 |
1816. First published in Lit. Rem., iii. 418, 419. First collected P. and D. W., 1877, ii. 367.
44
Truth I pursued, as Fancy sketch'd the way, And wiser men than I went worse astray.
First published as Motto to Essay II, The Friend, 1818, ii. 37; 1850, ii. 27. First collected 1893.
45
IMITATED FROM ARISTOPHANES
(Nubes 315, 317.)
megalai theai andrasin argois, haiper gnmn kai dialexin kai noun hmin parechousi kai terateian kai perilexin kai krousin kai katalpsin
For the ancients . . . had their glittering VAPORS, which (as the comic poet tells us) fed a host of sophists.
Great goddesses are they to lazy folks, Who pour down on us gifts of fluent speech, Sense most sententious, wonderful fine effect, And how to talk about it and about it, Thoughts brisk as bees, and pathos soft and thawy.
1817. First published in The Friend, 1818, iii. 179; 1850, iii. 138. First collected 1893.
46
Let clumps of earth, however glorified, Roll round and round and still renew their cycle— Man rushes like a winged Cherub through The infinite space, and that which has been Can therefore never be again——
1820. First published from an MS. in 1893.
47
TO EDWARD IRVING
But you, honored IRVING, are as little disposed as myself to favor such doctrine! [as that of Mant and D'Oyly on Infant Baptism].
Friend pure of heart and fervent! we have learnt A different lore! We may not thus profane The Idea and Name of Him whose Absolute Will Is Reason—Truth Supreme!—Essential Order!
1824. First published in Aids to Reflection, 1825, p. 373. First collected 1893.
48
[LUTHER—DE DMONIBUS]
The devils are in woods, in waters, in wildernesses, and in dark pooly places, ready to hurt and prejudice people, etc.—Doctoris Martini Lutheri Colloquia Mensalia—(Translated by Captain Henry Bell. London, 1652, p. 370).
'The angel's like a flea, The devil is a bore;—' No matter for that! quoth S. T. C., I love him the better therefore.
Yes! heroic Swan, I love thee even when thou gabblest like a goose; for thy geese helped to save the Capitol.
1826. First published in Lit. Rem., 1839, iv. 52. First collected P. and D. W., 1877, ii. 367.
49
THE NETHERLANDS
Water and windmills, greenness, Islets green;— Willows whose Trunks beside the shadows stood Of their own higher half, and willowy swamp:— Farmhouses that at anchor seem'd—in the inland sky The fog-transfixing Spires— Water, wide water, greenness and green banks, And water seen—
June 1828. Now first published from an MS.
50
ELISA[1009:1]
TRANSLATED FROM CLAUDIAN
Dulce dona mihi tu mittis semper Elisa! Et quicquid mittis Thura putare decet.
The above adapted from an Epigram of Claudian [No. lxxxii, Ad Maximum Qui mel misit], by substituting Thura for Mella: the original Distich being in return for a present of Honey.
Imitation
Sweet Gift! and always doth Elisa send Sweet Gifts and full of fragrance to her Friend Enough for Him to know they come from HER: Whate'er she sends is Frankincense and Myrrh.
ANOTHER ON THE SAME SUBJECT BY S. T. C. HIMSELF
Semper Elisa! mihi tu suaveolentia donas: Nam quicquid donas, te redolere puto.
Translation
Whate'er thou giv'st, it still is sweet to me, For still I find it redolent of thee.
1833, 4. Now first published from an MS.
51
PROFUSE KINDNESS
Npioi oude isasin hos pleon hmisy pantos. HESIOD. [Works and Days, l. 40.]
What a spring-tide of Love to dear friends in a shoal! Half of it to one were worth double the whole!
Undated. First published in P. W., 1834.
52
I stand alone, nor tho' my heart should break, Have I, to whom I may complain or speak. Here I stand, a hopeless man and sad, Who hoped to have seen my Love, my Life. And strange it were indeed, could I be glad Remembering her, my soul's betrothd wife. For in this world no creature that has life Was e'er to me so gracious and so good. Her loss is to my Heart, like the Heart's blood.
? S. T. C. Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893. These lines are inscribed on a fly-leaf of Tom. II of Benedetto Menzini's Poesie, 1782.
53
NAPOLEON
The Sun with gentle beams his rage disguises, And, like aspiring Tyrants, temporises— Never to be endured but when he falls or rises.
? S. T. C. Undated. Now first published from an MS.
54
Thicker than rain-drops on November thorn.
Undated. Now first published from an MS.
55
His native accents to her stranger's ear, Skill'd in the tongues of France and Italy— Or while she warbles with bright eyes upraised, Her fingers shoot like streams of silver light Amid the golden haze of thrilling strings.
Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893.
56
Each crime that once estranges from the virtues Doth make the memory of their features daily More dim and vague, till each coarse counterfeit Can have the passport to our confidence Sign'd by ourselves. And fitly are they punish'd Who prize and seek the honest man but as A safer lock to guard dishonest treasures.
? S. T. C. Undated. First published in Lit. Rem., i. 281. First collected P. and D. W., 1877, ii. 365.
57
Where'er I find the Good, the True, the Fair, I ask no names—God's spirit dwelleth there! The unconfounded, undivided Three, Each for itself, and all in each, to see In man and Nature, is Philosophy.
Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893.
58
A wind that with Aurora hath abiding Among the Arabian and the Persian Hills.
Undated. First published from an MS. in 1893.
59
I [S. T. C.] find the following lines among my papers, in my own writing, but whether an unfinished fragment, or a contribution to some friend's production, I know not:—
What boots to tell how o'er his grave She wept, that would have died to save; Little they know the heart, who deem Her sorrow but an infant's dream Of transient love begotten; A passing gale, that as it blows Just shakes the ripe drop from the rose— That dies and is forgotten. O Woman! nurse of hopes and fears, All lovely in thy spring of years, Thy soul in blameless mirth possessing, Most lovely in affliction's tears, More lovely still than tears suppressing.
Undated. First published in Allsop's Letters, Conversations, &c. First collected P. and D. W., 1877, ii. 373.
60
THE THREE SORTS OF FRIENDS
Though friendships differ endless in degree, The sorts, methinks, may be reduced to three. Acquaintance many, and Conquaintance few; But for Inquaintance I know only two— The friend I've mourned with, and the maid I woo!
MY DEAR GILLMAN—The ground and matriel of this division of one's friends into ac, con and inquaintance, was given by Hartley Coleridge when he was scarcely five years old [1801]. On some one asking him if Anny Sealy (a little girl he went to school with) was an acquaintance of his, he replied, very fervently pressing his right hand on his heart, 'No, she is an inquaintance!' 'Well! 'tis a father's tale'; and the recollection soothes your old friend and inquaintance,
S. T. COLERIDGE.
Undated. First published in Fraser's Magazine for Jan. 1835, Art. Coleridgeiana, p. 54. First collected 1893.
61
If fair by Nature She honours the fair Boon with fair adorning, And graces that bespeak a gracious breeding, Can gracious Nature lessen Nature's Graces? If taught by both she betters both and honours Fair gifts with fair adorning, know you not There is a beauty that resides within;— A fine and delicate spirit of womanhood Of inward birth?—
Now first published from an MS.
62
BO-PEEP AND I SPY—
In the corner one— I spy Love! In the corner None, I spy Love.
1826. Now first published from an MS.
63
A SIMILE
As the shy hind, the soft-eyed gentle Brute Now moves, now stops, approaches by degrees— At length emerges from the shelt'ring Trees, Lur'd by her Hunter with the Shepherd's flute, Whose music travelling on the twilight breeze, When all besides was mute— She oft had heard, and ever lov'd to hear; She fearful Beast! but that no sound of Fear——
Undated. Now first published from an MS.
64
BARON GUELPH OF ADELSTAN. A FRAGMENT
For ever in the world of Fame We live and yet abide the same: Clouds may intercept our rays, Or desert Lands reflect our blaze.
The beauteous Month of May began, And all was Mirth and Sport, When Baron Guelph of Adelstan Took leave and left the Court.
From Fte and Rout and Opera far The full town he forsook, And changed his wand and golden star For Shepherd's Crown and Crook.
The knotted net of light and shade Beneath the budding tree, A sweeter day-bed for him made Than Couch and Canopy.
In copse or lane, as Choice or Chance Might lead him was he seen; And join'd at eve the village dance Upon the village green.
Nor endless—
Undated. Now first published from an MS.
FOOTNOTES:
[996:1] The following 'Fragments', numbered 1-63, consist of a few translations and versicles inserted by Coleridge in his various prose works, and a larger number of fragments, properly so called, which were published from MS. sources in 1893, or are now published for the first time. These fragments are taken exclusively from Coleridge's Notebooks (the source of Anima Poet, 1895), and were collected, transcribed, and dated by the present Editor for publication in 1893. The fragments now published for the first time were either not used by J. D. Campbell in 1893, or had not been discovered or transcribed. The very slight emendations of the text are due to the fact that Mr. Campbell printed from copies, and that the collection as a whole has now for the second time been collated with the original MSS. Fragments numbered 64, 96, 98, 111, 113, in P. W., 1893, are quotations from the plays and poems of William Cartwright (1611-1643). They are not included in the present issue. Fragments 56, 58, 59, 61, 63, 67, 80, 81, 83, 88, 91, 93, 94, 117-120, are inserted in the text or among 'Jeux d'Esprit', or under other headings. The chronological order is for the most part conjectural, and differs from that suggested in 1893. It must be borne in mind that the entries in Coleridge's Notebooks are not continuous, and that the additional matter in prose or verse was inserted from time to time, wherever a page or half a page was not filled up. It follows that the context is an uncertain guide to the date of any given entry. Pains have been taken to exclude quotations from older writers, which Coleridge neither claimed nor intended to claim for his own, but it is possible that two or three of these fragments of verse are not original.
[996:2] This quatrain, described as 'The concluding stanza of an Elegy on a Lady who died in Early Youth', is from part of a memorandum in S. T. C.'s handwriting headed 'Relics of my School-boy Muse; i. e. fragments of poems composed before my fifteenth year'. It follows First Advent of Love, 'O fair is Love's first hope,' &c. (vide ante, p. 443), and is compared with Age—a stanza written forty years later than the preceding—'Dewdrops are the gems of morning,' &c. (p. 440).
ANOTHER VERSION.
O'er her piled grave the gale of evening sighs, And flowers will grow upon its grassy slope, I wipe the dimming waters from mine eye Even on the cold grave dwells the Cherub Hope.
Unpublished Letter to Thomas Poole, Feb. 1. 1801, on the death of Mrs. Robinson ('Perdita').
[997:1] These two lines, slightly altered, were afterwards included in Alice du Clos (ll. 111, 112), ante, p. 473.
[998:1] The lines are an attempt to reduce to blank verse one of many minute descriptions of natural objects and scenic effects. The concluding lines are illegible.
[1001:1] These lines, 'slip torn from some old letter,' are endorsed by Poole, 'Reply of Coleridge on my urging him to exert himself.' First collected in 1893.
[1007:1] The translation is embodied in a marginal note on the following quotation from The Select Discourses by John Smith, 1660:—
'So the Sibyl was noted by Heraclitus as mainomen stomati gelasta kai akallpista phthengomen, as one speaking ridiculous and unseemly speeches with her furious mouth.' The fragment is misquoted and misunderstood: for gelasta, etc. should be amyrista unperfumed, inornate lays, not redolent of art.—Render it thus:
Not her's, etc. Stomati mainomen is 'with ecstatic mouth'.
J. D. Campbell in a note to this Fragment (P. W., 1893, pp. 464-5) quotes the 'following prose translation of the same passage', from Coleridge's Statesman's Manual (1816, p. 132); 'Multiscience (or a variety and quantity of acquired knowledge) does not test intelligence. But the Sibyll with wild enthusiastic mirth shrilling forth unmirthful, inornate and unperfumed truths, reaches to a thousand years with her voice through the power of God.'
The prose translation is an amalgam of two fragments. The first sentence is quoted by Diogenes Laertius, ix. 1: the second by Plutarch, de Pyth. orac. 6, p. 377.
[1009:1] These rhymes were addressed to a Miss Eliza Nixon, who supplied S. T. C. with books from a lending library.
METRICAL EXPERIMENTS[1014:1]
1
AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE
I heard a voice pealing loud triumph to-day: The voice of the Triumph, O Freedom, was thine! Sumptuous Tyranny challeng'd the fray,[1014:2] 'Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with wine.' Whose could the Triumph be Freedom but thine? Stars of the Heaven shine to feed thee; Hush'd are the Whirl-blasts and heed thee;— By her depth, by her height, Nature swears thou art mine!
1. Amphibrach tetrameter catalectic [breve macron breve] [breve macron breve] [breve macron breve] [breve macron]
2. Ditto.
3. Three pseudo amphimacers, and one long syllable.
4. Two dactyls, and one perfect Amphimacer.
5. = 1 and 2.
6. [macron breve macron] [macron breve macron breve]
7. [macron breve macron] [macron breve macron breve]
8. [macron breve macron] [macron breve macron], [macron breve macron], [macron breve macron]
1801. Now first published from an MS.
2
TROCHAICS
Thus she said, and, all around, Her diviner spirit, gan to borrow; Earthly Hearings hear unearthly sound, Hearts heroic faint, and sink aswound. Welcome, welcome, spite of pain and sorrow, Love to-day, and Thought to-morrow.
1801. Now first published from an MS.
3
THE PROPER UNMODIFIED DOCHMIUS
(i. e. antispastic Catalectic)
Bĕnīgn shōōtĭng stārs, ĕcstātīc dĕlīght.
or
The Lord's throne in Heaven ămīd āngĕl troops Amid troops of Angels God throned on high.
1801. Now first published from an MS.
4
IAMBICS
No cold shall thee benumb, Nor darkness stain thy sight; To thee new Heat, new Light Shall from this object come, Whose Praises if thou now wilt sound aright, My Pen shall give thee leave hereafter to be dumb.
1801. Now first published from an MS.
5
NONSENSE
Sing impassionate Soul! of Mohammed the complicate story: Sing, unfearful of Man, groaning and ending in care. Short the Command and the Toil, but endlessly mighty the Glory! Standing aloof if it chance, vainly our enemy's scare: What tho' we wretchedly fare, wearily drawing the Breath—, Malice in wonder may stare; merrily move we to Death.
Now first published from an MS.
6
A PLAINTIVE MOVEMENT
[11 4' 11 4' 10 6' 4 10']
Go little Pipe! for ever I must leave thee, Ah, vainly true! Never, ah never! must I more receive thee? Adieu! adieu! Well, thou art gone! and what remains behind, Soothing the soul to Hope? The moaning Wind— Hide with sere leaves my Grave's undaisied Slope.
(?) October. 1814.
[It would be better to alter this metre—
10 6' 6 10' 11 4' 11 4': and still more plaintive if the 1st and 4th were 11 11 as well as the 5th and 7th.]
Now first published from an MS.
7
AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE
[breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve macron] } [macron breve macron] } [breve breve macron]; [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve macron] } [macron breve macron] } [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron] [breve macron] } [breve breve macron] } [breve breve macron], [breve breve macron]
When thy Beauty appears, In its graces and airs, All bright as an Angel new dight from the Sky, At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, So strangely you dazzle my Eye.
Now first published from an MS.
8
NONSENSE VERSES
[AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE]
Ye fowls of ill presage, Go vanish into Night! Let all things sweet and fair Yield homage to the pair: From Infancy to Age Each Brow be smooth and bright, As Lake in evening light. To-day be Joy! and Sorrow Devoid of Blame (The widow'd Dame) Shall welcome be to-morrow. Thou, too, dull Night! may'st come unchid: This wall of Flame the Dark hath hid With turrets each a Pyramid;— For the Tears that we shed, are Gladness, A mockery of Sadness!
Now first published from an MS.
9
NONSENSE
[AN EXPERIMENT FOR A METRE]
I wish on earth to sing Of Jove the bounteous store, That all the Earth may ring With Tale of Wrong no more. I fear no foe in field or tent, Tho' weak our cause yet strong his Grace: As Polar roamers clad in Fur, Unweeting whither we were bent We found as 'twere a native place, Where not a Blast could stir: { For Jove had his Almighty Presence lent: { Each eye beheld, in each transfigured Face, { The radiant light of Joy, and Hope's forgotten Trace.
or
{ O then I sing Jove's bounteous store— { On rushing wing while sea-mews roar, { And raking Tides roll Thunder on the shore.
Now first published from an MS.
10
EXPERIMENTS IN METRE
There in some darksome shade Methinks I'd weep Myself asleep, And there forgotten fade.
First published from an MS. in 1893.
11
Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee! Why stays my Love? Bend, and in yon streamlet—lave thee! Why stays my Love? Oft have I at evening straying, Stood, thy branches long surveying, Graceful in the light breeze playing,— Why stays my Love?
1. Four Trochees /.
2. One spondee, Iambic .
3. Four Trochees 1.
4. Repeated from 2.
5, 6, 7. A triplet of 4 Trochees—8 repeated.
First published from an MS. in 1893.
12
[macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve] [macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve] [breve macron breve], [macron breve breve], [macron breve breve], [macron] [macron breve breve], [macron breve] [breve macron breve breve], [macron breve] etc.
Songs of Shepherds and rustical Roundelays, Forms of Fancies and whistled on Reeds, Songs to solace young Nymphs upon Holidays Are too unworthy for wonderful deeds— Round about, hornd Lucinda they swarmd, And her they informd, How minded they were, Each God and Goddess, To take human Bodies As Lords and Ladies to follow the Hare.
Now first published from an MS.
13
A METRICAL ACCIDENT
Curious instance of casual metre and rhyme in a prose narrative (The Life of Jerome of Prague). The metre is Amphibrach dimeter Catalectic [breve macron breve] [breve macron], and the rhymes antistrophic.
Then Jerome did call a From his flame-pointed Fence; b Which under he trod, c As upward to mount d From the fiery flood,— e
'I summon you all, a A hundred years hence, b To appear before God, c To give an account d Of my innocent blood!' e
July 7, 1826. Now first published from an MS.
NOTES BY PROFESSOR SAINTSBURY
1. I think most ears would take these as anapaestic throughout. But the introduction of Milton's
Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with wine
as a leit-motiv is of the first interest.
Description of it, l. 4, very curious. I should have thought no one could have run 'drunk with wine' together as one foot.
2. Admirable! I hardly know better trochaics.
3. Very interesting: but the terminology odd. The dochmius, a five-syllabled foot, is (in one form—there are about thirty!) an antispast [breve macron macron breve] plus a syllable. Catalectic means (properly) minus a syllable. But the verses as quantified are really dochmiac, and the only attempts I have seen. Shall I own I can't get any English Rhythm on them?
4. More ordinary: but a good arrangement and wonderful for the date.
5. Not nonsense at all: but, metrically, really his usual elegiac.
6. This, if early, is almost priceless. It is not only lovely in itself, but an obvious attempt to recover the zig-zag outline and varied cadence of seventeenth century born—the things that Shelley to some extent, Beddoes and Darley more, and Tennyson and Browning most were to master. I subscribe (most humbly) to his suggestions, especially his second.
7. Very like some late seventeenth-century (Dryden time) motives and a leetle 'Moorish'.
8. Like 6, and charming.
9. A sort of recurrence to Pindaric—again pioneer, as the soul of S. T. C. had to be always.
10 and 11. Ditto.
13. Again, I should say, anapaestic—but this anapaest and amphibrach quarrel is aspondos.
FOOTNOTES:
[1014:1] 'He attributed in part, his writing so little, to the extreme care and labour which he applied in elaborating his metres. He said that when he was intent on a new experiment in metre, the time and labour he bestowed were inconceivable; that he was quite an epicure in sound.'—Wordsworth on Coleridge (as reported by Mr. Justice Coleridge), Memoirs of W. Wordsworth, 1851, ii. 306.
In a letter to Poole dated March 16, 1801, Coleridge writes: 'I shall . . . immediately publish my Christabel, with the Essays on the "Preternatural", and on Metre' (Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 349). Something had been done towards the collection of materials for the first 'Essay', a great deal for the second. In a notebook (No. 22) which contains dated entries of 1805, 1815, &c., but of which the greater portion, as the context and various handwritings indicate, belongs to a much earlier date, there are some forty-eight numbered specimens of various metres derived from German and Italian sources. To some of these stanzas or strophes a metrical scheme with original variants is attached, whilst other schemes are exemplified by metrical experiments in English, headed 'Nonsense Verses'. Two specimens of these experiments, headed 'A Sunset' and 'What is Life', are included in the text of P. W., 1893 (pp. 172, 178), and in that of the present issue, pp. 393, 394. They are dated 1805 in accordance with the dates of Coleridge's own comments or afterthoughts, but it is almost certain that both sets of verses were composed in 1801. The stanza entitled 'An Angel Visitant' belongs to the same period. Ten other sets of 'Nonsense Verses' of uncertain but early date are now printed for the first time.
[1014:2] Sumptuous Tyranny floating this way. [MS.] On p. 17 of Notebook 22 Coleridge writes:—
—[u][u],—[u] [u],—[u],— Drunk with I—dolatry—drunk with, Wine.
A noble metre if I can find a metre to precede or follow.
Sūmptŭŏus Dālĭlă flōatĭng thĭs wāy Drunk with Idolatry, drunk with wine.
Both lines are from Milton's Samson Agonistes.
APPENDIX I
FIRST DRAFTS, EARLY VERSIONS, ETC.
A
[Vide ante, p. 100]
EFFUSION 35
Clevedon, August 20th, 1795.[1021:1]
(First Draft)
My pensive SARA! thy soft Cheek reclin'd Thus on my arm, how soothing sweet it is Beside our Cot to sit, our Cot o'ergrown With white-flowr'd Jasmine and the blossom'd myrtle, (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) 5 And watch the Clouds, that late were rich with light, Slow-sad'ning round, and mark the star of eve Serenely brilliant, like thy polish'd Sense, Shine opposite! What snatches of perfume The noiseless gale from yonder bean-field wafts! 10 The stilly murmur of the far-off Sea Tells us of Silence! and behold, my love! In the half-closed window we will place the Harp, Which by the desultory Breeze caress'd, Like some coy maid half willing to be woo'd, 15 Utters such sweet upbraidings as, perforce, Tempt to repeat the wrong!
[M. R.]
EFFUSION, p. 96. (1797.)
(Second Draft)
My pensive SARA! thy soft Cheek reclin'd Thus on my arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle (Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!) 5 And watch the Clouds that, late were rich with light, Slow-sadd'ning round, and mark the Star of eve Serenely brilliant (such should WISDOM be!) Shine opposite. How exquisite the Scents Snatch'd from yon Bean-field! And the world so hush'd! 10 The stilly murmur of the far-off Sea Tells us of Silence! And that simplest Lute Plac'd lengthways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory Breeze caress'd (Like some coy Maid half-yielding to her Lover) 15 It pours such sweet Upbraidings, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong. And now it's strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious Surges sink and rise In ary voyage, Music such as erst 20 Round rosy bowers (so Legendaries tell) To sleeping Maids came floating witchingly By wand'ring West winds stoln from Faery land; Where on some magic Hybla MELODIES Round many a newborn honey-dropping Flower 25 Footless and wild, like Birds of Paradise, Nor pause nor perch, warbling on untir'd wing.
And thus, my Love! as on the midway Slope Of yonder Hill I stretch my limbs at noon And tranquil muse upon Tranquillity. 30 Full many a Thought uncall'd and undetain'd And many idle flitting Phantasies Traverse my indolent and passive Mind As wild, as various, as the random Gales That swell or flutter on this subject Lute. 35 And what if All of animated Life Be but as Instruments diversly fram'd That tremble into thought, while thro' them breathes One infinite and intellectual Breeze, And all in diff'rent Heights so aptly hung, 40 That Murmurs indistinct and Bursts sublime, Shrill Discords and most soothing Melodies, Harmonious from Creation's vast concent— Thus God would be the universal Soul, Mechaniz'd matter as th' organic harps 45 And each one's Tunes be that, which each calls I.
But thy more serious Look a mild Reproof Darts, O beloved Woman, and thy words Pious and calm check these unhallow'd Thoughts, These Shapings of the unregen'rate Soul, 50 Bubbles, that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling Spring: Thou biddest me walk humbly with my God! Meek Daughter in the family of Christ. Wisely thou sayest, and holy are thy words! 55 Nor may I unblam'd or speak or think of Him, Th' INCOMPREHENSIBLE! save when with Awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels, Who with his saving Mercies heald me, A sinful and most miserable man 60 Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess PEACE and this COT, and THEE, my best-belov'd!
[MS. R.]
FOOTNOTES:
[1021:1] Now first published from Cottle's MSS. preserved in the Library of Rugby School.
LINENOTES:
[40-43]
In diff'rent heights, so aptly hung, that all In half-heard murmurs and loud bursts sublime, Shrill discords and most soothing melodies, Raises one great concent—one concent formed, Thus God, the only universal Soul—
Alternative version, MS. R.
B
RECOLLECTION[1023:1]
[Vide ante, pp. 53, 48]
As the tir'd savage, who his drowsy frame Had bask'd beneath the sun's unclouded flame, Awakes amid the troubles of the air, The skiey deluge and white lightning's glare, Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, 5 And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep! So tost by storms along life's wild'ring way Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day, When by my native brook I wont to rove, While HOPE with kisses nurs'd the infant LOVE! 10
Dear native brook! like peace so placidly Smoothing thro' fertile fields thy current meek— Dear native brook! where first young POESY Star'd wildly eager in her noon-tide dream; Where blameless Pleasures dimpled Quiet's cheek, 15 As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream! How many various-fated years have past, What blissful and what anguish'd hours, since last I skimm'd the smooth thin stone along thy breast Numb'ring its light leaps! Yet so deep imprest 20 Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny blaze, But strait, with all their tints, thy waters rise, The crossing plank, and margin's willowy maze, And bedded sand, that, vein'd with various dyes, 25 Gleam'd thro' thy bright transparence to the gaze— Ah! fair tho' faint those forms of memory seem Like Heaven's bright bow on thy smooth evening stream.
FOOTNOTES:
[1023:1] First published in The Watchman, No. V, April 2, 1796: reprinted in Note 39 (p. 566) of P. W., 1892. The Editor (J. D. Campbell) points out that this poem as printed in The Watchman is made up of lines 71-86 of Lines on an Autumnal Evening (vide ante, p. 53), of lines 2-11 of Sonnet to the River Otter, and of lines 13, 14 of The Gentle Look, and Anna and Harland.
C
THE DESTINY OF NATIONS
[Add. (MSS.) 34,225. f. 5. Vide ante, p. 131.]
[DRAFT I]
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song, Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd To the Great Father, only Rightful King, Eternal Father! king omnipotent; Beneath whose shadowing banners wide-unfurl'd 5 Justice leads forth her tyrant-quelling Hosts. Such Symphony demands best Instrument.
Seize, then, my Soul, from Freedom's trophied dome The harp which hanging high between the shields Of Brutus and Leonidas, oft gives 10 A fitful music, when with breeze-like Touch Great Spirits passing thrill its wings: the Bard Listens and knows, thy will to work by Fame. For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use Of all the powers which God for use had given? 15 But chiefly this, him first to view, him last, Thro' shapes, and sounds, and all the world of sense, The change of empires, and the deeds of Man Translucent, as thro' clouds that veil the Light. But most, O Man! in thine in wasted Sense 20 And the still growth of Immortality Image of God, and his Eternity. But some there are who deem themselves most wise When they within this gross and visible sphere Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent 25 Proud in their meanness—and themselves they mock With noisy emptiness of learned phrase Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences, Self-working tools, uncaused effects, and all Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves, 30 Untenanting Creation of its God!
But properties are God: the Naked Mass (If Mass there be, at best a guess obscure,) Acts only by its inactivity. Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier dream, 35 That as one body is the Aggregate Of Atoms numberless, each organiz'd, So by a strange and dim similitude Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds Form one all-conscious Spirit, who controlls 40 With absolute ubiquity of Thought All his component Monads: linked Minds, Each in his own sphere evermore evolving Its own entrusted powers—Howe'er this be, Whether a dream presumptious, caught from earth 45 And earthly form, or vision veiling Truth, Yet the Omnific Father of all Worlds God in God immanent, the eternal Word, That gives forth, yet remains—Sun, that at once Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the Height of Heaven, 50 Great general Agent in all finite souls, Doth in that action put on finiteness, For all his Thoughts are acts, and every act A Being of Substance; God impersonal, Yet in all worlds impersonate in all, 55 Absolute Infinite, whose dazzling robe Flows in rich folds, and darts in shooting Hues Of infinite Finiteness! he rolls each orb Matures each planet, and Tree, and spread thro' all Wields all the Universe of Life and Thought, 60 [Yet leaves to all the Creatures meanest, highest, Angelic Right, self-conscious Agency—]
[Note. The last two lines of Draft I are erased.]
[DRAFT II]
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song, Ere we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd To the Great Father, only Rightful king All-gracious Father, king Omnipotent! Mind! co-eternal Word! forth-breathing Sound! 5 Aye unconfounded: undivided Trine— Birth and Procession; ever re-incircling Act! God in God immanent, distinct yet one! Omnific, Omniform. The Immoveable, That goes forth and remains, eke——and at once 10 Dawns, rises, and sets and crowns the height of Heaven! [Cf. Anima Poet, 1895, p. 162.]
Such Symphony demands best Instrument. Seize then, my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome. The harp which hanging high between the shields Of Brutus and Leonidas, gives oft 15 A fateful Music, when with breeze-like Touch Pure spirits thrill its strings: the Poet's heart Listens, and smiling knows that Poets demand Once more to live for Man and work by Fame: For what is Freedom, but th' unfetter'd use 20 Of all the Powers, which God for use had given! Thro' the sweet Influence of harmonious Word——
* * * * *
The zephyr-travell'd Harp, that flashes forth Jets and low wooings of wild melody That sally forth and seek the meeting Ear, 25 Then start away, half-wanton, half-afraid Like the red-breast forced by wintry snows, In the first visits by the genial Hearth, From the fair Hand, that tempts it to— Or like a course of flame, from the deep sigh 30 Of the idly-musing Lover dreaming of his Love With thoughts and hopes and fears, {sinking, snatching, {as warily, upward Bending, recoiling, fluttering as itself
* * * * *
And cheats us with false prophecies of sound
LINENOTES:
[9] i. e. jure suo, by any inherent Right.
[DRAFT III]
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song, Till we the deep prelusive strain have pour'd To the Great Father, only Rightful king, All Gracious Father, king Omnipotent! To Him, the inseparate, unconfounded TRINE, 5 MIND! Co-eternal WORD! Forth-breathing SOUND! Birth! and PROCESSION! Ever-circling ACT! GOD in GOD immanent, distinct yet one! Sole Rest, true Substance of all finite Being! Omnific! Omniform! The Immoveable, 10 That goes forth and remaineth: and at once Dawns, rises, sets and crowns the height of Heaven!
* * * * *
Such Symphony demands best Instrument. Seize then, my Soul! from Freedom's trophied dome The Harp, that hanging high between the Shields 15 Of Brutus and Leonidas, flashes forth Starts of shrill-music, when with breeze-like Touch Departed Patriots thrill the——
D
PASSAGES IN SOUTHEY'S Joan of Arc (FIRST EDITION, 1796) CONTRIBUTED BY S. T. COLERIDGE[1027:1].
[Vide ante, p. 131]
BOOK I, ll. 33-51.
"O France," he cried, "my country"! When soft as breeze that curls the summer clouds At close of day, stole on his ear a voice 35 Seraphic. "Son of Orleans! grieve no more. His eye not slept, tho' long the All-just endured The woes of France; at length his bar'd right arm Volleys red thunder. From his veiling clouds Rushes the storm, Ruin and Fear and Death. 40 Take Son of Orleans the relief of Heaven: Nor thou the wintry hours of adverse fate Dream useless: tho' unhous'd thou roam awhile, The keen and icy wind that shivers thee Shall brace thine arm, and with stern discipline 45 Firm thy strong heart for fearless enterprise As who, through many a summer night serene Had hover'd round the fold with coward wish; Horrid with brumal ice, the fiercer wolf From his bleak mountain and his den of snows 50 Leaps terrible and mocks the shepherd's spears."
ll. 57-59.
nor those ingredients dire Erictho mingled on Pharsalia's field, Making the soul retenant its cold corse.
ll. 220-222.
the groves of Paradise Gave their mild echoes to the choral songs Of new-born beings.—
ll. 267-280.
And oft the tear from his averted eye He dried; mindful of fertile fields laid waste, Dispeopled hamlets, the lorn widow's groan, And the pale orphan's feeble cry for bread. 270 But when he told of those fierce sons of guilt That o'er this earth which God had fram'd so fair— Spread desolation, and its wood-crown'd hills Make echo to the merciless war-dog's howl; And how himself from such foul savagery 275 Had scarce escap'd with life, then his stretch'd arm Seem'd, as it wielded the resistless sword Of Vengeance: in his eager eye the soul Was eloquent; warm glow'd his manly cheek; And beat against his side the indignant heart. 280
ll. 454-460.
then methought From a dark lowering cloud, the womb of tempests, 455 A giant arm burst forth and dropt a sword That pierc'd like lightning thro' the midnight air. Then was there heard a voice, which in mine ear Shall echo, at that hour of dreadful joy When the pale foe shall wither in my rage. 460
ll. 484-496[1029:1]
Last evening lone in thought I wandered forth. Down in the dingle's depth there is a brook 485 That makes its way between the craggy stones, Murmuring hoarse murmurs. On an aged oak Whose root uptorn by tempests overhangs The stream, I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds Gather before the wind, while the rude dash 490 Of waters rock'd my senses, and the mists Rose round: there as I gazed, a form dim-seen Descended, like the dark and moving clouds That in the moonbeam change their shadowy shapes. His voice was on the breeze; he bade me hail 495 The missioned Maid! for lo! the hour was come.
BOOK III, ll. 73-82.
Martyr'd patriots—spirits pure Wept by the good ye fell! Yet still survives Sow'd by your toil and by your blood manur'd 75 Th' imperishable seed, soon to become The Tree, beneath whose vast and mighty shade The sons of men shall pitch their tents in peace, And in the unity of truth preserve The bond of love. For by the eye of God 80 Hath Virtue sworn, that never one good act Was work'd in vain.
BOOK IV, ll. 328-336.
The murmuring tide Lull'd her, and many a pensive pleasing dream Rose in sad shadowy trains at Memory's call. 330 She thought of Arc, and of the dingled brook, Whose waves oft leaping on their craggy course Made dance the low-hung willow's dripping twigs; And where it spread into a glassy lake, Of the old oak which on the smooth expanse, 335 Imag'd its hoary mossy-mantled boughs.
FOOTNOTES:
[1027:1] Over and above the contributions to the Second Book of the Joan of Arc, which Southey acknowledged, and which were afterwards embodied in the Destiny of Nations, Coleridge claimed a number of passages in Books I, III, and IV. The passages are marked by S. T. C. in an annotated copy of the First Edition 4{o}, at one time the property of Coleridge's friend W. Hood of Bristol, and afterwards of John Taylor Brown. See North British Review, January, 1864.
[1029:1] Suggested and in part written by S. T. C.
LINENOTES:
[37] not slept] slept not MS. corr. by Southey.
[39] red] S. T. C. notes this word as Southey's.
[46] Firm] S. T. C. writes against this word Not English.
E
[Vide ante, p. 186.]
THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,[1030:1] IN SEVEN PARTS.
ARGUMENT
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.
I.
It is an ancyent Marinere, And he stoppeth one of three: "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye "Now wherefore stoppest me?
"The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, 5 "And I am next of kin; "The Guests are met, the Feast is set,— "May'st hear the merry din.
But still he holds the wedding-guest— There was a Ship, quoth he— 10 "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, "Marinere! come with me."
He holds him with his skinny hand, Quoth he, there was a Ship— "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! 15 "Or my Staff shall make thee skip.
He holds him with his glittering eye— The wedding guest stood still And listens like a three year's child; The Marinere hath his will. 20
The wedding-guest sate on a stone, He cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent man, The bright-eyed Marinere.
The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd— 25 Merrily did we drop Below the Kirk, below the Hill, Below the Light-house top.
The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the Sea came he: 30 And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the Sea.
Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon— The wedding-guest here beat his breast, 35 For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry Minstralsy. 40
The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent Man, The bright-eyed Marinere.
Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, 45 A Wind and Tempest strong! For days and weeks it play'd us freaks— Like Chaff we drove along.
Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow, And it grew wond'rous cauld: 50 And Ice mast-high came floating by As green as Emerauld.
And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen; Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken— 55 The Ice was all between.
The Ice was here, the Ice was there, The Ice was all around: It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd— Like noises of a swound. 60
At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the Fog it came; And an it were a Christian Soul, We hail'd it in God's name.
The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, 65 And round and round it flew: The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit, The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
And a good south wind sprung up behind. The Albatross did follow; 70 And every day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo!
In mist or cloud on mast or shroud, It perch'd for vespers nine, Whiles all the night thro' fog smoke-white, 75 Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.
"God save thee, ancyent Marinere! "From the fiends that plague thee thus— "Why look'st thou so?"—with my cross bow I shot the Albatross. 80
II.
The Sun came up upon the right, Out of the Sea came he; And broad as a weft upon the left Went down into the Sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind, 85 But no sweet Bird did follow Ne any day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing And it would work 'em woe: 90 For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That made the Breeze to blow.
Ne dim ne red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird 95 That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay That bring the fog and mist.
The breezes blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free: 100 We were the first that ever burst Into that silent Sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be And we did speak only to break 105 The silence of the Sea.
All in a hot and copper sky The bloody sun at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. 110
Day after day, day after day, We stuck, ne breath ne motion. As idle as a painted Ship Upon a painted Ocean.
Water, water, every where, 115 And all the boards did shrink: Water, water, everywhere, Ne any drop to drink.
The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! 120 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy Sea.
About, about, in reel and rout, The Death-fires danc'd at night; The water, like a witch's oils, 125 burnt green and blue and white.
And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so: Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us From the Land of Mist and Snow. 130
And every tongue thro' utter drouth Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak no more than if We had been choked with soot.
Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks 135 Had I from old and young; Instead of the Cross the Albatross About my neck was hung.
III.
I saw a something in the Sky No bigger than my fist; 140 At first it seem'd a little speck And then it seem'd a mist: It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 145 And still it ner'd and ner'd; And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite, It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Ne could we laugh, ne wail: 150 Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood I bit my arm and suck'd the blood And cry'd, A sail! a sail!
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Agape they hear'd me call: 155 Gramercy! they for joy did grin And all at once their breath drew in As they were drinking all.
She doth not tack from side to side— Hither to work us weal 160 Withouten wind, withouten tide She steddies with upright keel.
The western wave was all a flame, The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave 165 Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.
And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars (Heaven's mother send us grace) 170 As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she neres and neres! Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun 175 Like restless gossameres?
Are those her naked ribs, which fleck'd The sun that did behind them peer? And are those two all, all the crew, That woman and her fleshless Pheere? 180
His bones were black with many a crack, All black and bare, I ween; Jet-black and bare, save where with rust Of mouldy damps and charnel crust They're patch'd with purple and green. 185
Her lips are red, her looks are free, Her locks are yellow as gold: Her skin is as white as leprosy, And she is far liker Death than he; Her flesh makes the still air cold. 190
The naked Hulk alongside came And the Twain were playing dice; "The Game is done! I've won, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
A gust of wind sterte up behind 195 And whistled thro' his bones; Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth Half-whistles and half-groans.
With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship; 200 While clombe above the Eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright Star Almost atween the tips.
One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger! to me) 205 Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang And curs'd me with his ee.
Four times fifty living men, With never a sigh or groan, With heavy thump, a lifeless lump 210 They dropp'd down one by one.
Their souls did from their bodies fly,— They fled to bliss or woe; And every soul it pass'd me by, Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. 215
IV.
"I fear thee, ancyent Marinere! "I fear thy skinny hand; "And thou art long, and lank, and brown, "As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.
"I fear thee and thy glittering eye 220 "And thy skinny hand so brown— Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest! This body dropt not down.
Alone, alone, all all alone Alone on the wide wide Sea; 225 And Christ would take no pity on My soul in agony.
The many men so beautiful, And they all dead did lie! And a million million slimy things 230 Liv'd on—and so did I.
I look'd upon the rotting Sea, And drew my eyes away; I look'd upon the eldritch deck, And there the dead men lay. 235
I look'd to Heav'n, and try'd to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust.
I clos'd my lids and kept them close, 240 Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 245 Ne rot, ne reek did they; The look with which they look'd on me, Had never pass'd away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high: 250 But O! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky, 255 And no where did abide: Softly she was going up And a star or two beside—
Her beams bemock'd the sultry main Like morning frosts yspread; 260 But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red.
Beyond the shadow of the ship I watch'd the water-snakes: 265 They mov'd in tracks of shining white; And when they rear'd, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship I watch'd their rich attire: 270 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black They coil'd and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.
O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: 275 A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I bless'd them unaware.
The self-same moment I could pray; 280 And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.
V.
O sleep, it is a gentle thing, Belov'd from pole to pole! 285 To Mary-queen the praise be yeven She sent the gentle sleep from heaven That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remain'd, 290 I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew And when I awoke it rain'd.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams 295 And still my body drank.
I mov'd and could not feel my limbs, I was so light, almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed Ghost. 300
The roaring wind! it roar'd far off, It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails That were so thin and sere.
The upper air bursts into life, 305 And a hundred fire-flags sheen To and fro they are hurried about; And to and fro, and in and out The stars dance on between.
The coming wind doth roar more loud; 310 The sails do sigh, like sedge: The rain pours down from one black cloud And the Moon is at its edge.
Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft, And the Moon is at its side: 315 Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning falls with never a jag A river steep and wide.
The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd And dropp'd down, like a stone! 320 Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan.
They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes: It had been strange, even in a dream 325 To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do: 330 They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools— We were a ghastly crew.
The body of my brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull'd at one rope, 335 But he said nought to me— And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be!
The day-light dawn'd—they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast: 340 Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths And from their bodies pass'd.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun: Slowly the sounds came back again 345 Now mix'd, now one by one.
Sometimes a dropping from the sky I heard the Lavrock sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 350 With their sweet jargoning.
And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song That makes the heavens be mute. 355
It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night 360 Singeth a quiet tune.
Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! "Marinere! thou hast thy will: "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still." 365
Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn.
Never sadder tale was heard 370 By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return'd to work As silent as beforne.
The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old: 375 Thought I, I am as thin as air— They cannot me behold.
Till noon we silently sail'd on Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship 380 Mov'd onward from beneath.
Under the keel nine fathom deep From the land of mist and snow The spirit slid: and it was He That made the Ship to go. 385 The sails at noon left off their tune And the Ship stood still also.
The sun right up above the mast Had fix'd her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir 390 With a short uneasy motion— Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion.
Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: 395 It flung the blood into my head, And I fell into a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return'd, 400 I heard and in my soul discern'd Two voices in the air,
"Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man? "By him who died on cross, "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low 405 "The harmless Albatross.
"The spirit who 'bideth by himself "In the land of mist and snow, "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man "Who shot him with his bow. 410
The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he the man hath penance done, And penance more will do.
VI.
FIRST VOICE.
"But tell me, tell me! speak again, 415 "Thy soft response renewing— "What makes that ship drive on so fast? "What is the Ocean doing?
SECOND VOICE.
"Still as a Slave before his Lord, "The Ocean hath no blast: 420 "His great bright eye most silently "Up to the moon is cast—
"If he may know which way to go, "For she guides him smooth or grim. "See, brother, see! how graciously 425 "She looketh down on him.
FIRST VOICE.
"But why drives on that ship so fast "Withouten wave or wind?
SECOND VOICE.
"The air is cut away before, "And closes from behind. 430
"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high, "Or we shall be belated: "For slow and slow that ship will go, "When the Marinere's trance is abated."
I woke, and we were sailing on 435 As in a gentle weather: 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together.
All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 440 All fix'd on me their stony eyes That in the moon did glitter.
The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never pass'd away: I could not draw my een from theirs 445 Ne turn them up to pray.
And in its time the spell was snapt, And I could move my een: I look'd far-forth, but little saw Of what might else be seen. 450
Like one, that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd round, walks on And turns no more his head: Because he knows, a frightful fiend 455 Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breath'd a wind on me, Ne sound ne motion made: Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade. 460
It rais'd my hair, it fann'd my cheek, Like a meadow-gale of spring— It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming.
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 465 Yet she sail'd softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze— On me alone it blew.
O dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? 470 Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk? Is this mine own countre?
We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray— "O let me be awake, my God! 475 "Or let me sleep alway!"
The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moon light lay, And the shadow of the moon. 480
The moonlight bay was white all o'er, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, Like as of torches came.
A little distance from the prow 485 Those dark-red shadows were; But soon I saw that my own flesh Was red as in a glare.
I turn'd my head in fear and dread, And by the holy rood, 490 The bodies had advanc'd, and now Before the mast they stood.
They lifted up their stiff right arms, They held them strait and tight; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, 495 A torch that's borne upright. Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on In the red and smoky light.
I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before. 500 There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the shore.
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock: The moonlight steep'd in silentness 505 The steady weathercock.
And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. 510
A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck— O Christ! what saw I there?
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; 515 And by the Holy rood A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood.
This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand: It was a heavenly sight: 520 They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light:
This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand, No voice did they impart— No voice; but O! the silence sank, 525 Like music on my heart.
Eftsones I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer: My head was turn'd perforce away And I saw a boat appear. 530
Then vanish'd all the lovely lights; The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew. The wind, that shade nor motion made, 535 On me alone it blew.
The pilot, and the pilot's boy I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy, The dead men could not blast. 540
I saw a third—I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 545 The Albatross's blood.
VII.
This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the Sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with Marineres 550 That come from a far Contre.
He kneels at morn and noon and eve— He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss, that wholly hides The rotted old Oak-stump. 555
The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow! "Where are those lights so many and fair "That signal made but now?
"Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said— 560 "And they answer'd not our cheer. "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails "How thin they are and sere! "I never saw aught like to them "Unless perchance it were 565
"The skeletons of leaves that lag "My forest-brook along: "When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow, "And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below "That eats the she-wolfs young. 570
"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look— (The Pilot made reply) "I am afear'd—"Push on, push on! "Said the Hermit cheerily.
The Boat came closer to the Ship, 575 But I ne spake ne stirr'd! The Boat came close beneath the Ship, And strait a sound was heard!
Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: 580 It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay; The Ship went down like lead.
Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote: Like one that had been seven days drown'd 585 My body lay afloat: But, swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat.
Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship, The boat spun round and round: 590 And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound.
I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit. The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes 595 And pray'd where he did sit.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro, 600 "Ha! ha!" quoth he—"full plain I see, "The devil knows how to row."
And now all in mine own Countre I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, 605 And scarcely he could stand.
"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man! The Hermit cross'd his brow— "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say "What manner man art thou?" 610
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free.
Since then at an uncertain hour, 615 Now oftimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure.
I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; 620 The moment that his face I see I know the man that must hear me; To him my tale I teach.
What loud uproar bursts from that door! The Wedding-guests are there; 625 But in the Garden-bower the Bride And Bride-maids singing are: And hark the little Vesper-bell Which biddeth me to prayer.
O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been 630 Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.
O sweeter than the Marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me 635 To walk together to the Kirk With a goodly company.
To walk together to the Kirk And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, 640 Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And Youths, and Maidens gay.
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well who loveth well, 645 Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best who loveth best, All things both great and small: For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all. 650
The Marinere, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
He went, like one that hath been stunn'd 655 And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.
FOOTNOTES:
[1030:1] First published in Lyrical Ballads, 1798, pp. [1]-27; republished in Lyrical Ballads, 1800, vol. i; Lyrical Ballads, 1802, vol. i; Lyrical Ballads, 1805, vol. i; reprinted in The Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Appendix, pp. 404-29, London: E. Moxon, Son, and Company, [1870]; reprinted in Lyrical Ballads edition of 1798, edited by Edward Dowden, LL D., 1890, in P. W., 1893, Appendix E, pp. 512-20, and in Lyrical Ballads . . . 1798, edited by Thomas Hutchinson, 1898. The text of the present issue has been collated with that of an early copy of Lyrical Ballads, 1798 (containing Lewti, pp. 63-7), presented by Coleridge to his sister-in-law, Miss Martha Fricker. The lines were not numbered in L. B., 1798.
LINENOTES:
[63] And an] As if MS. corr. by S. T. C.
[75] Corrected in the Errata to fog-smoke white.
[83] [*weft*] [S. T. C.]
[179] For "those" read "these" Errata, p. [221], L. B. 1798.
[After 338] * * * * * * MS., L. B. 1798.
F
THE RAVEN
[As printed in the Morning Post, March 10, 1798.]
[Vide ante, p. 169.]
Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree, There was of Swine a large company. They were making a rude repast, Grunting as they crunch'd the mast. Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high— 5 One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy. Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly; He belong'd, I believe, to the witch MELANCHOLY! Blacker was he than the blackest jet; Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet. 10 He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait, By the side of a river both deep and great. Where then did the Raven go? He went high and low— O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go! 15 Many Autumns, many Springs; Travell'd he with wand'ring wings; Many Summers, many Winters— I can't tell half his adventures. At length he return'd, and with him a she; 20 And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree. They built them a nest in the topmost bough, And young ones they had, and were jolly enow. But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise: His brow like a pent-house hung over his eyes. 25 He'd an axe in his hand, and he nothing spoke, But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak. His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart, And his wife she did die of a broken heart! 30 The branches from off it the Woodman did sever! And they floated it down on the course of the River: They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip, And with this tree and others they built up a ship. The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land, 35 A tempest arose which no ship could withstand. It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast— The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast. He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls— They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls. 40 The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet, They had taken his all, and REVENGE WAS SWEET!
G
LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT[1049:1]
[Vide ante, p. 253.]
(1)
[Add. MSS. 27,902.]
High o'er the silver rocks I roved To forget the form I loved In hopes fond fancy would be kind And steal my Mary from my mind T'was twilight and the lunar beam 5 Sailed slowly o'er Tamaha's stream As down its sides the water strayed Bright on a rock the moonbeam playe[d] It shone, half-sheltered from the view By pendent boughs of tressy yew 10 True, true to love but false to rest, So fancy whispered to my breast, So shines her forehead smooth and fair Gleaming through her sable hair I turned to heaven—but viewed on high 15 The languid lustre of her eye The moons mild radiant edge I saw Peeping a black-arched cloud below Nor yet its faint and paly beam Could tinge its skirt with yellow gleam 20 I saw the white waves o'er and o'er Break against a curved shore Now disappearing from the sight Now twinkling regular and white Her mouth, her smiling mouth can shew 25 As white and regular a row Haste Haste, some God indulgent prove And bear me, bear me to my love Then might—for yet the sultry hour Glows from the sun's oppressive power 30 Then might her bosom soft and white Heave upon my swimming sight As yon two swans together heave Upon the gently-swelling wave Haste—haste some God indulgent prove 35 And bear—oh bear me to my love.
(2)
[Add. MSS. 35,343.]
THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHAUNT [*Wild Indians*]
High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd [*silver*] To forget the form I lov'd. Image of LEWTI! from my mind [*Cora*] Depart! for LEWTI is not kind! [*Cora*] Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright beam 5 Speckled with many a moving shade, Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream; But brightlier on the Rock it play'd, The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! 10 True to Love, but false to Rest, My fancy whisper'd in my breast— So shines my Lewti's forehead fair Gleaming thro' her sable hair, Image of LEWTI! from my mind 15 [*Cora*] Depart! for LEWTI is not kind. [*Cora*]
I saw a cloud of whitest hue; Onward to the Moon it pass'd! Still brighter and more bright it grew With floating colours not a few, 20 Till it reach'd the Moon at last.
LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT
(3)
[Add. MSS. 35,343, f. 3 recto.]
High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd To forget the form I lov'd. Image of LEWTI! from my mind Depart: for LEWTI is not kind. 25
Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m] Speckled with many a moving shade, Danc'd upon TAMAHA'S stream; But brightlier on the Rock it play'd, The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view 30 By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! True to Love, but false to Rest, My fancy whisper'd in my breast— So shines my LEWTI'S forehead fair Gleaming thro' her sable hair! 35 Image of LEWTI! from my mind Depart—for LEWTI is not kind.
I saw a Cloud of whitest hue— Onward to the Moon it pass'd. Still brighter and more bright it grew 40 With floating colours not a few, Till it reach'd the Moon at last: Then the Cloud was wholly bright With a rich and amber light! [*deep*] And so with many a hope I seek, 45 And so with joy I find my LEWTI: And even so my pale wan cheek Drinks in as deep a flush of Beauty Image of LEWTI! leave my mind If Lewti never will be kind! 50
Away the little Cloud, away. Away it goes—away so soon [*alone*] Alas! it has no power to stay: It's hues are dim, it's hues are grey Away it passes from the Moon. 55 And now tis whiter than before— As white as my poor cheek will be, When, LEWTI! on my couch I lie A dying Man for Love of thee! [*Thou living Image*] Image of LEWTI in my mind, 60 Methinks thou lookest not [*kin*] unkind!
FOOTNOTES:
[1049:1] The first ten lines of MS. version (1) were first published in Note 44 of P. W., 1893, p. 518, and the MS. as a whole is included in Coleridge's Poems, A Facsimile Reproduction of The Proofs and MSS., &c., 1899, pp. 132-4. MSS. (2) and (3) are now printed for the first time.
H
INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE[1052:1]
[Vide ante, p. 330.]
TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST.
SIR,
The following Poem is the Introduction to a somewhat longer one, for which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the Old Ballad word, Ladie, for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust, that 'the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity' (as Camden says) will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties explode around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old fashioned love; and, five years ago, I own, I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly unspired [? inspired] with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have resided a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
1
O leave the Lily on its stem; O leave the Rose upon the spray; O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids! And listen to my lay.
2
A Cypress and a Myrtle bough, 5 This morn around my harp you twin'd, Because it fashion'd mournfully Its murmurs in the wind.
3
And now a Tale of Love and Woe, A woeful Tale of Love I sing: 10 Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs And trembles on the string.
4
But most, my own dear Genevieve! It sighs and trembles most for thee! O come and hear the cruel wrongs 15 Befel the dark Ladie!
5
Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope, my joy, my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. 20
6
All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.
7
O ever in my waking dreams, 25 I dwell upon that happy hour, When midway on the Mount I sate Beside the ruin'd Tow'r.
8
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve, 30 And she was there, my hope! my joy! My own dear Genevieve!
9
She lean'd against the armed Man The statue of the armed Knight— She stood and listen'd to my harp, 35 Amid the ling'ring light.
10
I play'd a sad and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story, An old rude song, that fitted well The ruin wild and hoary. 40
11
She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace: For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face.
12
I told her of the Knight that wore 45 Upon his shield a burning brand. And how for ten long years he woo'd The Ladie of the Land:
13
I told her, how he pin'd, and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone, 50 With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own!
14
She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace. And she forgave me, that I gaz'd 55 Too fondly on her face!
15
But when I told the cruel scorn, That craz'd this bold and lovely Knight; And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night; 60
16
And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths, Thro' briars and swampy mosses beat; How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs, And low stubs gor'd his feet.
17
How sometimes from the savage den, 65 And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once, In green and sunny glade;
18
There came and look'd him in the face An Angel beautiful and bright, 70 And how he knew it was a Fiend, This mis'rable Knight!
19
And how, unknowing what he did, He leapt amid a lawless band, And sav'd from outrage worse than death 75 The Ladie of the Land.
20
And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees, And how she tended him in vain, And meekly strove to expiate The scorn that craz'd his brain; 80
21
And how she nurs'd him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest leaves A dying man he lay;
22
His dying words—but when I reach'd 85 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My fault'ring voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity.
23
All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill'd my guiltless Genevieve— 90 The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve;
24
And hopes and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng; And gentle wishes long subdu'd, 95 Subdu'd and cherish'd long.
25
She wept with pity and delight— She blush'd with love and maiden shame, And like the murmurs of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. 100
26
I saw her bosom heave and swell, Heave and swell with inward sighs— I could not choose but love to see Her gentle bosom rise.
27
Her wet cheek glow'd; she stept aside, 105 As conscious of my look she stept; Then suddenly, with tim'rous eye, She flew to me, and wept;
28
She half-inclos'd me with her arms— She press'd me with a meek embrace; 110 And, bending back her head, look'd up, And gaz'd upon my face.
29
'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel than see, 115 The swelling of her heart.
30
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, And told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beaut'ous bride. 120
31
And now once more a tale of woe, A woeful tale of love, I sing: For thee, my Genevieve! it sighs, And trembles on the string.
32
When last I sang the cruel scorn 125 That craz'd this bold and lonely Knight, And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night;
33
I promis'd thee a sister tale Of Man's perfidious cruelty: 130 Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong Befel the Dark Ladie.
End of the Introduction.
FOOTNOTES:
[1052:1] Published in the Morning Post, Dec. 21, 1799. Collated with two MSS.—MS. (1); MS. (2)—in the British Museum [Add. MSS. 27,902]. See Coleridge's Poems, A Facsimile of the Proofs, &c., edited by the late James Dykes Campbell, 1899. MS. 1 consists of thirty-two stanzas (unnumbered), written on nine pages: MS. 2 (which begins with stanza 6, and ends with stanza 30) of fourteen stanzas (unnumbered) written on four pages.
LINENOTES:
Title—The Dark Ladi. MS. B. M. (1).
[2] Rose upon] Rose-bud on MS. B. M. (1).
[3] fair] dear erased MS. (1).
[7] mournfully] sad and sweet MS. (1).
[8] in] to MS. (1).
[16] Ladie] Ladi MS. (2).
[20] The song that makes her grieve. MS. (1).
[21-4]
Each thought, each feeling of the Soul, All lovely sights, each tender, name, All, all are ministers of Love, That stir our mortal frame.
MS. (1).
[22] All, all that stirs this mortal frame MS. B. M. (2).
[24] feed] fan MS. (2).
[25]
O ever in my lonely walk
erased MS. (1).
In lonely walk and noontide dreams
MS. (1).
O ever when I walk alone
erased MS. (1).
[26]
I feed upon that blissful hour
MS. (1).
I feed upon that hour of Bliss
erased MS. (1).
That ruddy eve that blissful hour
erased MS. (1).
[26] dwell] feed MS. (2).
[27]
we [*sate*] When midway on the mount I stood
MS. (1).
When we too stood upon the Hill
erased MS. (1).
[29]
The Moonshine stole upon the ground
erased MS. (1).
The Moon [*be blended on*] the ground
MS. (1).
[30] Had] And erased MS. (1).
[31] was there] stood near (was there erased) MS. (1).
[33-6]
Against a grey stone rudely carv'd, The statue of an armed Knight, in She lean'd [*the*] melancholy mood, [*And*] To watch'd the lingering Light
MS. (1).
[33-4]
[*She lean'd against*] a [*chissold stone*] [*tall*] [*The statue of a*]
MS. (1).
[34] the] an MS. (1) [Stanza 10, revised.]
[37] sad] soft MSS. (1, 2). doleful] mournful erased MS. (1).
[39] An] And MS. (2).
rude] wild erased MS. (1).
[41-4]
With flitting Blush and downcast eyes, In modest melancholy grace The Maiden stood: perchance I gaz'd Too fondly on her face.
Erased MS. (1).
[45-8] om. MS. (1).
[49] [*I gaz'd and when*] I sang of love MS. (1).
[53-6]
With flitting Blush and downcast eyes and With downcast eyes in modest grace for [*She listen'd; and perchance I gaz'd*] Too fondly on her face.
MS. (1).
[55] And] Yet MS. (1).
[57] told] sang MS. (1).
[59] roam'd] cross'd MS. (1).
[60] or] nor MS. (1).
[61-4] om. MS. (1).]
[65] How sometimes from the hollow Trees MS. (1).
[69-72]
look'd There came and [*star'd*] him in the face An[d] Angel beautiful and bright, And how he knew it was a fiend And yell'd with strange affright.
MS. (1).
[74] lawless] murderous MS. (1).
[77] clasp'd] kiss'd MS. (1).
[79] meekly] how she MS. (1).
[87] fault'ring] trembling MS. (1) erased.
[90] guiltless] guileless MS. (1).
[Between 96 and 97]
And while midnight [*While*] Fancy like the [*nuptial*] Torch That bends and rises in the wind Lit up with wild and broken lights The Tumult of her mind.
MS. (1) erased.
[99]
And like the murmur of a dream
MSS. (1, 2).
And [*in a*] murmur [*faint and sweet*]
MS. (1) erased.
[100]
[*She half pronounced my name.*] She breathed her Lover's name.
MS. (1) erased.
[101-4]
I saw her gentle Bosom heave Th' inaudible and frequent sigh; modest And ah! the [*bashful*] Maiden mark'd The wanderings of my eye[s]
MS. (1) erased.
[105-8] om. MS. (1).
[105] cheek] cheeks MS. (2).
[108] flew] fled MS. (2).
[109-16]
side And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd And ask'd me with her swimming eyes might That I [*would*] rather feel than see Her gentle Bosom rise.—
Or
side And closely to my [*heart*] she press'd And closer still with bashful art— That I might rather feel than see The swelling of her Heart.
MS. (1) erased.
[111] And] Then MS. (2) erased.
[117]
And now serene, serene and chaste But soon in calm and solemn tone
MS. (1) erased.
[118] And] She MS. (1) erased. virgin] maiden MSS. (1, 2).
[120] bright] dear MS. (1) erased. beaut'ous] lovely MS. (1) erased.
[125-8]
When last I sang of Him whose heart Was broken by a woman's scorn— And how he cross'd the mountain woods All frantic and forlorn
MS. (1).
[129] sister] moving MS. (1).
[131] wrong] wrongs MS. (1).
[132] Ladie] Ladi MS. (2).
[After 132] The Dark Ladi. MS. (1).
I
THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY.[1060:1]
[Vide ante, p. 421.]
AN HISTORIC DRAMA
IN
FIVE ACTS.
FIRST PERFORMED WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, ON SATURDAY, FEBRUARY THE 7TH, 1801.
APOECIDES. Quis hoc scit factum?
EPIDICUS. Ego ita esse factum dico.
PERIPHANES. Scin' tu istuc?
EPIDICUS. Scio.
PERIPHANES. Qui tu scis?
EPIDICUS. Quia ego vidi.
PERIPHANES. [Ipse vidistine [Tragediam?]] Nimis factum bene!
EPIDICUS. Sed vestita, aurata, ornata, ut lepide! ut concinne! ut nove! [Proh Dii immortales! tempestatem (plausuum Populus) nobis nocte hac misit!][1060:2]
(Plaut. Epidicus. Act 2. Scen. 2, ll. 22 sqq.)
LONDON.
PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[1060:1] Now first published from an MS. in the British Museum (Add. MSS. 34,225). The Triumph of Loyalty, 'a sort of dramatic romance' (see Letter to Poole, December 5, 1800; Letters of S. T. C., 1895, i. 343), was begun and left unfinished in the late autumn of 1800. An excerpt (ll. 277-358) was revised and published as 'A Night Scene. A Dramatic Fragment,' in Sibylline Leaves (1817), vide ante, pp. 421-3. The revision of the excerpt (ll. 263-349) with respect to the order and arrangement of its component parts is indicated by asterisks, which appear to be contemporary with the MS. I have, therefore, in printing the MS., followed the revised and not the original order of these lines. Again, in the hitherto unpublished portion of the MS. (ll. 1-263) I have omitted rough drafts of passages which were rewritten, either on the same page or on the reverse of the leaf.
[1060:2] The words enclosed in brackets are not to be found in the text. They were either invented or adapted by Coleridge ad hoc. The text of the passage as a whole has been reconstructed by modern editors.
DRAMATIS PERSON.
Earl Henry MR. KEMBLE
Don Curio MR. C. KEMBLE
Sandoval MR. BARRYMORE
Alva, the Chancellor MR. AICKIN
Barnard, Earl Henry's Groom of the Chamber MR. SUETT
Don Fernandez MR. BANNISTER, JUN.
The Governor of the State Prison MR. DAVIS
Herreras (Oropeza's Uncle) and three Conspirators MESSRS. PACKER, WENTWORTH, MATHEW, and GIBBON
Officers and Soldiers of Earl Henry's Regiment.
The Queen of Navarre MRS. SIDDONS
Donna Oropeza MRS. POWELL
Mira, her attendant MISS DECAMP
Aspasia, a singer MRS. CROUCH
Scene, partly at the Country seat of Donna Oropeza, and partly in Pampilona [sic], the Capital of Navarre.
THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY
ACT I
SCENE I. A cultivated Plain, skirted on the Left by a Wood. The Pyrenees are visible in the distance. Small knots of Soldiers all in the military Dress of the middle Ages are seen passing across the Stage. Then
Enter EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL, both armed.
Sandoval. A delightful plain this, and doubly pleasant after so long and wearisome a descent from the Pyranees [sic]. Did you not observe how our poor over wearied horses mended their pace as soon as they reached it?
Earl Henry. I must entreat your forgiveness, gallant 5 Castilian! I ought ere this to have bade you welcome to my native Navarre.
Sandoval. Cheerily, General! Navarre has indeed but ill repaid your services, in thus recalling you from the head of an army which you yourself had collected and disciplined. 10 But the wrongs and insults which you have suffered——
Earl Henry. Deserve my thanks, Friend! In the sunshine of Court-favor I could only believe that I loved my Queen and my Country: now I know it. But why name I my Country or my Sovereign? I owe all my Wrongs to the private enmity of 15 the Chancellor.
Sandoval. Heaven be praised, you have atchieved [sic] a delicious revenge upon him!—that the same Courier who brought the orders for your recall carried back with him the first tidings of your Victory—it was exquisite good fortune! 20
Earl Henry. Sandoval! my gallant Friend! Let me not deceive you. To you I have vowed an undisguised openness. The gloom which overcast me, was occasioned by causes of less public import.
Sandoval. Connected, I presume, with that Mansion, the 25 spacious pleasure grounds of which we noticed as we were descending from the mountain. Lawn and Grove, River and Hillock—it looked within these high walls, like a World of itself.
Earl Henry. This Wood scarcely conceals these high walls 30 from us. Alas! I know the place too well. . . . Nay, why too well?—But wherefore spake you, Sandoval, of this Mansion? What know you?
Sandoval. Nothing. Therefore I spake of it. On our descent from the mountain I pointed it out to you and asked to whom 35 it belonged—you became suddenly absent, and answered me only by looks of Disturbance and Anxiety.
Earl Henry. That Mansion once belonged to Manric [sic], Lord of Valdez.
Sandoval. Alas, poor Man! the same, who had dangerous 40 claims to the Throne of Navarre.
Earl Henry. Claims?—Say rather, pretensions—plausible only to the unreasoning Multitude.
Sandoval. Pretensions then (with bitterness).
Earl Henry. Bad as these were, the means he employed to 45 give effect to them were still worse. He trafficked with France against the independence of his Country. He was a traitor, my Friend! and died a traitor's death. His two sons suffered with him, and many, (I fear, too many) of his adherents.
Sandoval. Earl Henry! (a pause) If the sentence were just, 50 why was not the execution of it public. . . . It is reported, that they were—but no! I will not believe it—the honest soul of my friend would not justify so foul a deed.
Earl Henry. Speak plainly—what is reported?
Sandoval. That they were all assassinated by order of the 55 new Queen.
Earl Henry. Accursed be the hearts that framed and the tongues that scattered the Calumny!—The Queen was scarcely seated on her throne; the Chancellor, who had been her Guardian, exerted a pernicious influence over her 60 judgement—she was taught to fear dangerous commotions in the Capital, she was intreated to prevent the bloodshed of the deluded citizens, and thus overawed she reluctantly consented to permit the reinforcement of an obsolete law, and——
Sandoval. They were not assassinated then?—— 65
Earl Henry. Why these bitter tones to me, Sandoval? Can a law assassinate? Don Manrique [sic] and his accomplices drank the sleepy poison adjudged by that law in the State Prison at Pampilona. At that time I was with the army on the frontiers of France. 70
Sandoval. Had you been in the Capital——
Earl Henry. I would have pledged my life on the safety of a public Trial and a public Punishment.
Sandoval. Poisoned! The Father and his Sons!—And this, Earl Henry, was the first act of that Queen, whom you idolize! 75
Earl Henry. No, Sandoval, No! This was not her act. She roused herself from the stupor of alarm, she suspended in opposition to the advice of her council, all proceedings against the inferior partisans of the Conspiracy; she facilitated the escape of Don Manrique's brother, and to Donna Oropeza, his 80 daughter and only surviving child, she restored all her father's possessions, nay became herself her Protectress and Friend. These were the acts, these the first acts of my royal Mistress.
Sandoval. And how did Donna Oropeza receive these favors?
Earl Henry. Why ask you that? Did they not fall on her, 85 like heavenly dews?
Sandoval. And will they not rise again, like an earthly mist? What is Gratitude opposed to Ambition, filial revenge, and Woman's rivalry—what is it but a cruel Curb in the mouth of a fiery Horse, maddening the fierce animal whom it cannot 90 restrain? Forgive me, Earl Henry! I meant not to move you so deeply.
Earl Henry. Sandoval, you have uttered that in a waking hour which having once dreamt, I feared the return of sleep lest I should dream it over again. My Friend (his Voice 95 trembling) I woo'd the daughter of Don Manrique, but we are interrupted.
Sandoval. It is Fernandez.
Earl Henry (struggling with his emotions). A true-hearted old fellow—— 100
Sandoval. As splenetic as he is brave.
Enter FERNANDEZ.
Earl Henry. Well, my ancient! how did you like our tour through the mountains. (EARL HENRY sits down on the seat by the woodside.)
Fernandez. But little, General! and my faithful charger 105 Liked it still less. The field of battle in the level plain By Fontarabia was more to our taste.
Earl Henry. Where is my brother, Don Curio! Have you Seen him of late?
Fernandez. Scarcely, dear General! 110 For by my troth I have been laughing at him Even till the merry tears so filled my eyes That I lost sight of him.
Sandoval. But wherefore, Captain.
Fernandez. He hath been studying speeches with fierce gestures; Speeches brimfull of wrath and indignation, 115 The which he hopes to vent in open council: And, in the heat and fury of this fancy He grasp'd your groom of the Chamber by the throat Who squeaking piteously, Ey! quoth your brother, I cry you Mercy, Fool! Hadst been indeed 120 The Chancellor, I should have strangled thee.
Sandoval. Ha, ha! poor Barnard!
Fernandez. What you know my Gentleman, My Groom of the Chamber, my Sieur Barnard, hey?
Sandoval. I know him for a barren-pated coxcomb.
Fernandez. But very weedy, Sir! in worthless phrases, 125 A sedulous eschewer of the popular And the colloquial—one who seeketh dignity I' th' paths of circumlocution! It would have Surpris'd you tho', to hear how nat'rally He squeak'd when Curio had him by the throat. 130
Sandoval. I know him too for an habitual scorner Of Truth.
Fernandez. And one that lies more dully than Old Women dream, without pretence of fancy, Humour or mirth, a most disinterested, Gratuitous Liar.
Earl Henry. Ho! enough, enough! 135 Spare him, I pray you, were't but from respect To the presence of his Lord.
Sandoval. I stand reprov'd.
Fernandez. I too, but that I know our noble General Maintains him near his person, only that If he should ever go in jeopardy 140 Of being damn'd (as he's now persecuted) For his virtue and fair sense, he may be sav'd By the supererogation of this Fellow's Folly and Worthlessness.——
Earl Henry. Hold, hold, good Ancient! Do you not know that this Barnard saved my life? 145 Well, but my brother——
Fernandez. He will soon be here. I swear by this, my sword, dear General. I swear he has a Hero's soul—I only Wish I could communicate to him My gift of governing the spleen.—Then he 150 Has had his colors, the drums too of the Regiment All put in cases—O, that stirs the Soldiery.
Earl Henry. Impetuous Boy!
Fernandez. Nay, Fear not for them, General. The Chancellor, no doubt, will take good care To let their blood grow cool on garrison duty. 155
Sandoval. Earl Henry! Frown not thus upon Fernandez; 'Tis said, and all the Soldiery believe it, That the five Regiments who return with you Will be dispers'd in garrisons and castles, And other Jails of honourable name. 160 So great a crime it is to have been present In duty and devotion to a Hero!
Fernandez. What now? What now? The politic Chancellor is The Soldier's friend, and rather than not give Snug pensions to brave Men, he'll overlook 165 All small disqualifying circumstances Of youth and health, keen eye and muscular limb, He'll count our scars, and set them down for maims. And gain us thus all privileges and profits Of Invalids and superannuate veterans. 170
Earl Henry. 'Tis but an idle rumour—See! they come.
Enter BARNARD and a number of Soldiers, their Colours wound up, and the Drums in Cases, and after them DON CURIO. All pay the military Honors to the General. During this time FERNANDEZ has hurried up in front of the Stage.
Enter DON CURIO.
Don Curio (advancing to EARL HENRY). Has Barnard told you? Insult on insult! by mine honor, Brother! (BARNARD goes beside CURIO.) And by our Father's soul they mean to saint you, Having first prov'd your Patience more than mortal. 175 |
|
