Poems Of Coleridge Part 8

Which when I saw and when I heard, I wonder'd what might ail the bird; For nothing near it could I see, Save the gra.s.s 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 bird's trouble meant, 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 lady's sake I stooped, methought, the dove to take, 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 dove's its head it crouched; And with the dove it heaves and stirs, Swelling its neck as she swelled hers!

I woke; it was the midnight hour, The clock was echoing in the tower; But though my slumber was gone by, This dream it would not pa.s.s away-- 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."

Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while, Half-listening heard him with a smile; Then turned to Lady Geraldine, His eyes made up of wonder and love; And said in courtly accents fine, "Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove, With arms more strong than harp or song, Thy sire and I will crush the snake!"

He kissed her forehead as he spake, And Geraldine in maiden wise Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine She turned her from Sir Leoline; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again; And folded her arms across her chest, And couched her head upon her breast, And looked askance at Christabel-- Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy, And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she look'd askance!-- One moment--and the sight was fled!

But Christabel in dizzy trance Stumbling on the unsteady ground Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; And Geraldine again turned round, And like a thing, that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, She rolled her large bright eyes divine Wildly on Sir Leoline.

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees--no sight but one!

The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise, So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind: And pa.s.sively did imitate That look of dull and treacherous hate!

And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, Still picturing that look askance With forced unconscious sympathy Full before her father's view-- As far as such a look could be In eyes so innocent and blue!

And when the trance was o'er, the maid Paused awhile, and inly prayed: Then falling at the Baron's feet, "By my mother's soul do I entreat That thou this woman send away!"

She said: and more she could not say: For what she knew she could not tell, O'er-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, 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, She prayed the moment ere she died: Prayed that the babe for whom she died, Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride!

That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, Sir Leoline!

And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, Her child and thine?

Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swelled his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there.

His heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild, Dishonour'd thus in his old age; Dishonour'd by his only child, And all his hospitality To the insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end-- He rolled his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, austere-- "Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?

I bade thee hence!" The bard obeyed; And turning from his own sweet maid, The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine!

1801.

THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND

A little child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself, A fairy thing with red round cheeks, That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness.

Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm.

Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity.

And what, if in a world of sin (O sorrow and shame should this be true!) Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it's most used to do.

?1801.

KUBLA KHAN

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid; And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

1798.

LEWTI OR THE CIRCa.s.sIAN LOVE-CHAUNT

At midnight by the stream I roved, To forget the form I loved.

Image of Lewti! from my mind Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam And the shadow of a star Heaved upon Tamaha's stream; But the rock shone brighter far, The rock half sheltered from my view By pendent boughs of tressy yew.-- So shines my Lewti's forehead fair, Gleaming through her sable hair, Image of Lewti! from my mind Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

I saw a cloud of palest hue, Onward to the moon it pa.s.sed; Still brighter and more bright it grew, 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!

And so with many a hope I seek And with such joy I find my Lewti; And even so my pale wan cheek Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty!

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.

The little cloud-it floats away, Away it goes; away so soon?

Alas! it has no power to stay: Its hues are dim, its hues are grey-- Away it pa.s.ses from the moon!

How mournfully it seems to fly, Ever fading more and more, To joyless regions of the sky-- 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.

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind-- And yet, thou didst not look unkind.

I saw a vapour in the sky, Thin, and white, and very high; I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud: Perhaps the breezes that can fly Now below and now above, Have s.n.a.t.c.hed aloft the lawny shroud Of Lady fair--that died for love.

For maids, as well as youths, have perished From fruitless love too fondly cherished.

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind-- For Lewti never will be kind.

Hush! my heedless feet from under Slip the crumbling banks for ever: Like echoes to a distant thunder, They plunge into the gentle river.

The river-swans have heard my tread, And startle from their reedy bed.

O beauteous birds! methinks ye measure Your movements to some heavenly tune!

O beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure To see you move beneath the moon, I would it were your true delight To sleep by day and wake all night.

I know the place where Lewti lies When silent night has closed her eyes: It is a breezy jasmine-bower, The nightingale sings o'er her head: Voice of the Night! had I the power That leafy labyrinth to thread, And creep, like thee, with soundless tread, I then might view her bosom white Heaving lovely to my sight, As these two swans together heave On the gently-swelling wave.