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With such perplexity of mind
As dreams too lively leave behind.

So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed
Her maiden limbs, and having prayed
That He, who on the cross did groan,
Might wash away her sins unknown,
She forthwith led fair Geraldine

To meet her sire, Sir Leoline.

The lovely maid and the lady tall
Are pacing both into the hall,
And pacing on through page and groom,
Enter the Baron's presence-room.

The Baron rose, and while he prest
His gentle daughter to his breast,
With cheerful wonder in his eyes
The lady Geraldine espies,

And gave such welcome to the same,
As might beseem so bright a dame!

But when he heard the lady's tale,
And when she told her father's name,
Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale,
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 thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain
And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted-ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another

To free the hollow heart from paining

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

O then the Baron forgot his age,
His noble heart swelled high with rage;
He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side
He would proclaim it far and wide,

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More loud than your horses' echoing feet!
And loud and loud to Lord Roland call,
Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall!
Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free-
Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me.
He bids thee come without delay
With all thy numerous array;
And take thy lovely daughter home:
And he will meet thee on the way
With all his numerous array
White with their panting palfreys' foam;
And, by mine honor! 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 vowed with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, Warn'd by a vision in my rest!

For in my sleep I saw that dove,
That gentle bird, whom thou dost love,
And call'st by thy own daughter's

name

Sir Leoline! I saw the same,

Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, Among the green herbs in the forest alone.

Which when I saw and when I heard,
I wonder'd what might ail the bird;
For nothing near it could I see,
Save the grass and green herbs under-
neath 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 pass 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 of

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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 passively 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,

Dishonor'd thus in his old age;
Dishonor'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

66

Why, Bracy! dost tnou 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!

1800. 1816.

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 (0 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. 1816.

FRANCE: AN ODE

I

YE Clouds! that far above me float and pause,

Whose pathless march no mortal may control!

Ye Ocean Waves! that, wheresoe'er

ye roll,

Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye Woods! that listen to the nightbird's singing,

Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined,

Save when your own imperious branches swinging,

Have made a solemn music of the wind!

Where, like a man beloved of God, Through glooms, which never woodman trod,

How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,

Inspired beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!

O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests

high!

And O ye Clouds that far above me soared!

Thou rising sun! thou blue rejoicing

Sky!

Yea, every thing that is and will be free!

Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,

With what deep worship I have still adored

The spirit of divinest Liberty.

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To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,

And shame too long delay'd and vain retreat!

For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame;

But blessed the pæans of delivered France,

And hung my head and wept at Britain's

name.

III

"And what," I said, " though Blasphemy's loud scream

With that sweet music of deliverance strove!

Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove

A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream!

Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled,

The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!

And when to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled,

The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright;

When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory

Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory;

When insupports bly advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp;

While timid looks of fury glancing. Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp,

Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore;

Then I reproached my fears that would not flee;

"And soon," I said, "shall Wisdom teach her lore

In the low huts of them that toil and groan;

And, conquering by her happiness alone,

Shall France compel the nations to be free,

Till Love and Joy look round, and call the earth their own."

IV

Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams!

I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament.

From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent

I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams!

Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished,

And ye, that fleeing, spot your mountain snows

With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished

One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes!

To scatter rage and traitorous guilt Where Peace her jealous home had built;

A patriot-race to disinherit

Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear:

And with inexpiable spirit

To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer

O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind,

And patriot only in pernicious toils! Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind?

To mix with Kings in the low lust of

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Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves!

And then I felt thee !-on that sea-cliff's verge,

Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above,

Had made one murmur with the distant surge!

Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,

And shot my being through earth, sea and air,

Possessing all things with intensest love,

O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there.
February, 1798. April 16, 1798.

FROST AT MIDNIGHT

THE Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's

cry

Came loud-and hark, again! loud as before.

The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits

Abstruser musings: save that at my side

My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs

And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,

This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood.

With all the numberless goings-on of life,

Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame

Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;

Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,

Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.

Methinks, its motion in this hush of

nature

Gives it dim sympathies with me who

live,

Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit

By its own moods interprets, everywhere Echo or mirror seeking of itself,

And makes a toy of Thought.

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