The Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Part 19

THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE FIRST.

It was a lovely sight to see, The lady Christabel, when she Was praying at the old oak tree.

Amid the jagged shadows Of mossy leafless boughs, Kneeling in the moonlight, To make her gentle vows; Her slender palms together prest, Heaving sometimes on her breast; Her face resigned to bliss or bale-- Her face, oh call it fair, not pale, And both blue eyes more bright than clear, Each about to have a tear.

With open eyes (ah woe is me!) Asleep and dreaming fearfully, Fearfully dreaming, yet I wis, Dreaming that alone which is-- O sorrow and shame! Can this be she, The lady who knelt at the old oak tree?

And lo! the worker of these harms, That holds the maiden in her arms, Seems to slumber still and mild As a mother with her child.

A star hath set, a star hath risen, O Geraldine! since arms of thine Have been the lovely lady's prison.

O Geraldine! one hour was thine-- Thou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill, The night-birds all that hour were still.

At the ceasing of the spell, the joyousness of the birds is described, and also the awakening of Christabel as from a trance.--During this rest (her mother) the guardian angel is supposed to have been watching over her. But these pa.s.sages could not escape coa.r.s.e minded critics, who put a construction on them which never entered the mind of the author of Christabel, whose poems are marked by delicacy.

The effects of the apparition of her mother, supposed to be seen by Christabel in a vision, are thus described:

What if her guardian spirit 'twere, What if she knew her mother near?

But this she knows, in joys and woes, That saints will aid if men will call: For the blue sky bends over all!

Here terminates the first canto.

The pa.s.sage from this sleep and the reappearance by day-light of Geraldine, has always been considered a master-piece.

The second part begins with a moral reflection, and introduces Sir Leoline, the father of Christabel, with the following observation, on his rising in the morning:

Each matin bell, the Baron saith!

Knells us back to a world of death.

These words Sir Leoline first said When he rose and found his lady dead.

These words Sir Leoline will say Many a morn to his dying day.

After a popular custom of the country, the old bard Bracy is introduced.

Geraldine rises, puts on her silken vestments--tricks her hair, and not doubting her spell, she awakens Christabel,

"Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel?

I trust that you have rested well."

And Christabel awoke and spied The same who lay down by her side-- O rather say, the same whom she Rais'd up beneath the old oak tree!

Nay fairer yet, and yet more fair!

For she belike hath drunken deep Of all the blessedness of sleep!

And while she spake, her looks, her air Such gentle thankfulness declare; That (so it seem'd) her girded vests Grew tight beneath her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Sure I have sinn'd!" said Christabel, "Now heaven be prais'd if all be well!"

And in low faultering tones, yet sweet, Did she the lofty lady greet; With such perplexity of mind As dreams too lively leave behind.

Christabel then leaves her couch, and having offered up her prayers, she leads fair Geraldine to meet the Baron.--They enter his presence room, when her father rises, and while pressing his daughter to his breast, he espies the lady Geraldine, to whom he gives such welcome as

"Might beseem so bright a dame!"

But when the Baron hears her tale, and her father's name, the poet enquires feelingly:

Why wax'd Sir Leoline so pale, Murmuring o'er the name again, Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine?

Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is th.o.r.n.y; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain.

And thus it chanc'd, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline.

Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted--never to meet again!

But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining-- They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between;-- But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.

Sir Leoline gazed for a moment on the face of Geraldine, and the youthful Lord of Tryermaine again came back upon his heart. He is then described as forgetting his age, and his n.o.ble heart swells with indignation.

He then affectionately takes Geraldine in his arms, who meets the embrace:

"Prolonging it with joyous look, Which when she viewed, a vision fell Upon the soul of Christabel, The vision of fear, the touch and pain!

She shrunk and shudder'd and saw again (Ah woe is me! Was it for thee, Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?)

Geraldine then appears to her in her real character, ('half' human only,) the sight of which alarms Christabel. The Baron mistakes for jealousy this alarm in his daughter, which was induced by fear of Geraldine, and had been the sole cause of her unconsciously imitating the "hissing sound:"

Whereat the Knight turn'd wildly round, And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid With eyes uprais'd, as one that pray'd.

This touch, this sight pa.s.sed away, and left in its stead the vision of her guardian angel (her mother) which had comforted her after rest, and having sought consolation in prayer, her countenance resumes its natural serenity and sweetness. The Baron surprised at these sudden transitions, exclaims,

"What ails then my beloved child?"

Christabel makes answer:

"All will yet be well!"

I ween, she had no power to tell Aught else: so mighty was the spell.

Yet the Baron seemed so captivated by Geraldine, as to "deem her a thing divine." She pretended much sorrow, and feared she might have offended Christabel, praying with humility to be sent home immediately.

"Nay!

Nay--by my soul!" said Leoline.

"Ho!--Bracy, the bard, the charge be thine!

Go thou with music sweet and loud And take two steeds with trappings proud; And take the youth whom thou lov'st best To bear thy harp and learn thy song, And clothe you both in solemn vest And over the mountains haste along.

He is desired to continue his way to the castle of Tryermaine. Bracy is thus made to act in a double capacity, as bard and herald: in the first, he is to announce to Lord Roland the safety of his daughter in Langdale Hall; in the second as herald to the Baron, he is to convey an apology according to the custom of that day,

"He bids thee come without delay, With all thy numerous array; And take thy lovely daughter home, And he will meet thee on the way, With all his numerous array; White with their panting palfrey's foam, And by mine honour! I will say, That I repent me of the day; When I spake words of fierce disdain, To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!-- For since that evil hour hath flown, Many a summer's sun hath shone; Yet ne'er found I a friend again Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine."

The lady fell, and clasped his knees, Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing, And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, His gracious hail on all bestowing:-- Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell.

Yet might I gain a boon of thee, This day my journey should not be, So strange a dream hath come to me: That I had vow'd with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, Warn'd by a vision in my rest!

The dream is then related by Bracy; it is an outline of the past, and a prophecy of the future.--The Baron listens with a smile, turns round, and looks at 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 turn'd 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 couch'd her head upon her breast.

And look'd askance at Christabel-- Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

Then takes place that extraordinary change which, being read in a party at Lord Byron's, is said to have caused Sh.e.l.ley to faint:

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 looked askance!-- One moment,--and the sight was fled!

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

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