Part I…

Part I

[Sidenote: An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one.]

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 5 And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he. 10 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

[Sidenote: The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.]

He holds him with his glittering eye-- The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: 15 The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. 20

'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top.

[Sidenote: The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the line.]

The Sun came up upon the left, 25 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--' 30 The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon.

[Sidenote: The Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner continueth his tale.]

The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes 35 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. 40

[Sidenote: The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole.]

'And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow, 45 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. 50

And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.

[Sidenote: The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing was to be seen.]

And through the drifts the snowy clifts 55 Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: 60 It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!

[Sidenote: Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.]

At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, 65 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! 70

[Sidenote: And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating 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, 75 It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.]

'God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-- 80 Why look'st thou so?'--With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.

Part II

The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left 85 Went 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! 90

[Sidenote: His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck.]

And I had done a 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, 95 That made the breeze to blow!

[Sidenote: But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime.]

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. 100 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.

[Sidenote: The fair breeze continues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line.]

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst 105 Into that silent sea.

[Sidenote: The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.]

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! 110

All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day, 115 We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

[Sidenote: And the Albatross begins to be avenged.]

Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; 120 Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 125 Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. 130

[Sidenote: A Spirit had followed them; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.]

And some in dreams assuréd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought, 135 Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot.

[Sidenote: 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.]

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! 140 Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.

Part III

[Sidenote: 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! 145 How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; 150 It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water-sprite, 155 It plunged and tacked and veered.

[Sidenote: At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst.]

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 160 And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call:

[Sidenote: A flash of joy;]

Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, 165 As they were drinking all.

[Sidenote: And horror follows. For can it be a ship that comes onward 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! 170

The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Bested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly 175 Betwixt us and the Sun.

[Sidenote: It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship.]

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. 180

[Sidenote: And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun.]

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?

[Sidenote: The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton ship.]

Are those her ribs through which the Sun 185 Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a DEATH? and are there two? Is DEATH that woman's mate?

[Sidenote: Like vessel, like crew!]

[Sidenote: Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner.]

Her lips were red, her looks were free, 190 Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came, 195 And the twain were casting dice; 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

[Sidenote: No twilight within the[195:1] courts of the Sun.]

The Sun's rim dips: the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; 200 With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark.

[Sidenote: At the rising of the Moon.]

We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! 205 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 clomb above the eastern bar The hornéd Moon, with one bright star 210 Within the nether tip.

[Sidenote: One after another,]

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. 215

[Sidenote: His shipmates drop down dead.]

Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one.

[Sidenote: But Life-in-Death begins her work on the ancient Mariner.]

The souls did from their bodies fly,-- 220 They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow!

Part IV

[Sidenote: The Wedding-Guest feareth that a Spirit is talking to him;]

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! 225 And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand.[196:1]

[Sidenote: But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance.]

I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.'-- Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! 230 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. 235

[Sidenote: He despiseth the creatures of the calm,]

The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

[Sidenote: And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead.]

I looked upon the rotting sea, 240 And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, 245 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 250 Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.

[Sidenote: But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men.]

The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me 255 Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! 260 Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

[Sidenote: In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; 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 enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.]

The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, 265 And a star or two beside--

Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charméd water burnt alway 270 A still and awful red.

[Sidenote: By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's creatures of the great calm.]

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 275 Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track 280 Was a flash of golden fire.

[Sidenote: Their beauty and their happiness.]

[Sidenote: He blesseth them in his heart.]

O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: 285 Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.

[Sidenote: The spell begins to break.]

The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank 290 Like lead into the sea.

Part V

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, 295 That slid into my soul.

[Sidenote: By grace of the holy Mother, the ancient Mariner is refreshed with rain.]

The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. 300

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: 305 I was so light--almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blesséd ghost.

[Sidenote: He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in the sky and the element.]

And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; 310 But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! 315 And to and fro, and in 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; 320 The Moon was 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, 325 A river steep and wide.

[Sidenote: The bodies of the ship's crew are inspired [inspirited, S. L.] and the ship moves on;]

The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. 330

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.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; 335 Yet never a breeze up-blew; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew. 340

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.

[Sidenote: But not by the souls of the men, nor by dæmons of earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of angelic spirits, sent down by the invocation of the guardian saint.]

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!' 345 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; 351 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; 355 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, 360 How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, 365 That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, 370 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, 375 Moved onward from beneath.

[Sidenote: 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 vengeance.]

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. 380 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, 385 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: 390 It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound.

[Sidenote: The Polar Spirit's fellow-dæmons, the invisible inhabitants 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 Polar Spirit, who returneth southward.]

How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, 395 I heard and in my soul discerned 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 laid full low 400 The harmless Albatross.

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.' 405

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, 410 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; 415 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 420 She looketh down on him.'

[Sidenote: The Mariner hath been cast into a trance; for the angelic power causeth the vessel to drive northward 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 from behind. 425

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.'

[Sidenote: The supernatural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew.]

I woke, and we were sailing on 430 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: 435 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, 440 Nor turn them up to pray.

[Sidenote: The curse is finally expiated.]

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-- 445

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 450 Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. 455

It raised my hair, it 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, 460 Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew.

[Sidenote: And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.]

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? 465 Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- O let me be awake, my God! 470 Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. 475

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock.

[Sidenote: The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,]

And the bay was white with silent light, 480 Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.

[Sidenote: And appear in their own forms of light.]

A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: 485 I 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, 490 On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; 495

This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 500 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 coming fast: 505 Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third--I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns 510 That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.

Part VII

[Sidenote: The Hermit of the Wood,]

This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. 515 How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve-- He hath a cushion plump: 520 It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 'Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, 525 That signal made but now?'

[Sidenote: Approacheth the ship with wonder.]

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said-- 'And they answered not our cheer! The planks looked warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! 530 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, 535 And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young.'

'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look-- (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!' 540 Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. 545

[Sidenote: The ship suddenly sinketh.]

Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead.

[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.]

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 550 Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. 555

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked 560 And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, 565 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.'

And now, all in my own countree, 570 I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.

[Sidenote: The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.]

'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 575 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say-- What manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; 580 And then it left me free.

[Sidenote: And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;]

Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. 585

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. 590

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, 595 Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seeméd there to be. 600

O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!--

To walk together to the kirk, 605 And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay!

[Sidenote: And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.]

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell 610 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; 615 For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest 620 Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. 625

1797-1798.

FOOTNOTES:

[186:1] The Ancient Mariner was first published in the Lyrical Ballads, 1798. It was reprinted in the succeeding editions of 1800, 1802, and 1805. It was first published under the Author's name in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, and included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. For the full text of the poem as published in 1798, vide Appendices. The marginal glosses were added in 1815-1816, when a collected edition of Coleridge's poems was being prepared for the press, and were first published in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, but it is possible that they were the work of a much earlier period. The text of the Ancient Mariner as reprinted in Lyrical Ballads, 1802, 1805 follows that of 1800.

[186:2] The text of the original passage is as follows: 'Facilè credo, plures esse naturas invisibiles quam visibiles, in rerum universitate: pluresque Angelorum ordines in cælo, quam sunt pisces in mari: Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit? Et gradus, et cognationes, et discrimina, et singulorum munera? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit . . . Juvat utique non etc.: Archaeologiae Philosophicae sive Doctrina Antiqua De Rerum Originibus. Libri Duo: Londini, MDCXCII, p. 68.'

[186:3] How a Ship, having first sailed to the Equator, was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; how the Ancient Mariner cruelly and in contempt of the laws of hospitality killed a Sea-bird and how he was followed by many and strange Judgements: and in what manner he came back to his own Country, [L. B. 1800.]

[195:1] Om. in Sibylline Leaves, 1817.

[196:1] For the last two lines of this stanza, I am indebted to Mr. WORDSWORTH. It was on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to Dulverton, with him and his sister, in the Autumn of 1797, that this Poem was planned, and in part composed. [Note by S. T. C., first printed in Sibylline Leaves.]

LINENOTES:

Title] The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere. In Seven Parts L. B. 1798: The Ancient Mariner. A Poet's Reverie L. B. 1800, 1802, 1805.

[Note.--The 'Argument' was omitted in L. B. 1802, 1805, Sibylline Leaves, 1817, and in 1828, 1829, and 1834.]

I. ] I L. B. 1798, 1800. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. In Seven Parts. S. L., 1828, 1829

[1] It is an ancyent Marinere L. B. 1798 [ancient is spelled 'ancyent' and Mariner 'Marinere' through out L. B. 1798].

[3] thy glittering eye L. B. 1798, 1800.

[4] stopp'st thou] stoppest L. B. 1798, 1800.

[Between 8 and 13]

But still he holds the wedding guest-- There was a Ship, quoth he-- 'Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, Marinere, [Mariner! 1800] come with me.'

He holds him with his skinny hand-- Quoth he, there was a Ship-- Now get thee hence thou greybeard Loon! Or my Staff shall make thee skip.

L. B. 1798, 1800.

[Between 40 and 55]

Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, 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 wondrous cauld; And Ice mast-high came floating by As green as Emerauld.

L. B. 1798.

[Between 40 and 51]

But now the Northwind came more fierce, There came a Tempest strong! And Southward still for days and weeks Like Chaff we drove along.

L. B. 1800.

Lines 41-50 of the text were added in Sibylline Leaves, 1817. [Note. The emendation in the marginal gloss, 'driven' for 'drawn' first appears in 1893.]

[55] clifts] clift S. L. [probably a misprint. It is not corrected in the Errata.]

[57] Nor . . . nor] Ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.

[62] Like noises of a swound L. B. 1798: A wild and ceaseless sound L. B. 1800.

[65] And an it were L. B. 1798: As if MS. Corr. S. T. C.

[67] The Mariners gave it biscuit-worms L. B. 1798, 1800.

[77] fog-smoke white] fog smoke-white L. B. 1798 (corr. in Errata).

II. ] II L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the Second, S. L. 1828, 1829

[83] The Sun came up L. B. 1798.

[85] And broad as a weft upon the left L. B. 1798.

[89] Nor] Ne L. B. 1798.

[90] mariners'] Marinere's L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L. 1817: Mariner's L. B. 1800.

[91] a] an all editions to 1834.

[95-6] om. L. B. 1798, 1800: were added in Sibylline Leaves.

[97] Nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798. like an Angel's head L. B. 1800.

[103] The breezes blew L. B. 1798, 1800.

[104] [190:A]The furrow stream'd off free S. L. 1817.

[190:A] In the former editions the line was,

The furrow follow'd free:

But I had not been long on board a ship, before I perceived that this was the image as seen by a spectator from the shore, or from another vessel. From the ship itself, the Wake appears like a brook flowing off from the stern. Note to S. L. 1817.

[116] nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.

[122] Nor] Ne L. B. 1798.

[123] deep] deeps L. B. 1798, 1800.

[139] well a-day] wel-a-day L. B. 1798, 1800.

[Between 143 and 149]

I saw a something in the sky No bigger than my fist; At first it seem'd, &c.

L. B. 1798.

[Between 143 and 147]

So past a weary time, each throat Was parch'd and glaz'd each eye, When looking westward, &c.

L. B. 1800.

[Lines 143-8 of the text in their present shape were added in Sibylline Leaves, 1817.]

III. ] III L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the Third, S. L. 1828, 1829

[154] And still it ner'd and ner'd. L. B. 1798, 1800.

[155] And, an it dodg'd L. B. 1798: And, as if it dodg'd L. B. 1800, S. L. 1817.

[157-60]

With throat unslack'd with black lips baked Ne could we laugh, ne wail, Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood I bit my arm, and suck'd the blood

L. B. 1798.

[157] With throat unslack'd, &c. L. B. 1800, 1802, S. L. 1817.

[160] Till I bit my arm and suck'd the blood L. B. 1800.

[162] With throat unslack'd, &c. L. B. 1798, 1800, 1802, S. L. 1817.

[167-70]

She doth not tack from side to side-- Hither to work us weal. Withouten wind, withouten tide She steddies with upright keel.

L. B. 1798.

[170] She steddies L. B. 1800, S. L. 1817.

[177] straight] strait L. B. 1798, 1800.

[182] neres and neres L. B. 1798, 1800.

[183] her] her 1834, and also in 185 and 190.

[Between 184-90]

Are those her naked ribs, which fleck'd The sun that did behind them peer? And are those two all, all the crew,[193:A] That woman and her fleshless Pheere?

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.

L. B. 1798.

Are those her ribs which fleck'd the Sun Like the bars of a dungeon grate? And are those two all, all the crew That woman and her mate?

MS. Correction of S. T. C. in L. B. 1798.

Are those her Ribs, thro' which the Sun Did peer as thro' a grate? And are those two all, all her crew, That Woman, and her Mate?

His bones were black with many a crack

* * * * *

They were patch'd with purple and green.

L. B. 1800.

This Ship it was a plankless thing, --A bare Anatomy! A plankless spectre--and it mov'd Like a Being of the Sea! The woman and a fleshless man Therein sate merrily.

His bones were black, &c. (as in 1800).

This stanza was found added in the handwriting of the Poet in the margin of a copy of the Bristol Edition [1798] of Lyrical Ballads. It is here printed for the first time. Note P. and D. W., 1877-80, ii. 36.

[193:A] those] these Errata, L. B. 1798.

[190-4]

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.

L. B. 1798.

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were as yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, And she was far liker Death than he; Her flesh made the still air cold.

L. B. 1800.

[196] casting] playing L. B. 1798, 1800.

[197] The game is done, I've, I've won S. L. 1817, 1828, 1839, 1834, 1844. The restoration of the text of 1798 and 1800 dates from 1852.

[198] whistles] whistled L. B. 1798, 1800.

[Between 198-218]

A gust of wind sterte up behind And whistled thro' his bones; Thro the { holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth { hole L. B. 1802, 1805 Half-whistles and half-groans.

With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship; While clombe above the Eastern bar The horned Moon with one bright Star Almost atween the tips. [Almost between the tips. L. B. 1800.]

One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger! to me) 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,

L. B. 1798, 1800.

[Between 198-9] A gust of wind . . . half groans. S. L. (Page 15 erase the second stanza. Errata_, S. L., p. [xi].)

[Between 201-12]

With never a whisper on the main Off shot the spectre ship; And stifled words and groans of pain Mix'd on each murmuring} lip. trembling} And we look'd round, and we look'd up, And fear at our hearts, as at a cup, The Life-blood seem'd to sip--

The sky was dull, and dark the night, The helmsman's face by his lamp gleam'd bright, From the sails the dews did drip-- Till clomb above the Eastern Bar, The horned Moon, with one bright star Within its nether tip.

Undated MS. correction of S. T. C. (first published 1893).

[208] dew] dews S. L. 1817.

[209] clomb] clombe S. L. 1817, 1828.

IV. ] IV. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the Fourth S. L. 1828, 1829

[220] The] Their L. B. 1798, 1800.

[224] ancyent Marinere L. B. 1798.

[233-4]

Alone on the wide wide sea; And Christ would take no pity on

L. B. 1798, 1800.

[238] And a million, million slimy things L. B. 1798, 1800.

[242] rotting] eldritch L. B. 1798: ghastly L. B. 1800.

[249] And] Till L. B. 1798, 1800.

[251] load] cloud S. L. (for cloud read load. Errata, S. L., p. [xi]).

[254] Ne rot, ne reek L. B. 1798.

[260] the curse] a curse 1828, 1829.

[268] Like morning frosts yspread L. B. 1798.

V. ] V. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the Fifth S. L. 1828, 1829

[294] To Mary-queen L. B. 1798, 1800. given] yeven L. B. 1798.

[300] awoke] woke (a pencilled correction in 1828, ? by S. T. C.).

[309] The roaring wind! it roar'd far off L. B. 1798.

[313] burst] bursts L. B. 1798.

[315] were] are L. B. 1798.

[317] The stars dance on between. L. B. 1798.

[317-24]

The coming wind doth roar more loud; 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

L. B. 1798.

[325] fell] falls L. B. 1798.

[327-8]

The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd And dropp'd down like a stone!

L. B. 1798.

[332] nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.

[Between 344-5]

And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be!

L. B. 1798.

[345-9] om. in L. B. 1798, added in L. B. 1800.

[350] The daylight dawn'd L. B. 1798.

[359] sky-lark] Lavrock L. B. 1798.

[Between 372-3]

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.'

Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thoul't rise to-morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard 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; Thought I, I am as thin as air-- They cannot me behold.

L. B. 1798.

[373] quietly] silently L. B. 1798, 1800.

[392] down in] into L. B. 1798, 1800.

VI. ] VI. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Part the Sixth S. L. 1828, 1829

[423] Withouten wave L. B. 1798.

[440-1] een from theirs; Ne turn L. B. 1798.

[442-6]

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.

L. B. 1798.

[446] lonesome] lonely L. B. 1798.

[453] Nor . . . nor] Ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.

[464] O dream L. B. 1798, 1800.

[Between 475-80]

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 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, 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, 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. There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the shore.

L. B. 1798.

[487] Oh, Christ!] O Christ L. B. 1798, 1800.

[498] oh!] O L. B. 1798, 1800.

[500] But soon] Eftsones L. B. 1798.

[Between 503-4]

Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;[205:A] The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew, The wind, that shade nor motion made, On me alone it blew.

L. B. 1798.

[205:A]

Then vanish'd all the lovely lights, The spirits of the air, No souls of mortal men were they, But spirits bright and fair.

MS. Correction by S. T. C. in a copy of L. B. 1798.

[511] makes] maketh (a pencilled correction in 1828, ? by S. T. C.).

PART VII] VII. L. B. 1798, 1800: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Part the Seventh S. L. 1829: The Ancient Mariner. Part the Seventh 1828.

[517] marineres] mariners L. B. 1800.

[518] That come from a far Contrée. L. B. 1798.

[523] neared] ner'd L. B. 1798, 1800.

[529] looked] look L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L.

[533] Brown] The L. B. 1798, 1800, S. L. [for The read Brown. Errata, S. L. 1817, p. (xi)].

[543] nor . . . nor] ne . . . ne L. B. 1798.

[577] What manner man L. B. 1798, 1800.

[582-5]

Since then at an uncertain hour, Now ofttimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure.

L. B. 1798.

[583] agony] agency [a misprint] L. B. 1800.

[588] That] The L. B. 1798, 1800.

[610] Farewell, farewell] The comma to be omitted. Errata, L. B. 1798.

[618] The Marinere L. B. 1798.

SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS[209:1]

[SIGNED 'NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTTOM']

I

Pensive at eve on the hard world I mus'd, And my poor heart was sad: so at the Moon I gaz'd--and sigh'd, and sigh'd!--for, ah! how soon Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd With tearful vacancy the dampy grass 5 Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray; And I did pause me on my lonely way, And mused me on those wretched ones who pass O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas! Most of Myself I thought: when it befell 10 That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood Breath'd in mine ear--'All this is very well; But much of one thing is for no thing good.' Ah! my poor heart's INEXPLICABLE SWELL!

II

TO SIMPLICITY

O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity! For of thy lays the lulling simpleness Goes to my heart and soothes each small distress, Distress though small, yet haply great to me! 'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad 5 I amble on; yet, though I know not why, So sad I am!--but should a friend and I Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad! And then with sonnets and with sympathy My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall; 10 Now of my false friend plaining plaintively, Now raving at mankind in general; But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all, All very simple, meek Simplicity!

III

ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY

And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild, Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt. Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade? Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn. What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn, Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd; And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight! Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, 10 And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn, His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white; As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!

1797.

FOOTNOTES:

[209:1] First published in the Monthly Magazine for November, 1797. They were reprinted in the Poetical Register for 1803 (1805); by Coleridge in the Biographia Literaria, 1817, i. 26-8[A]; and by Cottle in Early Recollections, i. 290-2; and in Reminiscences, p. 160. They were first collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80, i. 211-13.

[A] 'Under the name of Nehemiah Higginbottom I contributed three sonnets, the first of which had for its object to excite a good-natured laugh at the spirit of doleful egotism and at the recurrence of favourite phrases, with the double defect of being at once trite and licentious. The second was on low creeping language and thoughts under the pretence of simplicity. The third, the phrases of which were borrowed entirely from my own poems, on the indiscriminate use of elaborate and swelling language and imagery. . . . So general at the time and so decided was the opinion concerning the characteristic vices of my style that a celebrated physician (now alas! no more) speaking of me in other respects with his usual kindness to a gentleman who was about to meet me at a dinner-party could not, however, resist giving him a hint not to mention The House that Jack Built in my presence, for that I was as sore as a boil about that sonnet, he not knowing that I was myself the author of it.'

Coleridge's first account of these sonnets in a letter to Cottle [November, 1797] is much to the same effect:--'I sent to the Monthly Magazine (1797) three mock Sonnets in ridicule of my own Poems, and Charles Lloyd's and Lamb's, etc., etc., exposing that affectation of unaffectedness, of jumping and misplaced accent in common-place epithets, flat lines forced into poetry by italics (signifying how well and mouthishly the author would read them), puny pathos, etc., etc. The instances were almost all taken from myself and Lloyd and Lamb. I signed them "Nehemiah Higginbottom". I think they may do good to our young Bards.' [E. R., i. 289; Rem. 160.]

LINENOTES:

Title] Sonnet I M. M.

[4] darkens] saddens B. L., i. 27.

[6] Which] That B. L., i. 27.

[8] those] the B. L., i. 27. who] that B. L., i. 27.

[9] black] bleak B. L., i. 27.

[14] Ah!] Oh! B. L., i. 27.

II] Sonnet II. To Simplicity M. M.: no title in B. L.

[6] yet, though] and yet B. L., i. 27.

[8] Frown, pout and part then I am very sad B. L., i. 27.

[12] in gener-al Cottle, E. R., i. 288.

III] Sonnet III. To, &c. M. M.

[10] their] his Cottle, E. R., i. 292.

[13] As when] Ah! thus B. L., i. 27.

PARLIAMENTARY OSCILLATORS[211:1]

Almost awake? Why, what is this, and whence, O ye right loyal men, all undefiléd? Sure, 'tis not possible that Common-Sense Has hitch'd her pullies to each heavy eye-lid?

Yet wherefore else that start, which discomposes 5 The drowsy waters lingering in your eye? And are you really able to descry That precipice three yards beyond your noses?

Yet flatter you I cannot, that your wit Is much improved by this long loyal dozing; 10 And I admire, no more than Mr. Pitt, Your jumps and starts of patriotic prosing--

Now cluttering to the Treasury Cluck, like chicken, Now with small beaks the ravenous Bill opposing;[212:1] With serpent-tongue now stinging, and now licking, 15 Now semi-sibilant, now smoothly glozing--

Now having faith implicit that he can't err, Hoping his hopes, alarm'd with his alarms; And now believing him a sly inchanter, Yet still afraid to break his brittle charms, 20

Lest some mad Devil suddenly unhamp'ring, Slap-dash! the imp should fly off with the steeple, On revolutionary broom-stick scampering.-- O ye soft-headed and soft-hearted people,

If you can stay so long from slumber free, 25 My muse shall make an effort to salute 'e: For lo! a very dainty simile Flash'd sudden through my brain, and 'twill just suit 'e!

You know that water-fowl that cries, Quack! Quack!? Full often have I seen a waggish crew 30 Fasten the Bird of Wisdom on its back, The ivy-haunting bird, that cries, Tu-whoo!

Both plung'd together in the deep mill-stream, (Mill-stream, or farm-yard pond, or mountain-lake,) Shrill, as a Church and Constitution scream, 35 Tu-whoo! quoth Broad-face, and down dives the Drake!

The green-neck'd Drake once more pops up to view, Stares round, cries Quack! and makes an angry pother; Then shriller screams the Bird with eye-lids blue, The broad-faced Bird! and deeper dives the other. 40 Ye quacking Statesmen! 'tis even so with you-- One Peasecod is not liker to another.

Even so on Loyalty's Decoy-pond, each Pops up his head, as fir'd with British blood, Hears once again the Ministerial screech, 45 And once more seeks the bottom's blackest mud!

1798. (Signed: LABERIUS.)

FOOTNOTES:

[211:1] First published in the Cambridge Intelligencer, January 6, 1798: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817: Essays on His own Times, 1850, iii. 969-70. First collected in P. and D. W., 1877-80. In Sibylline Leaves the poem is incorrectly dated 1794.

[212:1] Pitt's 'treble assessment at seven millions' which formed part of the budget for 1798. The grant was carried in the House of Commons, Jan. 4, 1798.

LINENOTES:

Title] To Sir John Sinclair, S. Thornton, Alderman Lushington, and the whole Troop of Parliamentary Oscillators C. I.

[2] right] tight C. I.

[3] It's hardly possible C. I.

[9] But yet I cannot flatter you, your wit C. I.

[14] the] his C. I.

[24] O ye soft-hearted and soft-headed, &c. C. I.

[26, 28] 'e] ye C. I.

[29] that cries] which cries C. I.

[30] Full often] Ditch-full oft C. I.

[31] Fasten] Fallen C. I.

CHRISTABEL[213:1]

Preface

The first part of the following poem was written in the year 1797, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset. The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year 1800, at Keswick, Cumberland. It is probable that if the poem had been finished at either of the former periods, or 5 if even the first and second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been much greater than I dare at present expect. But for this I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of 10 plagiarism or servile imitation from myself. For there is amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and image is traditional; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably 15 derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other man's tank. I am confident, however, that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated poets[215:1] whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and 20 the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate me from the charge, and who, on any striking coincidence, would permit me to address them in this doggerel version of two monkish Latin hexameters.[215:2]

'Tis mine and it is likewise yours; 25 But an if this will not do; Let it be mine, good friend! for I Am the poorer of the two.

I have only to add that the metre of Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its 30 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 accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless, this occasional variation in number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, 35 or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition in the nature of the imagery or passion.

Part I

'Tis the middle of 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. 5 Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch; From her kennel beneath the rock She maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; 10 Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but not dark. 15 The thin gray 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 gray: 20 '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, 25 A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothéd knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away. 30

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 misletoe: She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, 35 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.-- 40 On the other side it seems 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 45 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, 50 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, 55 And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there?

There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white, That shadowy in the moonlight shone: 60 The neck that made that white robe wan, Her stately neck, and arms were bare; Her blue-veined feet unsandal'd were, And wildly glittered here and there The gems entangled in her hair. 65 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? 70

The lady strange made answer meet, And her voice was faint and sweet:-- Have pity on my sore distress, I scarce can speak for weariness: Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear! 75 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: 80 Five warriors seized me yestermorn, 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, 85 And they rode furiously behind. 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; 90 Nor do I know how long it is (For I have lain entranced I wis) Since one, the tallest of the five, Took me from the palfrey's back, A weary woman, scarce alive. 95 Some muttered words his comrades spoke: Ha placed me underneath this oak; He swore they would return with haste; Whither they went I cannot tell-- I thought I heard, some minutes past, 100 Sounds as of a castle bell. Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she), And help a wretched maid to flee.

Then Christabel stretched forth her hand, And comforted fair Geraldine: 105 O well, bright dame! may you command The service of Sir Leoline; And gladly our stout chivalry Will he send forth and friends withal To guide and guard you safe and free 110 Home to your noble father's hall.

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: 115 All our household are at rest, The hall as silent as the cell; Sir Leoline is weak in health, And may not well awakened be, But we will move as if in stealth, 120 And I beseech your courtesy, This night, to share your couch with me.

They crossed the moat, and Christabel Took the key that fitted well; A little door she opened straight, 125 All in the middle of the gate; The gate that was ironed within and without, Where an army in battle array had marched out. The lady sank, belike through pain, And Christabel with might and main 130 Lifted her up, a weary weight, Over the threshold of the gate: Then the lady rose again, And moved, as she were not in pain.

So free from danger, free from fear, 135 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 hath rescued thee from thy distress! 140 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 145 Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. The mastiff old did not awake, Yet she an angry moan did make! And what can ail the mastiff bitch? Never till now she uttered yell 150 Beneath the eye of Christabel. Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail the mastiff bitch?

They passed the hall, that echoes still, Pass as lightly as you will! 155 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, 160 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. 165

Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, And jealous of the listening air They steal their way from stair to stair, Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, And now they pass the Baron's room, 170 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, 175 And not a moonbeam enters here. 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, 180 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. 185 She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright, And left it swinging to and fro, While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below.

O weary lady, Geraldine, 190 I pray you, drink this cordial wine! It is a wine of virtuous powers; My mother made it of wild flowers.

And will your mother pity me, Who am a maiden most forlorn? 195 Christabel answered--Woe is me! She died the hour that I was born. I have heard the grey-haired friar tell How on her death-bed she did say, That she should hear the castle-bell 200 Strike twelve upon my wedding-day. O mother dear! that thou wert here! I would, said Geraldine, she were!

But soon with altered voice, said she-- 'Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 205 I have power to bid thee flee.' Alas! what ails poor Geraldine? Why stares she with unsettled eye? Can she the bodiless dead espy? And why with hollow voice cries she, 210 'Off, woman, off! this hour is mine-- Though thou her guardian spirit be, Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me.'

Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, And raised to heaven her eyes so blue-- 215 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!'

Again the wild-flower wine she drank: 220 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 countrée. 225

And thus the lofty lady spake-- 'All they who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their sake And for the good which me befel, 230 Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.'

Quoth Christabel, So let it be! 235 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, 240 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.

Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, 245 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, 250 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; 255 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, 260 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 265 These words did say: 'In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow, This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; 270 But vainly thou warrest, For this is alone in Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest Thou heard'st a low moaning, 275 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 I

It was a lovely sight to see The lady Christabel, when she 280 Was praying at the old oak tree. Amid the jaggéd shadows Of mossy leafless boughs, Kneeling in the moonlight, To make her gentle vows; 285 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, 290 Each about to have a tear.

With open eyes (ah woe is me!) Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis, Dreaming that alone, which is-- 295 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, 300 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-- 305 Thou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill, The night-birds all that hour were still. But now they are jubilant anew, From cliff and tower, tu--whoo! tu--whoo! Tu--whoo! tu--whoo! from wood and fell! 310

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-- 315 Large tears that leave the lashes bright! And oft the while she seems to smile As infants at a sudden light!

Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, Like a youthful hermitess, 320 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. 325 No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. What if her guardian spirit 'twere, What if she knew her mother near? But this she knows, in joys and woes, That saints will aid if men will call: 330 For the blue sky bends over all!

1797.

Part II

Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first said, When he rose and found his lady dead: 335 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, 340 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.

Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell! 345 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, 350 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; 355 And oft too, by the knell offended, Just as their one! two! three! is ended, The devil mocks the doleful tale With a merry peal from Borodale.

The air is still! through mist and cloud 360 That merry peal comes ringing loud; And Geraldine shakes off her dread, And rises lightly from the bed; Puts on her silken vestments white, And tricks her hair in lovely plight, 365 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 370 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! For she belike hath drunken deep 375 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. 380 'Sure I have sinn'd!' said Christabel, 'Now heaven be praised if all be well!' And in low faltering tones, yet sweet, Did she the lofty lady greet With such perplexity of mind 385 As dreams too lively leave behind.

So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed Her maiden limbs, and having prayed That He, who on the cross did groan, Might wash away her sins unknown, 390 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 on through page and groom, 395 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, 400 And gave such welcome to the same, As might beseem so bright a dame!

But when he heard the lady's tale, And when she told her father's name, Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, 405 Murmuring o'er the name again, Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; 410 And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain. And thus it chanced, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline. 415 Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted--ne'er to meet again! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining-- 420 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, 425 The marks of that which once hath been.

Sir Leoline, a moment's space, Stood gazing on the damsel's face: And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine Came back upon his heart again. 430

O 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, 435 That they, who thus had wronged the dame, Were base as spotted infamy! 'And if they dare deny the same, My herald shall appoint a week, And let the recreant traitors seek 440 My tourney court--that there and then I may dislodge their reptile souls From the bodies and forms of men!' He spake: his eye in lightning rolls! For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and he kenned 445 In the beautiful lady the child of his friend!

And now the tears were on his face, And fondly in his arms he took Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace, Prolonging it with joyous look. 450 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, 455 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, 460 And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid With eyes upraised, as one that prayed.

The touch, the sight, had passed away, And in its stead that vision blest, Which comforted her after-rest 465 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 belovéd child?' 470 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, 475 Had deemed her sure a thing divine: Such sorrow with such grace she blended, As if she feared she had offended Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid! And with such lowly tones she prayed 480 She might be sent without delay Home to her father's mansion. 'Nay! Nay, by my soul!' said Leoline. 'Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine! Go thou, with music sweet and loud, 485 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, 490 Lest wandering folk, that are abroad, Detain you on the valley road.

'And when he has crossed the Irthing flood, My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood, 495 And reaches soon that castle good Which stands and threatens Scotland's wastes.

'Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet, Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet, More loud than your horses' echoing feet! 500 And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free-- Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me! He bids thee come without delay 505 With all thy numerous array And take thy lovely daughter home: And he will meet thee on the way With all his numerous array White with their panting palfreys' foam: 510 And, by mine honour! I will say, That I repent me of the day When I spake words of fierce disdain To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!-- --For since that evil hour hath flown, 515 Many a summer's sun hath shone; Yet ne'er found I a friend again Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.'

The lady fell, and clasped his knees, Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing; 520 And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, His gracious Hail on all bestowing!-- 'Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell; Yet might I gain a boon of thee, 525 This day my journey should not be, So strange a dream hath come to me, That I had vowed with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, Warned by a vision in my rest! 530 For in my sleep I saw that dove, That gentle bird, whom thou dost love, And call'st by thy own daughter's name-- Sir Leoline! I saw the same Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, 535 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.

'And in my dream methought I went 541 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 545 No cause for her distressful cry; But yet for her dear lady's sake I stooped, methought, the dove to take, When lo! I saw a bright green snake Coiled around its wings and neck. 550 Green as the herbs on which it couched, Close by the dove's its head it crouched; And with the dove it heaves and stirs, Swelling its neck as she swelled hers! I woke; it was the midnight hour, 555 The clock was echoing in the tower; But though my slumber was gone by, This dream it would not pass away-- It seems to live upon my eye! And thence I vowed this self-same day 560 With music strong and saintly song To wander through the forest bare, Lest aught unholy loiter there.'

Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while, Half-listening heard him with a smile; 565 Then turned to Lady Geraldine, His eyes made up of wonder and love; And said in courtly accents fine, 'Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove, With arms more strong than harp or song, 570 Thy sire and I will crush the snake!' He kissed her forehead as he spake, And Geraldine in maiden wise Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine 575 She turned her from Sir Leoline; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again; And folded her arms across her chest, And couched her head upon her breast, 580 And looked askance at Christabel-- Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy; And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, 585 And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she looked askance!-- One moment--and the sight was fled! But Christabel in dizzy trance Stumbling on the unsteady ground 590 Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; 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 595 Wildly on Sir Leoline.

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees--no sight but one! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise, 600 So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind: And passively did imitate 605 That look of dull and treacherous hate! And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, Still picturing that look askance With forced unconscious sympathy Full before her father's view---- 610 As far as such a look could be In eyes so innocent and blue!

And when the trance was o'er, the maid Paused awhile, and inly prayed: Then falling at the Baron's feet, 615 '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. 620

Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, Sir Leoline? Thy only child Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, So fair, so innocent, so mild; The same, for whom thy lady died! 625 O by the pangs of her dear mother Think thou no evil of thy child! For her, and thee, and for no other, She prayed the moment ere she died: Prayed that the babe for whom she died, 630 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? 635

Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swelled his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. His heart was cleft with pain and rage, 640 His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild, Dishonoured thus in his old age; Dishonoured by his only child, And all his hospitality To the wronged daughter of his friend 645 By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end-- He rolled his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, austere-- 650 'Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? I bade thee hence!' The bard obeyed; And turning from his own sweet maid, The agéd knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine! 655

1800.

THE CONCLUSION TO PART II

A little child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself, A fairy thing with red round cheeks, That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight 660 As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. 665 Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty 670 At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (O sorrow and shame should this be true!) Such giddiness of heart and brain 675 Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it's most used to do.

1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[213:1] First published, together with Kubla Khan and The Pains of Sleep, 1816: included in 1828, 1829, and 1834. Three MSS. of Christabel have passed through my hands. The earliest, which belonged to Wordsworth, is partly in Coleridge's handwriting and partly in that of Mary Hutchinson (Mrs. Wordsworth). The probable date of this MS., now in the possession of the poet's grandson, Mr. Gordon Wordsworth, is April-October, 1800. Later in the same year, or perhaps in 1801, Coleridge made a copy of the First Part (or Book), the Conclusion to the First Book, and the Second Book, and presented it to Mrs. Wordsworth's sister, Sarah Hutchinson. A facsimile of the MS., now in the possession of Miss Edith Coleridge, was issued in collotype in the edition of Christabel published in 1907, under the auspices of the Royal Society of Literature. In 1801, or at some subsequent period (possibly not till 1815), Miss Hutchinson transcribed Coleridge's MS. The water-mark of the paper is 1801. Her transcript, now in the possession of Mr. A. H. Hallam Murray, was sent to Lord Byron in October, 1815. It is possible that this transcription was the 'copy' for the First Edition published in 1816; but, if so, Coleridge altered the text whilst the poem was passing through the press.

The existence of two other MSS. rests on the authority of John Payne Collier (see Seven Lectures on Shakespeare and Milton. By S. T. Coleridge, 1856, pp. xxxix-xliii).

The first, which remained in his possession for many years, was a copy in the handwriting of Sarah Stoddart (afterwards Mrs. Hazlitt). J. P. Collier notes certain differences between this MS., which he calls the 'Salisbury Copy', and the text of the First Edition. He goes on to say that before Christabel was published Coleridge lent him an MS. in his own handwriting, and he gives two or three readings from the second MS. which differ from the text of the 'Salisbury Copy' and from the texts of those MSS. which have been placed in my hands.

The copy of the First Edition of Christabel presented to William Stewart Rose's valet, David Hinves, on November 11, 1816, which Coleridge had already corrected, is now in the possession of Mr. John Murray. The emendations and additions inscribed on the margin of this volume were included in the collected edition of Coleridge's Poetical Works, published by William Pickering in 1828. The editions of 1829 and 1834 closely followed the edition of 1828, but in 1834 there was in one particular instance (Part I, lines 6-10) a reversion to the text of the First Edition. The MS. of the 'Conclusion of Part II' forms part of a letter to Southey dated May 6, 1801. (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 355.) The following abbreviations have been employed to note the MSS. and transcriptions of Christabel:--

1. The Wordsworth MS., partly in Coleridge's (lines 1-295), and partly in Mary Hutchinson's (lines 295-655) handwriting = MS. W.

2. The Salisbury MS., copied by Sarah Stoddart = S. T. C. (a).

3. The MS. lent by Coleridge to Payne Collier = S. T. C. (b).

4. Autograph MS. in possession of Miss Edith Coleridge (reproduced in facsimile in 1907) = S. T. C. (c).

5. Transcription made by Sarah Hutchinson = S. H.

6. Corrections made by Coleridge in the Copy of the First Edition presented to David Hinves = H. 1816.

[215:1] Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron.

[215:2] The 'Latin hexameters', 'in the lame and limping metre of a barbarous Latin poet', ran thus:

'Est meum et est tuum, amice! at si amborum nequit esse, Sit meum, amice, precor: quia certe sum magi' pauper.'

It is interesting to note that Coleridge translated these lines in November, 1801, long before the 'celebrated poets' in question had made, or seemed to make, it desirable to 'preclude a charge of plagiarism'.

LINENOTES:

PREFACE] Prefixed to the three issues of 1816, and to 1828, 1829, 1834.

Christabel--Preface. 2 The year one thousand seven hundred and ninety seven 1816, 1828, 1829.

[3, 4] The year one thousand eight hundred 1816, 1828, 1829.

[4] after 'Cumberland'] Since the latter date, my poetic powers have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended animation. But as, in my very first conception of the tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the wholeness, no less than the liveliness of a vision; I trust that I shall be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come, in the course of the present year. It is probable, &c. 1816, 1828, 1829: om. 1834.

[23] doggrel 1816, 1828, 1829.

I. ] Book the First MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.: Part the First 1828, 1829

[3] Tu-u-whoo! Tu-u-whoo! MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[6-7]

Sir Leoline the Baron [*bold*] Hath a toothless mastiff old

H. 1816.

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff which

H. 1816, 1828, 1829, 1893.

[9] She makes MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: Maketh H. 1816, 1828, 1829.

[11] moonshine or shower MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: by shine or shower H. 1816.

[Between 28-9]

Dreams, that made her moan and leap, As on her bed she lay in sleep.

First Edition: Erased H. 1816: Not in any MS.

[32] The breezes they were whispering low S. T. C. (a): The breezes they were still also MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.

[34] But the moss and misletoe MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[35] kneels] knelt MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[37] sprang] leaps MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.

[39] can] could H. 1816.

[45-7] om. MS. W.

[52] up] out MS. W., S. H.

[54] Jesu Maria MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[58-66]

A damsel bright Clad in a silken robe of white, Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, And the jewels were tumbled in her hair. I guess, &c.

MS. W.

[60] om. MS. S. T. C.

[61-6]

Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, And the jewels were tumbled in her hair. I guess, &c.

S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.

Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, And the jewels disorder'd in her hair. I guess, &c.

First Edition.

[65]

And the jewels were tangled in her hair.

S. T. C. (b).

[In the Hinves copy (Nov., 1816), ll. 60-5 are inserted in the margin and the two lines 'Her neck . . . her hair' are erased. This addition was included in 1828, 1829, 1834, &c.]

[74] scarce can] cannot H. 1816.

[76] Said Christabel] Alas! but say H. 1816.

[81-3]

Five ruffians seized me yestermorn, Me, even me, a maid forlorn; They chok'd my cries with wicked might.

MS. W., S. T. C. (a); MS. S. T. C. (c); S. H.

Five warriors, &c. as in the text

S. T. C. (b)

[Lines 82, 83, 84-1/2 are erased in H. 1816. Lines 81-4, 89, 90, which Scott prefixed as a motto to Chapter XI of The Black Dwarf (1818), run thus:--

Three ruffians seized me yestermorn, Alas! a maiden most forlorn; They choked my cries with wicked might, And bound me on a palfrey white: As sure as Heaven shall pity me, I cannot tell what men they be.

Christabel.

The motto to Chapter XXIV of The Betrothed (1825) is slightly different:--

Four Ruffians . . . palfrey white.]

[88] once] twice MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[92] For I have lain in fits, I wis MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition. [Text, which follows S. T. C. (b), H. 1816, was first adopted in 1828.]

[96] comrades] comrade MS. W.

[98] He] They MS. W.

[106-11]

Saying that she should command The service of Sir Leoline; And straight be convoy'd, free from thrall, Back to her noble father's hall.

MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.

[Text, which follows H. 1816, was first adopted in 1828.]

[112-22]

So up she rose and forth they pass'd With hurrying steps yet nothing fast. Her lucky stars the lady blest, And Christabel she sweetly said-- All our household are at rest, Each one sleeping in his bed; Sir Leoline is weak in health, And may not awakened be, So to my room we'll creep in stealth, And you to-night must sleep with me.

MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[So, too, First Edition, with the sole variant, 'And may not well awakened be'.]

[114-17]

Her smiling stars the lady blest, And thus bespake sweet Christabel: All our household is at rest, The hall as silent as a cell.

S. T. C. (b).

[In H. 1816 ll. 112-22 of the text are inserted in Coleridge's handwriting. Line 113 reads: 'yet were not fast'. Line 122 reads: 'share your bed with me'. In 1828, ll. 117-22 were added to the text, and 'Her gracious stars' (l. 114) was substituted for 'Her lucky stars'.]

[137] And Christabel she sweetly cried MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[139] Praise we] O praise MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[145] Outside] Beside MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[146] Lay fast] Was stretch'd H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.]

[160] om. S. T. C. (a).

[161] And nothing else she saw thereby MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[163] niche] nitch all MSS. and First Edition.

[166-9]

Sweet Christabel her feet she bares, And they are creeping up the stairs, Now in glimmer, and now in gloom,

MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.

[167] Added in 1828.

[171] With stifled breath, as still as death H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.]

[173-4]

And now they with their feet press down The rushes of her chamber floor.

MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

And now with eager feet press down The rushes of her chamber floor.

First Edition, H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.]

[191] cordial] spicy MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[Between 193-4]

Nay, drink it up, I pray you do, Believe me it will comfort you.

MS. W., S. T. C. (a), S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[The omission was made in the First Edition.]

[205-10, 212] om. MS. W.

[219] And faintly said I'm better now MS. W., S. T. C. (a): I am better now S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[225] far] fair MS. W.

[Between 252-3] Are lean and old and foul of hue. MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[254] And she is to sleep with Christabel. MS. W.: And she is to sleep by Christabel. S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: And must she sleep by Christabel. H. 1816 [not in S. T. C.'s handwriting]: And she is alone with Christabel. H. 1816 erased [not in S. T. C.'s handwriting]: And must she sleep with Christabel. H. 1816 erased [not in S. T. C.'s handwriting].

[255-61] om. MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition: included in H. 1816. [Not in S. T. C.'s handwriting.] First published in 1828.

[Between 254 and 263]

She took two paces and a stride, And lay down by the maiden's side,

MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., First Edition.

She gaz'd upon the maid, [*she sigh'd*] [*She took two paces and a stride,*] Then [*And lay down by the Maiden's side.*]

H. 1816 erased.

[265] low] sad MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[267] this] my MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[270] The mark of my shame, the seal of my sorrow. MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[277] And didst bring her home with thee, with love and with charity. MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[278] To shield her, and shelter her, and shelter far from the damp air. MS. W.

The Conclusion to Part I] The Conclusion of Book the First MS. W.: The Conclusion to Book the First S. T. C. (c), S. H.

[294] Here in MS. W. the handwriting changes. 'Dreaming' was written by S. T. C., 'yet' by Mary Hutchinson.

[295] is] is H. 1816.

[297] who] that MS. W., S. T. C. (c), S. H., H. 1816.

[306] Tairn or Tarn (derived by Lye from the Icelandic Tiorn, stagnum, palus) is rendered in our dictionaries as synonymous with Mere or Lake; but it is properly a large Pool or Reservoir in the Mountains, commonly the Feeder of some Mere in the valleys. Tarn Watling and Blellum Tarn, though on lower ground than other Tarns, are yet not exceptions, for both are on elevations, and Blellum Tarn feeds the Wynander Mere. Note to S. T. C. (c).

[324] A query is attached to this line H. 1816.