring wings; Many Summers, many Winters-- I can't tell half his adventures. At length he return'd, and with him a she; 20 And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree. They built them a nest in the topmost bough, And young ones they had, and were jolly enow. But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise: His brow like a pent-house hung over his eyes. 25 He'd an axe in his hand, and he nothing spoke, But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak. His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart, And his wife she did die of a broken heart! 30 The branches from off it the Woodman did sever! And they floated it down on the course of the River: They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip, And with this tree and others they built up a ship. The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land, 35 A tempest arose which no ship could withstand. It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast-- The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast. He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls-- They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls. 40 The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet, They had taken his all, and REVENGE WAS SWEET!
G
LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT[1049:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 253.]
(1)
[Add. MSS. 27,902.]
High o'er the silver rocks I roved To forget the form I loved In hopes fond fancy would be kind And steal my Mary from my mind T'was twilight and the lunar beam 5 Sailed slowly o'er Tamaha's stream As down its sides the water strayed Bright on a rock the moonbeam playe[d] It shone, half-sheltered from the view By pendent boughs of tressy yew 10 True, true to love but false to rest, So fancy whispered to my breast, So shines her forehead smooth and fair Gleaming through her sable hair I turned to heaven--but viewed on high 15 The languid lustre of her eye The moons mild radiant edge I saw Peeping a black-arched cloud below Nor yet its faint and paly beam Could tinge its skirt with yellow gleam 20 I saw the white waves o'er and o'er Break against a curved shore Now disappearing from the sight Now twinkling regular and white Her mouth, her smiling mouth can shew 25 As white and regular a row Haste Haste, some God indulgent prove And bear me, bear me to my love Then might--for yet the sultry hour Glows from the sun's oppressive power 30 Then might her bosom soft and white Heave upon my swimming sight As yon two swans together heave Upon the gently-swelling wave Haste--haste some God indulgent prove 35 And bear--oh bear me to my love.
(2)
[Add. MSS. 35,343.]
THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHAUNT [*Wild Indians*]
High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd [*silver*] To forget the form I lov'd. Image of LEWTI! from my mind [*Cora*] Depart! for LEWTI is not kind! [*Cora*] Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright beam 5 Speckled with many a moving shade, Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream; But brightlier on the Rock it play'd, The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! 10 True to Love, but false to Rest, My fancy whisper'd in my breast-- So shines my Lewti's forehead fair Gleaming thro' her sable hair, Image of LEWTI! from my mind 15 [*Cora*] Depart! for LEWTI is not kind. [*Cora*]
I saw a cloud of whitest hue; Onward to the Moon it pass'd! Still brighter and more bright it grew With floating colours not a few, 20 Till it reach'd the Moon at last.
LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT
(3)
[Add. MSS. 35,343, f. 3 recto.]
High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd To forget the form I lov'd. Image of LEWTI! from my mind Depart: for LEWTI is not kind. 25
Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m] Speckled with many a moving shade, Danc'd upon TAMAHA'S stream; But brightlier on the Rock it play'd, The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view 30 By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! True to Love, but false to Rest, My fancy whisper'd in my breast-- So shines my LEWTI'S forehead fair Gleaming thro' her sable hair! 35 Image of LEWTI! from my mind Depart--for LEWTI is not kind.
I saw a Cloud of whitest hue-- Onward to the Moon it pass'd. Still brighter and more bright it grew 40 With floating colours not a few, Till it reach'd the Moon at last: Then the Cloud was wholly bright With a rich and amber light! [*deep*] And so with many a hope I seek, 45 And so with joy I find my LEWTI: And even so my pale wan cheek Drinks in as deep a flush of Beauty Image of LEWTI! leave my mind If Lewti never will be kind! 50
Away the little Cloud, away. Away it goes--away so soon [*alone*] Alas! it has no power to stay: It's hues are dim, it's hues are grey Away it passes from the Moon. 55 And now tis whiter than before-- As white as my poor cheek will be, When, LEWTI! on my couch I lie A dying Man for Love of thee! [*Thou living Image*] Image of LEWTI in my mind, 60 Methinks thou lookest not [*kin*] unkind!
FOOTNOTES:
[1049:1] The first ten lines of MS. version (1) were first published in _Note 44_ of _P. W._, 1893, p. 518, and the MS. as a whole is included in _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile Reproduction of The Proofs and MSS., &c., 1899, pp. 132-4. MSS. (2) and (3) are now printed for the first time.
H
INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE[1052:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 330.]
TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST.
SIR,
The following Poem is the Introduction to a somewhat longer one, for which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the Old Ballad word, _Ladie_, for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust, that 'the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity' (as Camden says) will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties _explode_ around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old fashioned love; and, five years ago, I own, I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly unspired [? inspired] with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have resided a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
1
O leave the Lily on its stem; O leave the Rose upon the spray; O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids! And listen to my lay.
2
A Cypress and a Myrtle bough, 5 This morn around my harp you twin'd, Because it fashion'd mournfully Its murmurs in the wind.
3
And now a Tale of Love and Woe, A woeful Tale of Love I sing: 10 Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs And trembles on the string.
4
But most, my own dear Genevieve! It sighs and trembles most for thee! O come and hear the cruel wrongs 15 Befel the dark Ladie!
5
Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope, my joy, my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. 20
6
All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.
7
O ever in my waking dreams, 25 I dwell upon that happy hour, When midway on the Mount I sate Beside the ruin'd Tow'r.
8
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve, 30 And she was there, my hope! my joy! My own dear Genevieve!
9
She lean'd against the armed Man The statue of the armed Knight-- She stood and listen'd to my harp, 35 Amid the ling'ring light.
10
I play'd a sad and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story, An old rude song, that fitted well The ruin wild and hoary. 40
11
She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace: For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face.
12
I told her of the Knight that wore 45 Upon his shield a burning brand. And how for ten long years he woo'd The Ladie of the Land:
13
I told her, how he pin'd, and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone, 50 With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own!
14
She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace. And she forgave me, that I gaz'd 55 Too fondly on her face!
15
But when I told the cruel scorn, That craz'd this bold and lovely Knight; And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night; 60
16
And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths, Thro' briars and swampy mosses beat; How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs, And low stubs gor'd his feet.
17
How sometimes from the savage den, 65 And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once, In green and sunny glade;
18
There came and look'd him in the face An Angel beautiful and bright, 70 And how he knew it was a Fiend, This mis'rable Knight!
19
And how, unknowing what he did, He leapt amid a lawless band, And sav'd from outrage worse than death 75 The Ladie of the Land.
20
And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees, And how she tended him in vain, And meekly strove to expiate The scorn that craz'd his brain; 80
21
And how she nurs'd him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest leaves A dying man he lay;
22
His dying words--but when I reach'd 85 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My fault'ring voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity.
23
All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill'd my guiltless Genevieve-- 90 The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve;
24
And hopes and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng; And gentle wishes long subdu'd, 95 Subdu'd and cherish'd long.
25
She wept with pity and delight-- She blush'd with love and maiden shame, And like the murmurs of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. 100
26
I saw her bosom heave and swell, Heave and swell with inward sighs-- I could not choose but love to see Her gentle bosom rise.
27
Her wet cheek glow'd; she stept aside, 105 As conscious of my look she stept; Then suddenly, with tim'rous eye, She flew to me, and wept;
28
She half-inclos'd me with her arms-- She press'd me with a meek embrace; 110 And, bending back her head, look'd up, And gaz'd upon my face.
29
'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel than see, 115 The swelling of her heart.
30
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, And told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beaut'ous bride. 120
31
And now once more a tale of woe, A woeful tale of love, I sing: For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs, And trembles on the string.
32
When last I sang the cruel scorn 125 That craz'd this bold and lonely Knight, And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night;
33
I promis'd thee a sister tale Of Man's perfidious cruelty: 130 Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong Befel the Dark Ladie.
_End of the Introduction._
FOOTNOTES:
[1052:1] Published in the _Morning Post_, Dec. 21, 1799. Collated with two MSS.--_MS. (1)_; _MS. (2)_--in the British Museum [Add. MSS. 27,902]. See _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile of the Proofs, &c., edited by the late James Dykes Campbell, 1899. _MS. 1_ consists of thirty-two stanzas (unnumbered), written on nine pages: _MS. 2_ (which begins with stanza 6, and ends with stanza 30) of fourteen stanzas (unnumbered) written on four pages.
LINENOTES:
_Title_--The Dark Ladiè. MS. B. M. (1).
[2] Rose upon] Rose-bud on MS. B. M. (1).
[3] fair] dear erased MS. (1).
[7] mournfully] sad and sweet MS. (1).
[8] in] to MS. (1).
[16] Ladie] Ladié MS. (2).
[20] The song that makes her grieve. MS. (1).
[21-4]
Each thought, each feeling of the Soul, All lovely sights, each tender, name, All, all are ministers of Love, That stir our mortal frame.
MS. (1).
[22] All, all that stirs this mortal frame MS. B. M. (2).
[24] feed] fan MS. (2).
[25]
O ever in my lonely walk
erased MS. (1).
In lonely walk and noontide dreams
MS. (1).
O ever when I walk alone
erased MS. (1).
[26]
I feed upon that blissful hour
MS. (1).
I feed upon that hour of Bliss
erased MS. (1).
That ruddy eve that blissful hour
erased MS. (1).
[26] dwell] feed MS. (2).
[27]
we [*sate*] When midway on the mount I stood
MS. (1).
When we too stood upon the Hill
erased MS. (1).
[29]
The Moonshine stole upon the ground
erased MS. (1).
The Moon [*be blended on*] the ground
MS. (1).
[30] Had] And erased MS. (1).
[31] was there] stood near (was there _erased_) MS. (1).
[33-6]
Against a grey stone rudely carv'd, The statue of an armed Knight, in She lean'd [*the*] melancholy mood, [*And*] To watch'd the lingering Light
MS. (1).
[33-4]
[*She lean'd against*] a [*chissold stone*] [*tall*] [*The statue of a*]
MS. (1).
[34] the] an MS. (1) [Stanza 10, revised.]
[37] sad] soft MSS. (1, 2). doleful] mournful erased MS. (1).
[39] An] And MS. (2).
rude] wild erased MS. (1).
[41-4]
With flitting Blush and downcast eyes, In modest melancholy grace The Maiden stood: perchance I gaz'd Too fondly on her face.
Erased MS. (1).
[45-8] om. MS. (1).
[49] [*I gaz'd and when*] I sang of love MS. (1).
[53-6]
With flitting Blush and downcast eyes and With downcast eyes _in_ modest grace for [*She listen'd; and perchance I gaz'd*] Too fondly on her face.
MS. (1).
[55] And] Yet MS. (1).
[57] told] sang MS. (1).
[59] roam'd] cross'd MS. (1).
[60] or] nor MS. (1).
[61-4] om. MS. (1).]
[65] How sometimes from the hollow Trees MS. (1).
[69-72]
look'd There came and [*star'd*] him in the face An[d] Angel beautiful and bright, And how he knew it was a fiend And yell'd with strange affright.
MS. (1).
[74] lawless] murderous MS. (1).
[77] clasp'd] kiss'd MS. (1).
[79] meekly] how she MS. (1).
[87] fault'ring] trembling MS. (1) erased.
[90] guiltless] guileless MS. (1).
[Between 96 and 97]
And while midnight [*While*] Fancy like the [*nuptial*] Torch That bends and rises in the wind Lit up with wild and broken lights The Tumult of her mind.
MS. (1) erased.
[99]
And like the murmur of a dream
MSS. (1, 2).
_And_ [*in a*] murmur [*faint and sweet*]
MS. (1) erased.
[100]
[*She half pronounced my name.*] She breathed her Lover's name.
MS. (1) erased.
[101-4]
I saw her gentle Bosom heave Th' inaudible and frequent sigh; modest And ah! the [*bashful*] Maiden mark'd The wanderings of my eye[s]
MS. (1) erased.
[105-8] om. MS. (1).
[105] cheek] cheeks MS. (2).
[108] flew] fled MS. (2).
[109-16]
side And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd And ask'd me with her swimming eyes might That I [*would*] rather feel than see Her gentle Bosom rise.--
_Or_
side And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd And closer still with bashful art-- That I might rather feel than see The swelling of her Heart.
MS. (1) erased.
[111] And] Then MS. (2) erased.
[117]
And now serene, serene and chaste But soon in calm and solemn tone
MS. (1) erased.
[118] And] She MS. (1) erased. virgin] maiden MSS. (1, 2).
[120] bright] dear MS. (1) erased. beaut'ous] lovely MS. (1) erased.
[125-8]
When last I sang of Him whose heart Was broken by a woman's scorn-- And how he cross'd the mountain woods All frantic and forlorn
MS. (1).
[129] sister] moving MS. (1).
[131] wrong] wrongs MS. (1).
[132] Ladie] Ladié MS. (2).
[After 132] _The Dark Ladiè._ MS. (1).
I
THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY.[1060:1]
[Vide _ante_, p. 421.]
AN HISTORIC DRAMA
IN
FIVE ACTS.
FIRST PERFORMED WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, ON SATURDAY, FEBRUARY THE 7TH, 1801.
APOECIDES. Quis hoc scit factum?
EPIDICUS. Ego ita esse factum dico.
PERIPHANES. Scin' tu istuc?
EPIDICUS. Scio.
PERIPHANES. Qui tu scis?
EPIDICUS. Quia ego vidi.
PERIPHANES. [Ipse vidistine [Tragediam?]] Nimis factum bene!
EPIDICUS. Sed vestita, aurata, ornata, ut lepide! ut concinne! ut nove! [Proh Dii immortales! tempestatem (plausuum Populus) nobis nocte hac misit!][1060:2]
(Plaut. _Epidicus_. Act 2. Scen. 2, ll. 22 sqq.)
LONDON.
PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[1060:1] Now first published from an MS. in the British Museum (Add. MSS. 34,225). The _Triumph of Loyalty_, 'a sort of dramatic romance' (see _Letter to Poole_, December 5, 1800; _Letters of S. T. C._, 1895, i. 343), was begun and left unfinished in the late autumn of 1800. An excerpt (ll. 277-358) was revised and published as 'A Night Scene. A Dramatic Fragment,' in _Sibylline Leaves_ (1817), vide _ante_, pp. 421-3. The revision of the excerpt (ll. 263-349) with respect to the order and arrangement of its component parts is indicated by asterisks, which appear to be contemporary with the MS. I have, therefore, in printing the MS., followed the revised and not the original order of these lines. Again, in the hitherto unpublished portion of the MS. (ll. 1-263) I have omitted rough drafts of passages which were rewritten, either on the same page or on the reverse of the leaf.
[1060:2] The words enclosed in brackets are not to be found in the text. They were either invented or adapted by Coleridge _ad hoc_. The text of the passage as a whole has been reconstructed by modern editors.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Earl Henry MR. KEMBLE
Don Curio MR. C. KEMBLE
Sandoval MR. BARRYMORE
Alva, the Chancellor MR. AICKIN
Barnard, Earl Henry's Groom of the Chamber MR. SUETT
Don Fernandez MR. BANNISTER, JUN.
The Governor of the State Prison MR. DAVIS
Herreras (Oropeza's Uncle) and three Conspirators MESSRS. PACKER, WENTWORTH, MATHEW, and GIBBON
Officers and Soldiers of Earl Henry's Regiment.
The Queen of Navarre MRS. SIDDONS
Donna Oropeza MRS. POWELL
Mira, her attendant MISS DECAMP
Aspasia, a singer MRS. CROUCH
Scene, partly at the Country seat of Donna Oropeza, and partly in Pampilona [_sic_], the Capital of Navarre.
THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY