|
TIS the middle of night by the castle clock, | |
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock; | |
Tuwhit!Tuwhoo! | |
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 | |
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 ladys 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 betrothed knight; | |
And she in the midnight wood will pray | |
For the weal of her lover thats 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 mistletoe: | |
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 ladys 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 unsandalled 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 palfreys back, | |
A weary woman, scarce alive. | 95 |
Some muttered words his comrades spoke: | |
He 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 fathers 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 owlets 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 ladys 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 the glimmer, and now in gloom, | |
And now they pass the Barons 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 there. | |
But they without its light can see | |
The chamber carved so curiously, | |
Carved with figures strange and sweet, | |
All made out of the carvers brain, | 180 |
For a ladys chamber meet: | |
The lamp with twofold silver chain | |
Is fastened to an angels 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 answeredWoe is me! | |
She died the hour that I was born. | |
|
I have heard the gray-haired friar tell | |
How on her death-bed she did say, | |
That she should hear the castle-bell | 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 ladys 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 Maidens 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 heardst a low moaning, | 275 |
And foundst a bright lady, surpassingly fair; | |
And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity, | |
To shield and shelter her from the damp air. | |
|
THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE FIRST It was a lovely sight to see | |
The lady Christabel, when she | 280 |
Was praying at the old oak-tree; | |
Amid the jagged 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 ladys prison. | |
O Geraldine! one hour was thine | 305 |
Thoust 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, tuwhoo! tuwhoo! | |
Tuwhoo! tuwhoo! 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 oer 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! | |
|
PART THE SECOND 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 strokea 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 Witchs 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 tother, | |
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 Borrowdale. | |
|
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 sinnd! 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 Barons 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 ladys tale, | |
And when she told her fathers name, | |
Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, | 405 |
Murmuring oer 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 hearts best brother: | |
They partedneer 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 moments space, | |
Stood gazing on the damsels 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 Jesus 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 courtthat 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 ladys arms she lay, | |
Had put a rapture in her breast. | |
And on her lips and oer her eyes | |
Spread smiles like light! | |
With new surprise, | 470 |
What ails then my beloved child? | |
The Baron saidHis daughter mild | |
Made answer, All will yet be well! | |
I ween, she had no power to tell | |
Aught else: so mighty was the spell. | 475 |
Yet he, who saw this Geraldine, | |
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! | 480 |
And with such lowly tones she prayed | |
She might be sent without delay | |
Home to her fathers mansion. | |
Nay! | |
Nay, by my soul! said Leoline. | 485 |
Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine! | |
Go thou, with music sweet and loud, | |
And take two steeds with trappings proud, | |
And take the youth whom thou lovst best | |
To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, | 490 |
And clothe you both in solemn vest, | |
And over the mountains haste along, | |
Lest wandering folk, that are abroad | |
Detain you on the valley road. | |
And when he has crossed the Irthing flood, | 495 |
My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes | |
Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood, | |
And reaches soon that castle good | |
Which stands and threatens Scotlands wastes. | |
|
Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet, | 500 |
Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet, | |
More loud than your horses echoing feet! | |
And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, | |
Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! | |
Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free | 505 |
Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me. | |
He bids thee come without delay | |
With all thy numerous array; | |
And take thy lovely daughter home; | |
And he will meet thee on the way | 510 |
With all his numerous array | |
White with their panting palfreys foam: | |
And, by mine honour! I will say, | |
That I repent me of the day | |
When I spake words of fierce disdain | 515 |
To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine! | |
For since that evil hour hath flown, | |
Many a summers sun hath shone; | |
Yet neer found I a friend again | |
Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine. | 520 |
|
The lady fell, and clasped his knees, | |
Her face upraised, her eyes oerflowing; | |
And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, | |
His gracious hail on all bestowing: | |
Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, | 525 |
Are sweeter than my harp can tell; | |
Yet might I gain a boon of thee, | |
This day my journey should not be, | |
So strange a dream hath come to me; | |
That I had vowed with music loud | 530 |
To clear yon wood from thing unblest, | |
Warnd by a vision in my rest! | |
For in my sleep I saw that dove, | |
That gentlest bird, whom thou dost love, | |
And callst by thy own daughters name | 535 |
Sir Leoline! I saw the same, | |
Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, | |
Among the green herbs in the forest alone. | |
Which when I saw and when I heard, | |
I wonderd what might ail the bird; | 540 |
For nothing near it could I see, | |
Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree. | |
|
And in my dream, methought, I went | |
To search out what might there be found; | |
And what the sweet birds trouble meant, | 545 |
That thus lay fluttering on the ground. | |
I went and peered, and could descry | |
No cause for her distressful cry; | |
But yet for her dear ladys sake | |
I stooped, methought, the dove to take, | 550 |
When lo! I saw a bright green snake | |
Coiled around its wings and neck. | |
Green as the herbs on which it couched, | |
Close by the doves its head it crouched; | |
And with the dove it heaves and stirs, | 555 |
Swelling its neck as she swelled hers! | |
I woke; it was the midnight hour, | |
The clock was echoing in the tower; | |
But though my slumber was gone by, | |
This dream it would not pass away | 560 |
It seems to live upon my eye! | |
And thence I vowed this self-same day | |
With music strong and saintly song | |
To wander through the forest bare, | |
Lest aught unholy loiter there. | 565 |
|
Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while, | |
Half-listening heard him with a smile; | |
Then turnd to Lady Geraldine, | |
His eyes made up of wonder and love; | |
And said in courtly accents fine, | 570 |
Sweet maid, Lord Rolands beauteous dove, | |
With arms more strong than harp or song, | |
Thy sire and I will crush the snake! | |
He kissed her forehead as he spake, | |
And Geraldine in maiden wise | 575 |
Casting down her large bright eyes, | |
With blushing cheek and courtesy fine | |
She turned her from Sir Leoline; | |
Softly gathering up her train, | |
That oer her right arm fell again; | 580 |
And folded her arms across her chest, | |
And couched her head upon her breast, | |
And looked askance at Christabel | |
Jesu, Maria, shield her well! | |
|
A snakes small eye blinks dull and shy, | 585 |
And the ladys eyes they shrunk in her head, | |
Each shrunk up to a serpents eye, | |
And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, | |
At Christabel she lookd askance! | |
One momentand the sight was fled! | 590 |
But Christabel in dizzy trance | |
Stumbling on the unsteady ground | |
Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; | |
And Geraldine again turned round, | |
And like a thing that sought relief, | 595 |
Full of wonder and full of grief, | |
She rolled her large bright eyes divine | |
Wildly on Sir Leoline. | |
|
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, | |
She nothing seesno sight but one! | 600 |
The maid, devoid of guile and sin, | |
I know not how, in fearful wise, | |
So deeply had she drunken in | |
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, | |
That all her features were resigned | 605 |
To this sole image in her mind: | |
And passively did imitate | |
That look of dull and treacherous hate! | |
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, | |
Still picturing that look askance | 610 |
With forced unconscious sympathy | |
Full before her fathers view | |
As far as such a look could be | |
In eyes so innocent and blue! | |
And when the trance was oer, the maid | 615 |
Paused awhile, and inly prayed: | |
Then falling at the Barons feet, | |
By my mothers soul do I entreat | |
That thou this woman send away! | |
She said: and more she could not say: | 620 |
For what she knew she could not tell, | |
Oer-mastered by the mighty spell. | |
|
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, | |
Sir Leoline? Thy only child | |
Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride. | 625 |
So fair, so innocent, so mild; | |
The same, for whom thy lady died! | |
O, by the pangs of her dear mother | |
Think thou no evil of thy child! | |
For her, and thee, and for no other, | 630 |
She prayed the moment ere she died: | |
Prayed that the babe for whom she died, | |
Might prove her dear lords joy and pride! | |
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, | |
Sir Leoline! | 635 |
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, | |
Her child and thine? | |
|
Within the Barons heart and brain | |
If thoughts, like these, had any share, | |
They only swelled his rage and pain, | 640 |
And did but work confusion there. | |
His heart was cleft with pain and rage, | |
His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild, | |
Dishonourd thus in his old age; | |
Dishonourd by his only child, | 645 |
And all his hospitality | |
To the insulted daughter of his friend | |
By more than womans jealousy | |
Brought thus to a disgraceful end | |
He rolled his eye with stern regard | 650 |
Upon the gentle minstrel bard, | |
And said in tones abrupt, austere | |
Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? | |
I bade thee hence! The bard obeyed; | |
And turning from his own sweet maid, | 655 |
The aged knight, Sir Leoline, | |
Led forth the lady Geraldine! | |
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THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND A little child, a limber elf, | |
Singing, dancing, to itself, | |
A fairy thing with red round cheeks, | 660 |
That always finds, and never seeks, | |
Makes such a vision to the sight | |
As fills a fathers eyes with light; | |
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast | |
Upon his heart, that he at last | 665 |
Must needs express his loves excess | |
With words of unmeant bitterness. | |
Perhaps tis pretty to force together | |
|
Thoughts so all unlike each other; | |
To mutter and mock a broken charm, | 670 |
To dally with wrong that does no harm. | |
Perhaps tis tender too and pretty | |
At each wild word to feel within | |
A sweet recoil of love and pity. | |
And what, if in a world of sin | 675 |
(O sorrow and shame should this be true!) | |
Such giddiness of heart and brain | |
Comes seldom save from rage and pain, | |
So talks as its most used to do. | |
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