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THE 


POETICAL WORKS 


OF 


SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 


EDITED 
WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 
BY 


JAMES DYKES CAMPBELL 


London 
MACMILLAN AND CO, 


AND NEW YORK 
1893 


= Ab rights revved 





CONTENTS 

PAGE 
AUTHORITIES CITED IN THE INTRODUCTION—CORRIGENDA . . vi 
PREFACE + é * . . . + a . vii 
INTRODUCTION ‘ : E . : ; i | 
Porms . + * ‘ A a . . 3 ‘ 1 
Dramatic Works. . . i. . . . . 2 
EpPIGRAMS, FRAGMENTS, ETC. ‘ . . . . + 443 
ADAPTATIONS . é : . $ : 2 : . 47 
APPENDICES - + . . . . . . + 475 
Notes . ¢ 2 . ; i : 3 : . 561 
INDEX TO THE POEMS, ETC. . P r i « a » 655 


Inpex To First Lines . . . . . . » 661 


. Biographia 


. Early Recollections ; 


PRINTED AUTHORITIES CHIEFLY CITED IN THE 
‘INTRODUCTION’ 


. Letters, Conversations, and Recollections of S. T. Coleridge. With a Preface Ly 


the editor, Thomas Allsop. ‘Third edition, 1864. (The first edition was published 
anonymously. Moxon, 1836. 2 vols. 

iteraria : or Biographical Sketches of my Literary Life and Opinions. 
By S, T. Coleridge, Esq. 2 vols. 1817. 








. Biographia Literaria [ete.] By S. T. Coleridge. Second edition, prepared for 


publication in part by the late H. N. Coleridge : completed and published by his 
widow, 2 vols. 1847. 

Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge (Mrs. H. N. Coleridge], Edited by her 
daughter. 2 vols. 1873 


. Memorials of Coleorton : being Letters from Coleridge, Wordsworth and his sister, 


Southey, and Sir Walter Scott, to Sir George and Lady Beaumont of Coleorton, 

Leicestershire, 1803-1834. Edited by William Knight, University of St. Andrews. 

2 vols. Edinburgh, 1887. 

iefly relating to the late S. T. Coleridge, during his long 
residence in Bristol. By Joseph Cottle. 2 vols. 1837. 

Reminiscences of S. T. Coleridge and R. Southey. By Joseph Cottle. 1847. (A 
recast of ‘6,' with additions. ) 





. Fragmentary Remains, literary and scientific, of Sir Humphry Davy, Bart. [etc.] 


Edited by his brother, John Davy, M.D. 1858. 


. Unpublished Letters from S. T. Coleridge to the Rev. John Prior Estlin. Com- 


municated by Henry A. Bright (to the PHILOBIBLON SOCIETY). n.d. 
‘The Life of S. T. Coleridge, by James Gillman. In 2 vols. (‘Vol. I.’ only was 
1838. 


) 
. The Letters of Charles Lamb, Edited by Alfred Ainger. 2 vols. 1888. 
. A Group of Englishmen (1795-1815) : being records of the younger Wedgwoods 


and their Friends, By Eliza Meteyard. 1871. 


- Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry Crabb Robinson. Third 


edition, 2 vols. 1872, 


. Thomas Poole and his Friends. By Mrs, Henry Sandford. 2 vols. 1888. 


‘The Life and Correspondence of R. Southey. 6 vols. 1849-1850. 
Selections from the Letters of R. Southey. 4 vols. 1856. 


. Letters from the Lake Poets—S. T. Coleridge, William Wordsworth, Robert 


Southey—to Daniel Stuart, editor of The Morning Post and The Courier. 1800- 
1838. Printed for private circulation. 1889. 


. Memoirs of William Wordsworth. By Christopher Wordsworth, D.D., Canon of 





inster [afterwards Bishop of Lincoln]. 2 vols. 1851. 


‘Westmi 
). The Life of William Wordsworth, By William Knight, LL. D. gvols. 1889. 


CORRIGENDA 


Page 94.—The date of Kubla Khan should read ‘1798.' See /ntroduction, p. xiii. 


191.—The date of Youth and Age should read ‘ 1823-1832." 
564, line 9.—For ‘twenty-first read ‘ twenty-fifth.’ 

589, Note 106.—Read ‘name of the person commemorated.’ 
598, Note on line 164.—For ‘ Berdmare’ read * Berdmore. 
611, line 12.—For ‘Fragment 46' read ‘ Fragment 45." 





PREFACE 





are placed the full text of Osorio (the first draft of REMORSE), included ix 
no former edition of Coleridge’s Works ; the full text of the Greek ode 
which he gained the Browne Medal in 1792, hitherto unknown ; 
compositions which did not seem to demand a more prominent position 
and, finally, a collection of ‘Titles, Prefaces, Contents, etc.’ (* APPENDD 
K?), which will, I hope, serve all the purposes of a more formal biblio= 
graphy. 

That no reader of the poems may be unnecessarily or unwillingly 
turbed, the editor's ‘NOTES’ have been placed at the end of the vol 
Some readers, he fears, may share his own opinion that they are 
voluminous, but it is hoped that, on the whole, they may be found useful, 
only to the student of the poems, but to those who wish to study 
closely the poet's life. Few of his verses, and few of the alterations | 
made in them from time to time, are without some bearing on his loves, 
friendships, or adventures ; and this I have endeavoured to bring out 
far as my limited knowledge could serve. 

As regards the arrangement of the poems, it is in the main 
logical. In 1828 and 1829, Coleridge made a kind of classification 
the headings, ‘Juvenile Poems,’ ‘ Poems occasioned by Political Events,” 
‘Love Poems,’ etc., but it was of the roughest and least consistent descrip. 
tion, Had I felt any scruples in departing from it, they would have been 
dispersed by the following deliverance of the poet on the subject, which 
shows, both by its date and its phrasing, that in the edition of 1834, 
the old classification was adhered to in opposition to his own better 
judgment > { 

“After all you [H. N. Coleridge] can say, 1 still think the chronological, 
order the best for arranging a poet’s works. All your divisions are in’ 
particular instances inadequate, and they destroy the interest which arises 
from watching the progress, maturity, and even the decay of genius.” 
(Table Tath, Jan. 1, 1834.) 

A principle could hardly be stated more uncompromisingly, or more 
authoritatively, but, in practice, it is rarely wise to apply anything of the 
kind quite rigidly, For convenience sake, the DRAMATIC WORKS have been 
placed by themselves, apart from the PoEMs ; and, for reasons explained in 
the ‘ Notes,’ a few allied poems have been grouped ; but these departures from 
the settled order have been so rare as to be hardly worthy of mention. 
T cannot, of course, pretend to complete success in the attempt to fix 





PREFACE ix 





the dates of all the poems, but no pains have been spared in the endeavour ; 
‘ani in all doubtful cases a ‘?* has been attached to the dates conjecturally 
‘asimed. 1 think, however, that in the great majority of instances the true 
gears have been ascertained. 

As regards the INTRODUCTION, I believe 1 shall be readily excused for 
takig it, not an estimate of Coleridge as a poet, but a plain narrative of 
theevents of his life, Explanations have been offered when such seemed 
Meesary or desirable, but comment, especially moralising, has been 
Sahiously avoided. I readily and gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness, 
invarying measure, to all the biographical sketches which have hitherto 

If f venture to claim for my own a position to some small extent 
Iniependent, it is because, for its compilation, all the old material has been 
Geilly sifted, and much of it corrected from sadly misused original docu- 
‘Pets; while I have been privileged to make use of a large quantity of 
Jyetant material which is either absolutely new, or which was unavailable 


‘Why predecessors. Coleridge’s biography may be looked for in due time 
fitithe hands of his grandson, Mr. E, H. Coleridge, who has been engaged 


‘Biescme time past on its preparation ; but I believe that in the narrative I 
‘there is enough that is new, not only as regards the facts, 

‘in which old and new are presented, to render it worthy of 

any who may be willing to reconsider their estimate of its 

Such readers, of course, will not be satisfied with this necessarily 
outline, and it is primarily for their convenience that the pages 

| encumbered, somewhat unduly perhaps, with citations of 
Tthoriies, ‘The general reader will be pleased to ignore all the foot-notes 


gesagt to which the figures r, 2, 3, etc., are attached, giving 
‘only to those bearing the signs *, 7, etc. 


tk the Nores I have found frequent opportunity of offering my 
ks for help rendered in the preparation of this work ; to name 

t0 whom I am indebted for kind services, were I ableto make the 
would be tedious; but I cannot conclude without special 

tof the unwearied kindness and generosity of my friend Mr, 

Coleridge, to whom all that is worthy in the editorial part of 

‘owes more than I can adequately express, For nothing am I 
obligation to him than for permission to use as freely as 1 

d with so much advantage, the Leffers from the Lake Poets, 

d and annotated for the daughters of their recipient, the late 





PREFACE 





Mr. Daniel Stuart of the Morning Post and the Courier. The volume: 
prepared and printed exclusively for private circulation, and the copyri 
of the contents is vested in Mr. Coleridge. 

Portraits of Coleridge are numerous, To my mind, in none docs 
look very like a poet except in that which has been selected to form 
frontispiece to the present volume. It has been reproduced directly fi 
the original, now in the National Portrait Gallery. This belonged 
Cottle, and was admirably engraved in his Larly Recollections, where 
thus writes of it: ‘This portrait of Mr. Coleridge was taken in oils b 
Mr. [Peter] Vandyke (a descendant of the great Vandyke). He 
invited over from Holland by the late Sir Joshua Reynolds, to assist} 
in his portraits, particularly in the drapery department ; in which capal 
he remained with him many years, Mr. Vandyke afterwards settled 
Bristol, and obtained great and just celebrity for his likenesses, | 
portrait of Mr. Coleridge did him great credit, as a better likeness) 
never taken ; and it has the additional advantage of exhibiting Mr. C, 
‘one of his animated conversations, the expression of which the painter] 
in good degree preserved.’ Hancock's portrait of the following year | 
been more frequently engraved, and is therefore more familiar, Co 
says it ‘was much admired at the time, and has an additional interest 
having been drawn when Mr. C\'s spirits were in a state of depression, 
account of the failure of the Watchman! 

J. DYKES CAMPBELL. 


St. LRONARDS-ON-SEaA, 
March 23, 1893. 





INTRODUCTION 


I, CuitpHoop—Curist’s Hosrrran 


Sieer, Tavion Coveaipce was born at the Vicarage of Ottery St. Mary, in 
Devoaikise, om the 21st October 1772. His father was the Rev. John Coleridge, 
Parish, and Chaplain-Priest and Master of its Free Grammar School 

called the “King’s School’), founded by Henry VIII. His mother was 

second wife, and her maiden name was Anne Bowdon. By his first wife, 

the Vicar had three daughters, who were all alive in 1797; and by 

nine sans (of whom Samucl Taylor was the youngest) and ove daughter. 


at school by a friend of the family. When, in 1748, 
iney Sussex College, Cambridge, he was already married, and 
ty, without a degree, he settiod as a schoolmaster at South+ 


‘a som who died in infancy, there were two children of his second 

Who died in 1786, a captain H.E.1.C.S., and William who died 
In 1760 was born James, who entered the army and 

the co-heiresses of Robert Duke, of Otterton, Esquire, James's eldest 
John Taylor Coleridge (better known as ‘Mr. Justice Coleridge’), 
present Lond Chief Justice. James's third son was Henry Nelson 
‘married his cousin Sara, the poct's only daughter. ‘The Vicar's next 


fad 

‘age, in £790, leaving but one child, a son, who became in 1824 the first 
Barbadoes, Next came Ann (‘ Nancy’), whose early death, coming soon 
‘of Luke, deepty aifected the young poct,? The eighth son was Francis 
(Whee atest 2p years of age, not ‘20° a1 following. pty. Sce alto Tos @ Friend who 
‘led by (C. in his letter to Poole, Bigg. Aad declared his Intention of writing mo weore 
‘hug, Poetry, y. 6. ' Nancy’ died in her twenty-fitth, 
Se Ow receiving am Account thet Aix only wot in her twenty-first year, a8 misprinted to 

ier: Death was inevitadie, andthe poem next “Neve 22." 





xii INTRODUCTION 





Syndercombe, who died In 1792, 2 tiestenant H.E.I.C.S, The ninth son, 

latest born of the Vicar’s thirteen children, was the poet, baptized “Samuel Ta ‘Taylor,’ 
after one of his godfathers. Of all the thirteen there are now alive descendants of 
but three—James, Luke, and Samuel Taylor. Those of James are numerous; of 
Luke there aro a grandson and great-grandson ; and of the poet, a grandson with his 
four children, and a grand-daughter, 

‘The Vicar is said to have been an amiable, simple-minded, and somewhat 
eccentric scholar, sound in Greek and Latin, and profound in Hebrew, Many 
stories of his absent-mindedness were told in the neighbourhood,' some of them 
probably true. His famous son thus describes him to Poole: ‘In learning, good 
heartedness, absentness of mind, and excessive ignorance of the world, he was a 
perfect Parson Adams.'? He printed several books? by subscription. In A 
Critical Latin Grammar, he proposed (among other innovations) to substitute for 
the vulgar names of th x which antiquity pleads in opposition to | 
reason) ‘prior possessive, attributive, posterior, interjective, and quale-quare- 
quidditi 

The Vicar’s wife was fortunately of a more practical turn than himself She 
‘was, comparatively, an uneducated woman, and unemotional ; but was an admirable | 
wife, mother, and housekeeper ; and although she disliked * your harpsichord ladies,” 
determined to make gentlemen of her sons—an ambition in which thelr father was 
deficient. 

Our knowledge of Coletidge’s childhood is derived entirely from his letters to 

le written in 1797.4 He describes himself as a precocious and imaginative 
child, never mixing with other boys. At the age of three, he was sent to a dame’s 
school, where he remained till he was six. ‘My father was very fond of me, and 
I was my mother's darling ; in consequence whereof, I was very miserable, For 
Molly, who had nursed my brother Francis, and was immoderately fond of him, 
hated me because my mother took more notice of me than of Frank; and Frank 
hated me because my mother gave me now and then a bit of cake when he had 
none'—Frank enjoying many tit-bits from Molly, who had only ‘thumps and ills 
names” for ‘Sam,’ which through life was the family abbreviation of his name: 
*So I became fretfial and timorous, and a tell-tale; and the schoolboys drove me 


1 See Gilman's Life of S.T-C. chap. i 
and De Quincey in his Works (1863), ii. yo. 


Disrertations arising 
from the 17th and 18th chapters of the book of 
Judges, 3788. 8¥0, pp. 275. 

(IL) A Critical Latin Granomar, conta 
ing clear nnd distinct rules for boys just initinn 
and Notes explanatory of almost every antiquity. 
and obscurity in the Langnage, for youth some: 
what advanced in Latin lenming. arpa. ramoy 

axdv.3 1610 

(LIL) Also, “For the use of Schools,’ price 
2% bound, Sententie Excerpta, explaining the 
Roles of Grammar, and the various signification 
of all the Prepesitions, ete, 

AV.) Goverment not originally proceeding 
Soom Human Agency, but Divine Instits 
shewn Ina Sermon preached at Ottery St. Mary, 


Devon, December 13, 1776, on the Fast Day, 
appointed by reason of our much-to-be-lamented 
American War, and published at the request of 
the hearers. By John Coleridge, Viewr of and 
Schoolmaster at Ottery St. Mary, Devon. Lon= 
don ! printed for the Author, 1797. 410) PP. AS 

To No. I. is appended a Jong school pros 
pectus, setting forth the method of teaching, et, 
andl t0 No. 11. an advertisement referring to the 
prospectus. From these we learn that the Vicar 
took about twenty boys, who paid two guineas 
‘entrance-fee, and sixteen guineasa year for board 
and the teaching of Latin, Greek, and Mathe- 
matics, ‘A Writing Master attends, for those 
who chuse it, at sixteen shillings per year; and 
a Dancing Master (at present Afr. Lemit of 
Exrter) once a week, at two guineas per year,” 

4‘ Biog. Supplement’ to Miogs Late vyy, The 
ps ef seg. 





INTRODUCTION 


of wonder or incredulity. For, from my early reading of fairy tales and about 
and the like, my mind had been habituated to the Vast; and I never 7 
senses in any way as the criteria of my belief. I regulated all my creeds 
i ‘ight, even eye 
glimpses: his childhood afforded by the en are inva 
» and he seems to have been petted, not saints Dag Boe 7 
brother George, whom he describes as his ' earliest friend.’ 
gpa pekjee rine mare pian ptetiote gta ocr eo or ils 
died suddenly on the 4th October 1781, and his place, both as ara 
master, was taken by a Mr. Warren, with whom Coleridge remained as a 
scholar until the following April, when a presentation to Christ's Hospi 
obtained for him from a Mr. John Way, but through the interest of Mr. F 
Buller (afterwards the famous judge), who had been a pupil of the Vicar. 
*too soon transplanted, ere his soul had fixed its first domestic loves,’ Co 
entered the great school on the 18th July 1782, an intervening period of, 
weeks having been spent in London with his mother’s brother, Mr. John 
who had a aan in Threadneedle Street. This affectionate but | 
relates, ‘used to carry me from coffee-house to coffee-house, and tavern to t 
where I drank, and talked, and disputed as if T had been a man,” 
After six weeks of the Junior School at Hertford—* where I was very hap 
the whole, for I had plenty to eat and drink"—he was removed, in S 
the great London school, being placed in the second, or * Jeffries’ W: 


‘ard, 
the Under Grammar School. Christ's Hospital, he says, then contained about 


Coleridge of those days have heen described for all time in Lamb's | 
lections of Christ's Hospital’ (1813), and ‘Christ's Hospital five-and:thirty 
ago’ (1820), The former is a serious historical account of the Foundation m 
advantages; the latter presents the reverse of the medal, the side which imp 
itself most vividly an the Bue-coat boys of the essayist’s time. Although Lam 
Coleridge’s junior by a little more than two years, he entered Christ's Hospital 
months earl His parents lived close at hand, and Coleridge was the 

feiendless boy’ for whom he speaks : 

«My parents and those who should care for me were far away. ‘Tho 
acquaintances of theirs which they could reckon upon being kind to me in th 
city, after a little forced notice, which they had the grace to take of me on m 
arrival in town, soon grew tired of my holiday visits. . . . One after another 
failed me, and I felt myself alone among six hundred playmates. . . . How 
dreams would my native town (far in the west) come back, with its churct 
trees, and faces! How I would wake weeping, and in the anguish of my 
exclaim upon sweet Calne in Wiltshire !* 

“Calne,” of course, is only Lamb's device for concealing his friend's id 
His words about the boy’s dreams are but a reflection of Coleridge's own 
Frost at Midmight (\l. 23-43, pp. 126, 127). It is the same poem which contai 

romarkable propesy how his beloved Hartley should wander like a breese by 
and mountains, unlike his father, who was 


1 Sonnet to the River Otter (p. 23); Lines 2 To the Rew. George Coleridge (pte 
to a Seamtiful Spring im a Wiliage(p. a4); Frest also Monady on a TeaKettle (p x2); A 
at Midnight (p. 126), etc.; Limes compored ix a matica! Prodiem (p. x3); and the "Note? 
Concert-Reowe (p. 148). Greek Prize Ode (p. 653). 





CHILDHOOD CHRIST'S HOSPITAL 


reared 
In the great city, pent ‘mid cloisters dim, 
‘And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars 


=a! Stars seen from the roof of Christ’s Hospital, os we learn through 


Of rivers, fields, 
groves I speak to thee. my Friend | to thee, 


‘To shut thine eyes, and by internal light 

‘Sos tres, and meadows, and thy native stream, 
Far distant, thus beheld from year to year 

Of a long exile. 


oan te it proved, for it seems probable that the boy did not return to 
the sammer of 1789. But Coleridge’s school-days were not a monotony 
Such, in some measure, they may have been, perhaps, 
oon ie clonds broke, He was fall of ‘natural gladness,’ and possessed in 
the invaluable faculty of making friends He had for such 
ttcely Lamb, but the two Le Grices and Bob Allen, and a little host beside; for 
tot and encourager, Middleton (afterwards Bishop of Calcutta); and as a 
sabatirne for s home, the house of Mrs. Evans, the mother of Mary and 
Boyer (whose floggings did his pupil no serious harm that we 
Deadmaster's interest in him, and brought him up in the 
and even a good poet, should go; so that Coleridge, whose 
a pee ‘28 his genius, took the best honours the school afforded, 
‘of his persistent waywardness. In his slath year as a scholar, which 
2 ‘of his life, he entered the ranks of the * Grecians*—the small band 
by the headmaster for special training under his own birch for the University 

sas of the school,” one of which he gained in due time. 
there were interruptions. When about fifteen Coleridge took a fancy to be 
tic wool, and induced the 


nothing Int how he too might become a Aico sean al hd ati ant 
oks he could procure, went round the hospital wards with Luke, and 
es permitted to hold a plaster, ‘Briefly’ (he says) ‘it was 
which blending with, gradually gave way to, a mage for 

by the exays on “Liberty” and “ Necessity” in Cato's 

ce by theslgy. After Thad read Vali’ Philosophical Dictionary 
but my infidel vanity never touched my heart.’ Boyer took his 


above two or thres ac a thne were 

a heautifat — into that high order'—in Reet of Ch. Hopital, 

Bay ietannd fen or se 3 By John Trenchand ond Thotas Gordon. 
a vule. rama, 1755. 

account of the growp—' seitom 4 Gillman’s £9, p. #> 








xvi INTRODUCTION 





through a whole eirculat fel ereegt fond ps anole eae 
(bis account of which pape ele romantic) ; the 
caves of the third-century Neo-Platonists? with his 
mead there wine" ye crea enathing on ees Ron 

“Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the dayspring 

ies, with hope like a fi cctumn before thee—the datk pillar not yet ¢ 

q 

, 


ad 
the disproportion between the sfveci and the gurd of the young Mir 
to hear thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of 
or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such st 
‘or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar—while the walls of the Gre 
re-echoed to the oe of the tnspired charity 
We hear nothing of games, but Coleridge opal bathing excursion: 
summer holidays. Once, as he told Gillman, he swam across the New } 
his clothes, and let them dry on his back, with the ‘apparen 
‘full half his time from seventeen to eighteen was passed in the sick ~) 
Christ's Hospital, afflicted with jaundice and rheumatic fever.’* Coleri) 
doubtless rendered the more susceptible by the effects of his runaway adventy 
years before. If the tradition that Genevieve was addressed to the daw 
his school ‘nurse, scents yrs Son Fras 


When sinking low the sufferer wan 
Beholds no hand outstreteht to save, 


Eve seen thy breast with pity heave, 
And therefore love T you, sweet 


He has dated the poem ‘ef. 14,” and the illness * 17-18,’ but Coleri 

never sure of his own age, and such figures are, as a rule, untrustworthy, 

ing, however, to his own statement # he was about sixteen (1788) when he n 

popes of the Evans family—a connection destined to exercise an in 
influence on his career, 

‘About this time he became acquainted with a widow Indy, ‘whose son 
he, ‘I, as upper boy, had protected, and who therefore looked up to 1 
taught me what it was to have a mother. I loved her as such. “She th 
daughters, and, of course, I fell in love with the eldest [Mary], From this 


1 Presumably by way of Thomas Taylor's — * ‘Christ's Hospital five-and-thirty 
translations (which he once described as ‘diti- in asays of Elia, 
cult Greek transmuted into incomprehensible Gillman's Lif, p33 


ish’), though he unblushingly asserts (Big. aS 

Tie kaj) tat he bad tonloteh the signe Ciloas’s LU, po, 

Aomns of Sysis fom te Grea into English | Afterwards w fellow with a 
“Anacreontics before bis fifteenth year } India House, 





to 
of the be 


oes 





Tl. Cammnipor 


Coleridge is set forth in the 


INTRODUCTION 





How this influence affected 
Biegraphia, and is best illustrated by the youthful poems of 1790 


which can now be read in something which 


xviii 


i 





portrait of himself, confessing to ‘a heavy eye? and = ‘fat 


unflattering 


vacuity of face,’? 


Phd 5 


STEOHL ETT 


he drew an 





INTRODUCTION 





i 


to 
middle of June, a 
Catherine Hall), Col 
Meroe to his Ee scl cal W 
ity College wit 
of Balliol, who thus wrote to Grosvenor Bedford o 
“so 


47" psi. Tks 
probably was the poem Stuart tells us Coleridge of Coleridge, 











‘bless her! 


Her image is in the sanctuary of 


torn from thenee but with the strings that 
2 local anguish: I'am fifty miles di 
This relation makes it clear that the even | 


ge It 
ness with which Coleridge, to Sout 
weeks to Sarah Fricker. 


Bristol for London about the end of August, there endeavoured 
find a publisher for The Fall of Robespierre, and saw much of an old 


who recommended the Susquehanna as suitable for the Pantisocrats’ 


schoolfellow,, 
arte 


its excessive beauty, and its security from hostile Indians and bisons, 

characters,’ he said, ‘make money there,’ and ‘the mosquitoes are not so bad as our 
gnats’ Writing to Southey from Cambridge, a fortnight later, he declares that he 
is evolving a scheme of Pantisocracy which shall have ‘the factitiaw excellence of — 


the mathematician with the enthusiasm of the poet.” 


1 A Tess detailed account was written, August 
24, 1794, to Mr. C. Heath of Monmouth, by 
Coleridge himself. Yt was printed in the 
Monthly Repository for October 184. The 
previous number contains two highly interesting 
otters from Coleridge written to Benj. Flower 
in 379 

2A Pedistrian Tour through North Watet, 
dn Series of Letters, By J. Hucks, B.A. 
London: printed for J. Debrett, 1798, r2m0y 


In the largest possible letters 


pp. Go. It was on this tour that Coleridge — 
wrote the Lines at the King’s Arms, Ross, and 
On Bala Hill, p. 3% 

9H. Martin, to whom The Fail of Robe 
Kierve was dedicated, and afteewards a clergy 
‘man in Dorsetshire. The letter was frst 

in the New Monthly Mag. for August 1836; 
and again in Biog. Li 1847, ii. 398, but some: 
what inaccurately. 








INTRODUCTION 





the whine of selfish Sensibility. Ina few months I shall enter at the Temple! asd 
there sek forgetful calmness where alone it can be found—in incessant and sels 
7 

‘The letter closes with an assurance that if his rival is to be made be will 
be congratulated and not hated ; and ends as abruptly as it began, with the simple 
signature, 'S. T, Coleridge,’ and this postscript, ‘I retarn to Cambridge to-morrow 
morning.’ This seems to show that the letter was written before the end of the 
term (middle of December), in which case Mary's answer was far from being prompt 
Coleridge's response to it is dated ‘December 24, 1794.’ and opens thus: *I have 
this moment received your letter, Mary Evans. Its firmness dots honour to yout 
understanding, its gentleness to your humanity. You condescend to accuse yoursell 
unjustly: you have been altogether blameless. In my wildest dream of Vanity, E 
never supposed that you entertained for me any other than a common fri 
To love you habit has made unalterable. This passion, however, divested, as it now 
is, of ail shadow of Hope, will lose its disquieting. . . . He cannot long be 
wretched who dares to be actively virtuous. . . . May Gou infinitely love ate 
S. T, Conertpae.’ About the middle of December, « few days before the of 
the Michaelmas term, Coleridge quitted Cambridge without oking his degree.* 

Bat not for Bristol. He did not even write, either to his Sancée or to Southey. 
They, and also Pantisocracy, seem to have been forgotten. He went to London 
and remained there, solacing his grief in the sympathetic society of Charles Lamb, 
and confiding his opinion on things in general to the public by way of Sonnets? 


wldressed to ‘ Eminent Characters,’ through the Morning Chronicle. 


Tt was of this 


period that Lamb wrote two years later: ‘ You came to town, Prager ic 


time when your heart was yet bleeding with recent wounds, 
inted hope. . ... { imagine to myself the little smoky roou: 
Cat," where we have sat together through the winter nights, 


sore galled with disaj 
at the * Salutation ai 


Like i, Twas 


beguiling the cares of life with Poesy.'? The friends at Bristol gradually. lost 


patience, 


* Coleridge did not come back to Bristol,’ wrote Southey to Cottle,* * 


{AOUA67.3795 rr mom ey Bllwe, home come back a oli Tbe sk 


ndon to look for him. 


For having ‘got there from Cambridge at the 


winter, there he remained without writing to Miss F{ricker] or to me." 


* Dr. Carlyon (Early Years, etc. i. 27), ap- 
parently on the authority of Dr. Pearce (Maxter 
of Jesus College in Coleridge's time), states that 
when remoustrated with on bis conduct, Coleridge 
“cot short the argument by bluntly awuring 
his friend and master, that he mistook the 
matter altogether, He was neither Jacobia 
(he said) nor Democrat, but a Pantisocrat.” 
Dr. Brand! (Lif of Coleridge, Se) suggests 
that Coleridge did not take his degree, because 
he could not have signed the Thirty-nine 
Articles, and_adds (on what authority ix not 
stated) that * Dr. Pearce gave him the benefit of 
the whole winter term for bis retura, before 
removing, as he was bound to do, his name from 
the College beards. Finally, he obtained for 
hhim one reprieve more, up tothe z4th June 1795." 
In the official * List of (C.H.} University Ex- 
hibitlovers” it is stated that Coleridge's case was 


considered by the C.H. Committe: om the aed 
April 2795, which then seems to have learnt for 
the fit time of his stsence from Catnbeldge 
from Nov. 1793 to Apeil 17943 and also that 
he had left Cambridge a few days before the 
‘expiration of the Michaelmas term in 1794. In 
this way ended Coleridge's official relations with 
Christ's Hosphtal and Jesus Colleges 

1 So Gar as J am aware, no ceher record of 
thie project exists, 

2 See pp gh43: and Notes’ 6e-7a PR ste 


ae 

3 Letter to Coleridge, June 10, 278 CL 
letters of June ty and December 2, 3756 
See also * Nate 7)’ p. srt ‘The taveen (27 New- 
ate Street) survived as such till #B&q, when it 
was burnt down, 

4 Kemiwincemces,  yos—texk comrected by the 
original letter, 








‘of the volume had been printed. Probably 
which he revised was the Monody om the Death of Chatterton, 
respecting Pantisocracy, which had become but a memory before the 
bi We are principally dependent on Cottle for information reg 
iod, and he may be believed when he pictures Coleridge as spending 
‘conversation.” It was probably, as in after-days, chiefly monolo 
besides Pantisoceacy (‘an everlasting theme’), his ‘stock 
Berkeley, David Hartley, and Mr, Bowles, whose sonnets he delighted in n 
Cottle forgets politics, but the lecture-pamphlets are there to testify to th 
of Coleridge's campaign against the tyranny of Pitt, 
‘The course of true love seems to have run smooth, but not so that of fi 
Letters written by Southey and Coleridge show that up to the middle of 
no breach had taken place, but a letter of Southey (July 19, 1797)" shows tha 
had lost confidence ‘as early as the summer of 1795.’ The joint lodging 
‘be given up, for financial reasons, says Southey, who returned to, his other 
Bath. ‘ Our arrears were paid with twenty guineas which Cottle advanced to 
During all this . . . [Coleridge] was to all appearances as he had ever been tows 
me ; but I discovered that he had been employing every calumny against 
representing me as a villain.’® The only probable explanation of the 


socracy had been waning. It had so far waned by the summer aie 

he could not agree to prepare for the Church, as he was ea 

Hill, he somewhat promptly determined to study law. 

must have been black treason, and it is a thousand pil ies that 

‘once and openly. 

Lisbon, that he formally announced to Coleridge hi ibandonment of Pan 
Coleridge broke out in extravagantly-worded upbraidings, and Oilers at 
made up until Southey’s return in the summer of the following year.* 

When he betook himself to his solitary lodging at 2g College Ca f 
must have carned some ready money by his pen, for the thirty guiness received fo 
the copyright of his poems could not nearly have sufficed to support him ( 
many months which preceded publication, or the settlement of accounts with 
on the 25th March 1796, But Cottle must be held responsible for 
determination not to postpone his marriage. He offered to buy an unlimited 
number of verses from the poet at the fixed rate of a guinea and a half per hundred 
lines (which works out at nearly fourpence apiece), for when asked by a friend 
*how he was to keep the pot boiling when married,’ Coleridge ‘very promptly — 
answered ae Mr. Cottle had made him such an offer that he felt no solicitude on — 
that subject.’ i 


TI, Marriack—7ne Warcuman 
In August," consequently, a little cottage was taken at Clevedon {it is still shown 
} See * Note 63," p. $73; and ‘Note 87," p. 379. 3 Letters of B. Sui gee 


9 Letters of R. S. i. 41. See also letter in Cottle’s Rem. p. 
4 Coutle’s Rem. pp. s64-r07. 8 Rem. p. 39 © See ' Note 83," p. $78 








INTRODUCTION 


At the end of June, Grey, the co-editor with Perry of the Morning 

died, and through Dr. Beddoes, Coleridge received a proposal a ia 

him. This he at once accepted, and on the sth eae 
particulars from Perry.‘ My heart is very heavy’ (he wrote to Estlin),! “for T t be 
Bristol, and Ido not tove London, Besides, local and temporary politics are 
aversion, . . , But there are two giants leagued together, whose most impel 
commands I must obey, however reluctant,—their names are BREAD and Citi 
An undated letter from S. Purkis to T. Poole® shows that Coleridge intended to 
up to Landon to see Perry, but at this point our information fails, and we only know. 
that the negotiations ended fruitlessly. Next came an arrangement by which 
was to undertake the education of the sons of Mrs. Eraser of Darley Abbey, near 
Derby—a Indy, it may be as well to mention, entirely unconnected with the fenlly 
of his old sweetheart, Mary Evans. This having been settled during a visit 
Darley Abbey, Coleridge Taft his wife there, ands about the end oF July, ane ae 
of reconciliation to his family at Ottery. Of this visit he wrote to Estlin? = “1 was 
received by my mother with transport, and by my brother George with joy aad 
tenderness, aa by my other brothers with aflectionste clvitity.’ 

‘On his return home on the 7th August, a fresh disappointment awaited him in 
the shape of a letter from Mrs. Evans, informing him that her trustees would not 
consent to the arrangements which had been vials but begging him to come to her at 
once. This request he complied with, At the end of « ten days’ visit there was an 


affectionate parting, and Mrs. Evans, he wrote, ‘ insisted on my acceptance of £95, 


and she had given Mrs. Coleridge all her baby-clothes, which are, I suppose, 
valuable,’* Before leaving Derby, Coleridge was further consoled by a 

made by De, Crompton, that he should set up 2 school at Derby, under the active 
patronage of Mrs. Evans's influential family connections. An unfinished house was 
at once engaged ‘to be completed by the 8th October, for £12 a year,” and the Iand- 
lord won Coleridge's heart by promising ‘to Rumfordize the chimneys'S ‘This 
scheme also came to nothing. On September 24, Coleridge writes to Poole # 

his ‘heart is heavy respecting Derby'—which J interpret as meaning that he feared 
to settle so far away from Bristol and from Poole. A house at Adscombe (near 
Stowey), with some land attached, was his desire, and apparently with Poole’s — 
approval Derby was given up,’ and * letter written to Dr. Crompton to which 
Coleridge received ‘a very kind reply." * 


On hiswaybome from Derby, Coleridge had spent a week at Maseley, near Birming: 
ham,* and there renewed the + acquaintance with the Lloyds which had been formed 


during the Watchman tour in January. 


Coleridge, and having a turn for verse-mal 


* "1 preached yesterday morning from Meb- 
news iv. ty It was my chef d'oapre. 1 think 
‘of writing it down and publishing it with two 
‘other sermons. . . T should like you to hear 
me preach them. I lament that my political 
notoriety prevented my relieving you occasionally 
at Bristol.’ ST. C. to Estlin, August 23, 
1796 (Hetilie Letlers, p. 25). 


1 Unpublished Letters of S. TC. te the 
Kev, J, P. Batlin, prioted for the Phitobiblon 
Society, p. a7. 


Charles Lloyd ‘had been fascinated by 
1g and meditation, rather than for the 


3 Printed in 7. Parle and Air Friends, i 
151, 153. 

2 Lethin Letters, BU. 
misplaced. 

4 Lethin Letters, pp. 1 13 

© Bing. Lit, v847, ii, 37%. See “Note ty,’ 
$81, peat. 

©T, Poole and hhis Frieda, i x8. 

7 ThA 188, 

® Biog. Lit. 847, fu s77. See Lambie letiers 
to Coleridge of October 17 and 24, and Now 
ember 8, 1796 (Ainger’s ed. i. 9p ef sey.) 


‘The Setter is there 





INTRODUCTION 


Lam a s0-80 chemist, and I lore chemistry—all else is blank—but I will be 
God) an horticulturist and farmer. I compose very Little, and T absolutely hat 
composition, Such is my dislike that even a sense of duty is sometimes too 
overpower it." A month later he writes to the same unseen friend 
poetry, I do confess that it frequently, both in thought and 
“nature and simplicity.” Bat that Bowles, the most tender, and with 
‘of Burns, the only always natura? poet in our language, that he should cape 
the charge of Della-Cruscanism, this cuts the skin and surface of my heart.’ His: 
poetry, he goes on to say, ‘seldom exhibits unmixed and simple tendemes 
passion ; my philosophical opinions are blended with or deduced from my feelings, 
and this, I think, peculiarises my style of writing, and lke everything else it is 
sometimes a beauty and sometimes a fault, But do not let us introduce an Act of 
Uniformity against Poets. I have room enough in my brain to admire, p 
almost equally, the dead and fancy of Akenside and the Aeart and fancy of Bowes, 
the solemn lordliness of Milton, and the divine chit-chat of Cowper, and stanly 
man’s excellence is, that will be likewise his fault.’ He speaks of Bowles as 
‘bard of my idolatry,’ and sends a commission to Thelwall to buy for him the works 
of Jamblichus, Proclus, Porphyry, the Emperor Julian, Sidonius Apollinaris, and 
Plotinus}—a little Neo-Platonic library. . 

In the sammer of this year (1796) Southey had returned from Portugal. Tt 
were But it was only seeming, 
the yea “We are reconciled . . 
ences, and feel Andéincss towards cach other, but T do set exteese or 
I must esteem and love whom I dare call by the holy name of Friend 
ike versa, Southey of me.'> As the days shortened, Coleridge grew 

dogged his efforts 


medical attendant decides it to be altogether nervous, and that it originates either 
severe application or excessive anxiety. My beloved Poole, in excessive anxiety, 
I believe, it might originate, I have a blister under my right ear, and I take 
drops of laudanum every five hours, the ease and spit [italics in original) 
gained by which have enabled me to write you this Mighty but not exaggerating 
account." 

The baby son flourished, but not so Lloyd ; and the epileptic fits to which he was 
subject, caused the household much anxiety. Its master had yet found no money: — 
making employment, so that a gift of fifteen guineas, which came th Esttin, 
must have been welcome. On the 15th November he wrote to Poole: *My 
‘anxieties eat me up... . [want consolation—my Friend ! my Brother! write and 
console me,'® Poole’s consolation was of a modified character. He told his friend 
‘of a wayside cottage obtainable at Stowey, but had little but evil to say of its accom~ 

1 See also Lamb's letter to Coleridge, July 4S. T. C. ta Poole, Nov. 3, #796 (7. Poole 


ast, 1795 cand his Friends, i. x77, and Bing. Leite 1847, th 
3 Miegs Lat. ay, th 396. 


so). 
4 Unprinted letter once in Mr, F, W.Cosens’s $7. Fone and Air Rriemls, be #79 
collection. 





INTRODUCTION 


him of a peoject for coal 
2 an epic on 
neberrere Sey tel nen 


Southey's Joom reclaimed, 
Se ee eatisdpeaion Pome The Visions of the Maid of Arc, with which 
the new edition was to lead off, ‘I much wish’ inte Ce ae 

January 1797) ‘to send my Visions of the Maid of Are my corrections to 
cemens tae Woes vex Det: ssiove 20 mcs foe eS fo Een, ee 
judgment 1 see reas0m to think more correct and philosophical than my own, which 

Cae gl an al 

‘The arrangement for a ‘second edition’ of the Poems had been made in October 
proposed to give Coleridge twenty guineas for an edition of five 


Vetter which has not been fully pablished : "Charles has given 
to you on condition that you priat them é this 
b's poems." He goes on to explain that although 

All thus be increased, so also will be its saleability, 


‘bas all but convinced me that the meeting took 


3 Seo Contle's Kem, pris. In the £. 











INTRODUCTION 











Et te HEL HW ir ] 

i ne HB ie r 
an hile 
A i He a 
ie i nig ae Heute He 
aid aged see ee 
poe alll nd ely Shs 
at Hedin Gace dale 
HLT AT EABHER ene EIREE 

Hest al ili Fill Leite H iti 





INTRODUCTION 


i 


| 


9 Fenwick-note to At Fathers, 

4 Page ayn ‘Note rat,’ ps Out, teh 

* Knight's Li@ of Wondewerth, 
chap, bx, 








xxxvi INTRODUCTION ToT 





volume;! that nothing need be said bere. Wordsworth stated? that In November 
1i67 Ghorke was fined whi Ws owe trendy fo Covent Gardens Bai , 

, and there is no corroborative evidence. Both tragedies 
cata tae popmet ne aide ta palpation cad he offered thirty guiness Sar 
each, but the offer was declined—' from the hope’ (says Cottle) ‘of introducing o 
or both om the stage.’3 ‘The air, as usual, was fall of projects. An epic, to wl 
at least twenty years should be devoted, was not, strictly speaking, one of them, bal 

were saggested—ten years for collecting material, five 
composition, five in correction—*So would I write, haply mot 
divine and nightly whispering voice, which speaks o mighty mindsy 
garlands, and unwithering.’* A great poem on 


Wordsworths set off to walk to Watchet en reaée to Linton and the Valley ef 
Stones—a little tour the expense of which they meant to defray (solvitur aménlamdé) 
by a joint compasition of the two poets, to be sold for £§ to the editor of the 
Monthly Magacine. Before the first eight miles had been covered the attempt at 
joint composition broke down, and Coleridge took the business into his own hands 
‘The magnificent result was The Ancient Mariner.© But it was not seat to the 
Monthly Magatine, and the travellers’ expenses must have come from some other 
fand. 


is ballad finish 
fal evening, very starry, the homed moon,’ No doubt the poet read the 
his friends—bis one perfect and complete achievement—* inimitable,’ as 
pride he affirmed. 

Of Christabel, which, he tells us, was begun at Stowey in 1797, there is no 
contemporary record. But the originals of the ‘thin gray cloud,’ which made a 
moon ‘both small and dull,’ and ‘the one red leaf the last ofits seis appear in 
Dorothy's ‘Journal’ for January 3 and March 7, 1798, respecti 

Sometime in 1797, pracy earlier, Coleridge had been. parse by Poole to 
‘Thomas and Josiah ¥ eagwood, sons of the great potter, Their brother John 
resided at Cote House, Westbury, near Bristol; Thomas was a patient of Dr 
Beddoes, and the combined circumstances made the brothers, Thomas and Josiah, 
frequent visitors to Bristol. i 
Poole’s, and both being cultivated. 
the ', In December 1797, and during the absence of th 
London, Coleridge received an Invitation to preach at the Unitarian chapel at 
Shrewsbury, with the view of succeeding to its pastoral charge, about to become 
vacant by the retirement of the Rev. Mr. Rowe. In spite of old prejudices against 
the preaching of the Gospel for hire, he was tempted by the plleeaisin,: of £150 per 


3 Arex Ky! 5453 and "Note aye," Ble. Lite chap x. 
640, Arve © fall account of the circumstances will be 

2 Fenwicksnate 10 The Borderers, found in * Note 182," tas. $93:59% Atle 

2 Rem, ype utd 167. F For the history of CAristabed—the flest part 

4 ToCottie. Kear. p t03 of wbich, coly, was written at Stowey —see 

8 See Coberhige’s account of the project im ‘Note rity’ pp, Gordon, Anat, 








xl INTRODUCTION 





tunable to keep in a stright line,'* But the talk was divine. ‘The very 
had ears, and Harmer Hill stooped with all its pines to listen to a poet.” 

The letter which Coleridge had received, and which had been written. by Je 
Weslgwood, on his own and his brother Thomas's behalf, is printed in fall in 72 
ond hit Friends (i. 259-261). The terms of their offer, which had not previ 


accepting the proposal (January 16), and in announcing this 
So penined seen aren new, that I am not certain that 


hy ‘ignation of candidature, 

ibie moment (January 29) went off to meet his benefactors 

Wi Se in the siete went one from 

‘Stunt, propeictor of st, suggesting subjects for contributions 

in prose and verse, vale aapeg ag which (as we ani from an allusion in 

Poole’s accompany Jetter) was to be a guinen a week, Stuart's letter incidentally 

Bee ibe ek thet Coderitgs ad been already a contributor to bis paper, Poole 

urges Coleridge to attend at once to Stuart's request, but on the 27th ie tells Poole 

he will be ‘vexed to hear that he has written nothing for the Morning Post—but 

shall write immediately to the editor.’ He has been much féted at Shrewsbury, he 

‘ged I suspect that his detention there beyond the date of his resi was 

It was certainly unwise to postpone his visit to the We sod 

is contribations to the newspaper, The introduction to Daniel Stuart, who had 

becouse ietor and editor of the forming Fest in 1796, must have come from 

the either directly or through their intimate friend (Sir) James 
Mackintosh, who in 1789 bad married Stuart's sister Catherine. 

T have not detected any of Coleridge’s contributions to the Morning Ppst before 
the beginning of 4798, but between January $ and the departure for 
several poems of various merit appeared.? The icent Ode fo France was by 
far the most important of these, In calling it The Pecntanien Coleridge meant, of 
course, that he recanted his previous loudly-expressed belief in’ the French Revelas 


than prews.’ On the 1911 
and at the carbest 
at Cote House. 
Daniet 


* Compare Carlyle in the Lift of Stenting: 


4A lady once remarked that he (Coleridge, at 

the Grove, Highgate) never could fix which side 

‘ofthe garden-walk would suit him best, but con- 
shifted, in corkscrew fashion, and kept 

‘teying both" (p. 72). 

“41 i unaccountable how the unconditional 


.w his half of the annuity. ‘Thomas had 
the meantime, but his half had been 


secured legally, and was pai regularly util 
Coleridge's death. = 

1 His letter is printed In full in the Chrivtdew 
Reformer for 1834. pp. 838. 

2 Cottle’s Rew. p. xyz; but Cottle mibbtaker 
in supposing the letter there printed to be Cale: 
Tidge's acceptance of the annulty. It sae in 
reply to an invitation from T.. Wedgweed dated 
‘Penrance, January 20," which had bees fore 
warded by Poole. 

2 Pine, Faonine, and Slaughter (pps 141, 927) 











GERMANY xiv 





y he found no time for his most important call—that on Daniel Stuart respect 
omised)contribations to the Morsring Fost, The party left London on 
eee eevee eat A Varmint ‘on the 16th, reached Hamburg on the 


i 


enthusiastic, but, everything considered, was 
iewers. If they were shocked by the Amcient 
and 60, a little, was William Wordsworth, 
in The Thorn and in The Adéot Bey, but only 
notice of Zénes at Tintern ANey. He was 
ines left om a Yew-tree Seat; and not even he was 
first mild day of March,’ or Written in Early Spring,’ or by 
Simon Lee—plain evidence of the small extent to which the 
Burns had up to that time affected the dry places of 
of the volume was slow, but the poets heard nothing 
their absence, except a cheerful report from Mrs. Coleridge 

‘the Lyrical Ballads are not liked at all by any.’* 


ri 
= 
ee 


V. GERMANY 


Yarmouth and the events of the early days spent by the united 
amusingly described by Coleridge in his ‘ Satyrane's Letters.'* 
enjoyed 


mg, carrying a letter of introduction to the 
that town, who introduced him to a pastor, with 

live (himself and Chester) ev pemston, He then retumed 

bye to the Wordsworths, and on the Ist October 

ing there for the next four months, The 

slo never been explained, and has given 
ed suspicions, such a3 those which seized on Charles Lamb when he 
that the poets had quarrelled, ‘The only allusion to the reasons 


for Nov, 23, Dec. 7, and Dec. at, atog. They 
‘were reprinted in the Sieg. Lif, vol ti Cole- 
Fidge, I believe, saw Klopitock only on the 
first cecasion, and the whole of the account 
of the convecsations aust have teen taken 
from Wonlsworth's notes, for the language 
used wax French, which wax unintelligible t0 
Coleridge. 
@ Lamb to Southey, Now. 8, 1758 (Ainger’s 
‘The Letters were first printed fa The Fricms ot i. of). 


c a 





xlvi INTRODUCTION 1798" 





with which I am acquainted is contained in a letter from Poole,? which apparently 
reflects Coleridge’s account of the matter. ‘The Wordsworths have left you—so 
there is an end of our fears about amalgamation, ete. I think you both did perfectly 
Fight. It was right for them to find a cheaper situation ; and it was right for you to 
avoid the expense of travelling, provided you are where pure German is spoken.’ 
He adds, ‘You will, of course, frequently hear from Wordsworth,'—wbich 

that the separation took place under no shadow even of momentary unftieni 

On the day on which the Wordsworths left Hamburg for Goslar (of Brunswick), 
William wrote to Poole: ‘Coleridge has most likely informed you that be and 
Chester have settled at Ratzeburg. Dorothy and I are going to speculate further up 
‘the country." They went further only to fare worse, for at Goslar they were 

frozen to death, and saw little or nothing of German society, and learnt tittle or 
nothing of the language? or literature, Wordsworth, however, did better, for he 
wrote some of his best poetry, though of course he could have done that under more 
comfortable circumstances in’ England. Correspondence with Coleridge was kept 
‘up, and in February the brother and sister seem to have visited him at Gdttingen.* 
They also spent a day or two with him, in April, on their way home.* 

Coleridge's purpose in remaining at Ratzeburg was to acquire a thorough know- 
ledge of German, ‘It was a regular part of my morning studies for the first six 
weeks of my residence at Ratzeburg, to accompany the good and kind old pastor 
with whom I lived, from the cellar to the roof, through garden, farm-yard, etc., and to 
call every, the minutest thing, by its German name. Advertisements, farces, jest- 
books, and the conversation of children while I was at play with them, contributed 
their share to a more home-like acquaintance with the language than I could haye 
acquired from works of polite literature alone, or even from polite society.’ ® 
the end of those six weeks he ‘amazes' his Stowey friends by his report of progress; 
and vexes them by the accounts of his home-sickness. * You say you wish to come 
home,’ responds Poole, and advises him to be of good cheer and think of nothi 
but the accomplishment of the object of his exile. He adds that Stuart is anxi 
expecting the promised contributions to the Morning /ost—contributions which 
never came.? 

Coleridge certainly wrote warmly affectionate and home-sick letters to his wife 
and to Poole, but my impression is that he had distractions. He made little excur- 
sions into the adjoining country; the ‘nobility and gentry’ of the little town paid 
him much attention, for he was Coleridge, and Englishmen were naturally Paes 
in & town which fired a salute of twenty-one guns in honour of the battle of the Nile. 
But the mails were very irregular, and he no doubt fretted sometimes—especially 
when news came that little Berkeley's inoculation had been swiftly followed by an 
attack of smallpox which spoiled his fair beauty. He tried total abstinence from 
fermented liquors, and ate little animal food, but after three months’ experience of 
the regimen, found that though his digestion was improved and his spirits more 
equable, sleeplessness had been induced. With what he considered a sufficient stock 


1 To Coleridge, Oct. 8, s7y8. T. Paele and Atv say halfa-crown. 

Friends, i. 378. 3 Knight's £¢,1. 184. Seoalso Mewameters, 
2 The little dictionary they used lies before  p. 133, and ‘Note 125," p. 6r4; and Ad Vidmewme 

me—his autograph on the title-page, and some — A.riolaguay, po 138+ 

pencilled additions to the vocabulary of the 4 Knight's Li, i. 183 

‘second part in Dorothy's hand. It is a litle © 78. i. x93. 

Leipsic Taschennerterduck—Pranztsich-Deut- © Bigg. Lét, 2817, i. sox 

aches and Dach.-Fr., coiting eighteen groschen 7 T. Poole anal Ais Friends, i. 28. 








GRETA HALE 





VI, Grera Haut 


‘Colerikige arrived at Stowey at some uncertain date between the 2nd and zoth 
‘and on the latter day he wrote a friendly letter to Southey, who was at Minehead. 
seems to have responded tentatively, accusing Coleridge of evil: ing. 
denies that he ever accused Southey of anything but enmity to himself— 
founded’ on delusion, and appealed to Poole. Poole backed Coleridge, 
‘always spoken of Southey with affection, As for C, Lloyd,’ adds 

‘be cruel to attribute As conduct to aught but a diseased mind.’ 

satisfied, brought his wife to Stowcy,! and they remained for two or 

‘Tt wes during this visit that the two poets concocted The Devil's 

the casual, light-hearted fashion described, long after, by Southey— 


‘There while the one was shaving 

‘Would he the song begin, 

‘And the other when he heard it at breakfast, 
Tn ready accord join in, 


‘Before the end of August the brothers-in-law and their wives set out from Stowey— 
for Sidmouth, and the Coleridges for Ottery St. Mary, on a visit to the 

of ome: To Poole, Coleridge wrote assurances that he and his wife were ‘ received 
okey ‘Tove and attention,’ and Southey, who was detained x few days at Ottery, 
Tively account of the party? ‘We were all a good deal amused by the 
mother}. ¢ could not hear what was going on, but secing 
Bicacores is brothers, took it for granted that he must have been wrong, 
‘oat, “Ah, if your poor father had been alive, he'd soon have convinced 

‘visit was until near the end of September, and Coleridge tells 

iat he enjoyed himself. Finding that his brothers’ opinions, tastes, and feel- 

ed from his own, he held his peace, and amiably pledged 
Rig? ‘when the toast was going round, relieving his feelings occasion- 

e company of some friends at Exeter, whose views more nearly coincided with 

z them being Hucks, the travelling companion of 1794. On the 
writes to Southey of a rheumatic attack, which reminds him of his 

fever at school, and a fortnight later, of much pain and sleeplessness, with 
through indi pare food taken by compulsion—symptoms not, one fears, 
Southey was at this time collecting verses for the 

Nema tnthelagy, and Coleridge had_ promised contributions 

Cristabel, it would appear, for he promises to set about the finishing of it 
speed, he doubts pubes if i it would make a suitable poem with which to 

le thinks he may go to London, A week later he went to 

He had received alarming accounts of Wordsworth's 

sber, in company with Cottle,* he arrived at Sockbum, 

‘were residing with the Hutchinsons.? Fortunately the cause 

Ved passed away, and almost immediately the three men started on a tour 


ARS A Knight's £06 of Wordsworth, i. 198-200. 
Ped tp bon ® The parents of Mary and Sarah Hutchinson. 
z. a Oe rr becasth lathe, the wilh of Werte: 
Letters of R. S.. 61-45, worth, and the latter one of Coleridge's most 
A Rem, . 297. Wonlsworth and Coleridge attached friends, He then met both sisters for 
ack wrote some account of the tour, See the first time, 














TROCIIN cd 





Sexier Eom 2 pesage mt a leer of Somat, writs 

Coierxige and I place cureives 

de Nee Sra mnt SE seme as went Sree ar four hows day, 

ex: ne ney or Ss aemcmmc Tweed mice him St 

i ¢ Ict stare tis view. On the 

PETES. ee would Save remembered the circem- 
wore tx acy ene of cme twas moe im Colbert 

os oe citer woul nxre ne smmmmmoed to Wordsworth, 

. RX tre wores & Mrs HN. Coleridge: ‘So 

ON Sek ence cm our Stee sepere?i oy Me. Seaman's paper, 

¢ =u Xe aommsi 2 crcoreur. Sut this he declined, 

eX ace ze of ae mi Goa wo Bing. Lit, 1847), 

So sSer wee a mere ur too" reeped by Semart im 

SS Sees a 














soy RS AS be 

























SAWS Gu 








aps TURE 


is saferings, contains no allusions 
seention in that one letter to Poole. T doate if am 


ry 


first in 281. 

All that De 

3 and this applies generally to his numerous stories about 

many of them are demonstrably inaccarate, that the credit of all is vitiated. 


VIL Guera Halt—(contimued) 


renewal of health in the Azores, Health improved, and 
‘The end of June ht a relapse, and the idea was resumed. Of course there was 
a money ty, On July t he asked Poole’s advice, and proposed to raise money 
«by getting an advance from a publisher. About the same time, Wordsworth, who 
was in much anxiety about Coleridge, also wrote to Poole! patting the case; he 
disapproved strongly of Coleridge's plan of getting funds, and suggested that 

be disposed to advance £50, and if more should be need it 
other friends in the west, On July 21 Poole replies, to both lett 


“Highgate, April 
F.C. 1847, 194 


of grace im and for me by a sadden emanciza- See the wbcle of this interesting 
tion froe = thiny-three years’ {1832-33—17y)1 spondence, with valeabie edinorial eluckdations, 
fearful slavery, if God's goniness shoub! come in 7. Povie and Ais Friemds, i. S665. 





INTRODUCTION 


‘acoounts of his health to the Wordsworths,! and on 19th March, ‘ona very rainy) 
jngs’ he appeared at Dove Cottage. ‘ His eyes were a little swollen with the wit 
‘was much affected by the sight of him, he seemed half-stupified’ Next 


addressedl to Wordsworth, and, before printing, addressed to him by name. No: 
cry from the depths was ever uttered, even by Coleridge, none more since 
more musical, Health was gone, and with it both the ‘natural joy” which had 
his in rich abundance, and that rarer kind which, as he tells us, dwells only wit 
pure ; nor was this all, for he discovered that he had lost control of his most p 
endowment, his ‘shaping spirit of imagination’—and that his ‘sole resource” 
the endeavour to forget, in metaphysical speculations, that it had ever been his. H 
felt that poetically he was dead, and that if not dead spiritually, he had lost 
spiritual identity, f make no quotations, for the ode isa whole, and must be r 
as a whole, But it is incomplete. The symptoms of the disease are stated 
Great and deeply-affecting fulness, but the causes are only vaguely hinted at. 
addressing Wordsworth, there may have been no need for more. Besides the bo 
ailments, there were at least two causes—fatal indulgence in opium, and gro 
<strangement between his wife and himself. If the opium-eating was unknown to 
Wordsworths, it may have been suspected, and Coleridge may have known that it: 
suspected. The domestic trouble must have been known to them. In these 

the discord was not constant,t there were intervals of peace, but even then Cx 

had accustomed himself to seek happiness, or, at least, relief from cares, 

where'than in the house which should have been his home. By the end of this 
the estrangement had made considerable progress, and Greta Hall knew 


those habitual ils 
That wear out life, when two unequal minds 
Meet in one house, and two discordant wills 


If there be any mystery here, I shall not attempt to fathom it; but T do 
think there fs any mystery at all. The marriage had not been made in Heaven, 
in Bristol, and by the meddlesomeness of Southey, a man superlatively ad 
but self-sufficient and sometimes obtuse. Attachment there had bean 
to bear a good deal of strain; but if there had been love, its roots had 
sustenance, and when it withered away, root and branch, there was nothing left, 

of community of mind and tastes—nothing but the unsheathed material fet 


* * Avresotx G,' p. son. April ¢ waa prob- ined). S. T. C. to Estlin, 26th Joly. aBoa, 
ably the day on which the poem was completed. vsti Letters, pu te 

‘The Wordsworths were at Greta Hall on the 4th 1 See Miss Wordeworth's Journals hi 

and sth, and doubtless it was read to them. Life of W. Wik Bh et 209. 

f Tam at present in better health than Thawe 

‘been, though by no means strong and well—anaf This gon. 

Gt heme ail is Peace and Love’ (original undere Page 159. See alo ‘Note x6a,' p. Got 








[xii 


INTRODUCTION 





sate together in silence by the roadside.’ 
the middle of October, Wordsworth's 


place 
Reverting to the beginning of May, we find Coleridge a 
from Poole? It is only a month since the Defection ode, but he 


‘The friends were not to mest again 


2 taking place in the meantime. 
‘a friendly Jet 
in better 


and spirits, promising that by the end of the year he will have disburthened. — 


all metaphysics, aad that the next year will be devoted to a 
iblished as a second volume,* but he will not — 
had an offer from a bookseller to travel on the Co 


poems are about to be 
more of that order. He 
for book-maki 


long poem t 


1g purposes, but has declined on account of his ignorance of 
and that, in spite of many temptations to acce| 


ptance—* household infelicity,’ for 0 


He sees by the papers that a portrait of him is in the Exhibition, and 


must be Hazlitt's. 


*Mine is not a picturesque face, Southey’s was 
picture.’ The sheet is filled up with « transcript of latest 


Wordsworth’s 


—The Butterfly aud The Sparrow's Nest—and an intimation that on the 4th 
last he had written to Poole a letter in verse, but thinking it ‘dull and doleful,’ | 


not sent it, He meant, no doubt, a transcript of the ode Dejection, 

in France and Switzerland, and did mot retwrn tintit 
they * we gather that in “August Coleridge 

ijects, and in September-November he sent a few miscellaneous contributions 

10 Morning Post. August was cheered by an unexpected visit from Charles and: 


this, Poole went on his travels i 
eared From a letter of 


ne 


Soon’ after, 


Mary Lamb—unexpected, because time, as Lamb tells Manning,® did not admit 


notice, 


“Coleridge received us with all hospitality 


the world, and gave up his 


time to show us all the wonders of his country. . . . Here we stayed three full 
wecks, in which tlme I visited Wordsworth’s cottage, where we stayed a day of two 


with the Clarksons . 
‘The 


Wedgwood was a dangerous com 
just tl 
sf 


The Wordsworths were gone 


panion, for he was an amateur in 
en in hot pursuit of Bang?—*the Nepenthe of the Ancients,’ as Coleridge, who 


helped to procure a supply, delighted to remember, 
‘On December 24 Coleridge and Wedgwood called at Dove Cottage on seo 
to Greta Hall, when Coleridge learnt from the Wordsworths that a daughter 


+R. S. to ST. C., August 4, rBo2:—' As to 
your emays, ete. ete, you spawn plans like a 
herring; 1 only wish as many of the seed were to 
vivify in proportion. . . . Your essay on Cane 
temporaries Tam not much afraid of the impru- 
dence of, because 1 have no expectation that 
they will ever be written; but if you were to 
write, the scheme projected on the old poets 
would be a better scheme" (Life and Corre: 
spondence of R. S. ih. 199). 

1 October 4, 18s. Dejetions an Ode was 
printed in the Aferming Fost on that day, a sad 
enovgh Epithalamium. See Lamb's tetter to 
Coleridge, October 9, 202, (Ainger’s ed, L 18s), 
and ' Note 16a," p. 

2 T. Poole amt his Friends, ih. 39. 


3 Nothing came of this. 

4 Including the comparison beeween Imperial 
Rome and. France ; coos sare 
Jacobin"; the letters t0 Pox; the account’ of 
‘The Beauty of Buttermere, whose story fills so 
large & space in De Quincey's article on Colle 
ridge (Verh, 1963, li 8); and the One €0 the 
Rain (p. 008) The last recorded contribution: 
to the Af,P. Is dated November 5, 1802, See 
Essays om his avn Tivaer, 

5 Lauer of September 24, 1802 (Ainger’s od. 

Lat), haelprfoer roche 

ns ene of Englithmen, pp. 197206; whe 


" Tk 15; Paris's Lifeof Daty, i. 1735 and 
Cottle’s Remimiscencer, wor 499 and 4By. 





GRETA HALL lxiii 


in his ‘feeling unwell all over." 


eleven days later, existence at Greta Hall having 
idge is at Cote House,? ready, professedly, to 
Wedgwood'—drcades amo. “But the other Arcadian 
undecided, and by February 4 Coleridge was with Poole, 
at Bristol with Southey,* who found Coleridge ‘a poor 
this climate.’ At Stowey, Coleridge's health 
jently to permit of his accompanying Wedgwood 
ith alone, and accordingly, in March, his friend 
Coleridge's mythical ‘ History of 
“I confine myself to facts in 
ut of the 
‘besprinkled copious! a 
After a visit to Genville (Josiah Wedgwood’s country house), Coleridge returned to 
London. gives a sad account of him.$ ‘During his stay in town 


power and activity. 

ew siapebel gt float his mind d by 

e greatness float upon his mind . . . agitate every 
Ineexe, and modified by every sunbeam, He talked, in the course of one hour, of 
< Mhrse werk, and he recited the poem of Christe, unfinished, a8 1 bad 


of W, Wei 3m) 
4 Letters of January 9 and 14, 1803, in Cottle’s 
Rem. DR 49) 456 
® Unprinted letter to T. Poole, Feb. 2, 1803. 
4 Cottle’s Rem. pp. 438-461. 
§ Life and Corr. of R. S. i. sor. Ina letter 
‘of Februnry 6, 1803, he writes to W. Taylor: ‘Tam 
| grieved that you never met Coleridge : wll other 
: ‘men whom have ever known are mere children 
tt ‘tohim, and yet he is palsiod by a total want of 
‘moral strength (Mew. of W. T. i 433) 
© Cottle’s Rem p. 439. 
7 Latter to Purkis, Stowey, February 17, 1803, 
in Pariv’s Life of Davy, i. 173. 
# Letter to Poole, May 1, sop, £8. i. 176. 





INTRODUCTION 


summer.! At the beginning of June, Coleridge informs Godwin ® that bis he 
‘certainly better than at any former period of the disease,’ and asks him to 

Fag Coke eee 5 
the printer at a fortni 


fer Yereniss ot Fiscal Raabe te PaloeiGe Life" ; to 
he prefixed (1) a familiar introduction to the common system of Logic, namely, that of 
Aristotle and the Schools; (2). . .’ and so o for a page of close print. 
this wor is fi off his hands—more and more metaphysics to follows not 
the poetry, with the promise of which he 
ation, if Godbein il nd pabiber fx 


had not and never would pass beyond the stage of synopsis, and acted 
At Greta Hall, Col seems to have remained with his ‘mind stran 
"3 until Sunday the 14th August, when in company with See and Doe 
fordsworth he set out on a Scotch tour.* Incidentally we learn bh 
happened to be level of not very steep on either grade), and that 
not enjoy the bumping so much as his robuster companions enj 
a fortnight, on the day after the meeting with that ‘sweet 
in perfect innocence,’ by the Inversnaid ferry-house, 
friends, professing to be very unwell, and unable to face the wet in 


He sent on his trunk to Edinburgh, and would follow it* 
‘Tyndrum,* a week later, the Wordsworths were astonished to learn that 
‘whom we had supposed i 

on his road to Fort-William . parted 

kindly Dorothy has no word of reproach for her errant friend. 

had found the close companionship incompatible with that free indu 

which had become to him a necessity of pleasurabl 


le or even 
Tn his solitude, as he told Beaumont ee Poole, he walked to Glencoe, on to Cullen — 


manta Mirek Taking aaa Edinburgh, he reached home on the ¥5th 


* See Rerollactions of Tour made in Scots 


Memerizls of Coleorton, x37, |, 63; and 
Wordeworth'y & 25- 

4 See The Pains of Sleep, ~ 170, and the 
"Note hereto, p. 63r ; see also the other very in- 
Teresting letters of this period addremed to Sir 
G. Beaumont in Coleorton Letters, wo. i. 

1 Sce Lamts letter to Coleridge of March 20, 


Boy; and “Aveewone Ky! p45. 

2 Latter 09 Godwin, June 4, 1803, tn Hildinm 
Godwin, i. 92. 

3 Letter to T. Wedgwood, September 16, Bony 
in Cottle’s Kem. py 4661 * For five months past 
sy usiod has been strangely shut up.” 

4 Tour, p17. 

5h pty 

© See ‘Eplgram 53," p 49 and * Note” 
thereto, p. 653. 








i 
ne ay A HE 
iit 


Wilts 
iar 


grew a! 
at 
Chat 
Nelon’s 


Sab title wae 
deem coe of Ni 


2p: fer Cobbs Grewal Semmes 
A Sociees of Thee sed Edt ling i Meme 


{i 

a 

3 iW 

lye 

: WA 

5 i| 
Ap 


ue 
‘J 
% 


= peers ae at wate econ to it a 
seen ae Coumiainome io af Sin hace Mom of 


is andl other 
iro Malta, Mi 


bee 


there 
cata 


tak 








INTRODUCTION 





tia) 
i 


am harassed by local and 
Heaven knows whether 

. we go and go to England in 

+» » On my arrival at Pisa... 1 will write = letter to 

not consider asa letter, Nothing can surpass Mr. Resell's Kindness 

heartedness to me.’! 


3 
i 


IX. Return to Exctaxn—Lecrures—7we FRIEND 


and possibly for that reason wrote to no one. 
Rassell, however, wrote to his own friends at Exeter, who wrote to the Coleridges 
Ottery, who wrote to Mrs. Coleridge—the news reaching her on 
ridge arrived in London on the 17th, and on the following day, har 
with Lamb, wrote to Stuart and to Wordsworth. In 
ibed himself as much better since he landed, bat in neither did he say 


to cowardice, to ask for any person, or of any person.’ Spite of the 
most tinquestioning welcome from all most dear to him, it was the saddest 
‘comings, for the very sympathy held out with both hands induced only a biti 
less feeling of remorse—a 


‘Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain ;— 

And genins given, and knowledge woa im vain ;— 
of broken promises, —promises to friends and promi 
Re eed ee chee ieee 

‘Wordsworth, whose family had outgrown Dove Cottage, was then i 

close to Keswick, that he might be near Coleridge, should Coleridge di 
at Greta Hall. He would do nothing antil be saw his friend—for came 
to his repeated inquiries by letter. Coleridge seems soon to have left, Lamb's 
chambers for a room at the Courier office (348 Strand), and to bave settled down 
as assistant to Stuart and to his editor, Street. Fe en 
Howick (Foreign Secretary), but had been repulsed by the hall porter, and doubted 
whether the letter on the state of affairs in the Mediterranean which he had Jeft had 
ever reached his Lordship. A few days after Fox's death (Sep. 13) he promised 
Stuart a ‘full and severe critique’ of that statesman's latest views. About 


2 This letter was partly and Incorrectly 

printed is Seribuer’s Mag. foe Jan. r892. The 

eblishers soit kiedly sent me a corrected aad 

completed transcript, from which Iquete. With 3 Letters frem the Lake Poet, 
other letters of Coleridge, it appears in the  Aew. of Colvortom, i. 257. 

Life of Allston jest pobliabed. Me. Russell was mais suthorities for this period. 








Ixxii INTRODUCTION 
Tt was early in the following month that Wordsworth recited to Coleridge the 
sutobiographii wh The Prelude. Tt had been slowiy 


portrait of his friend is drawn in tines even more strongly contrasting than those 
which had been used in Dejection. 

On January 27, 1807, Miss Wordsworth reports Coleridge as pretty well, 
though ailing at some time every day ; and still given to the use of strong 
though less so than before, Gu. Pobroasy-17 te ts. ol al Coleokton bc Ra 
have been soon after this that Coleridge took Hartley up to London on/a visit te 
Basil Montagu. It was probably while then in town that he made 
arrangements through Davy for the delivery of the course of lectures which had been 
spoken of in 1806, for in August we find Davy endeavouring to get a definite answer 
on the subject.! Some time in May, Coleridge and Hartley joined Mra. 
and the two younger children at Bristol (where Mrs. Coleridge had been since 
end of March), and on the 6th June the whole family became the guests of Poole at 
Stowey. The visit was planned for but a fortnight, after which the Coleridges were 
to have gone to Ottery? to stay with Mr. Coleridge, but the visit bad to be 


abandoned, owing, it was said, to illness in the house, The true reason was, that 
the Rev. George Coleridge was made aware of the proposed separation of S. | 
This 


Coleridge from his wife, he refused to receive them into his house, 


should return intact to Greta Hall. 

while he basked in the sunshine of old associations and old friendships, but when 
‘constant friend urged him to exert himself in preparing for the propased lectures 
at the Royal Institution, poor Coleridge could only respond with a sigh— 


Lit Bagle bid the Tortoise sunwards soar, 
As vainly Strength speaks to a broken Mind {? 


Poole succeeded, however, in overcoming Coleridge’s reluctance to resume com- 
raunieation with Josiah Wedgwood, While on a visit from Poole’s to his old 
neighbour, Mr. Brice of Aisholt, Coleridge wrote the letter which contains the state- 
ment already quoted as to his having returned from Italy ‘ill, penniless, and worse than 


* Tea Gentleman, otc.,p. 176. But aa in the 
case of the ode Dejection, it in necemary to the 


fall effect that the original version should be 
tad. See *Arrexprx H,' p s25- Compare 
with Defectiom. 

1 Prag. Rew. p. of. 

2 *1n less than a week I go down to Ottery, 
‘with my childeen and their mother, from a sease 


and indeed as a debt of respect to. her, for ber 
many praiseworthy qualities.” 

3 "Fngment 70)' pe 46 

4 To Josiah Wedgwood, June 27, toy, in at 
Gromp of Emglisioven, ppm 324-528 








this alleged confession, I feel almost persuaded that De Quincey's memory “ 
him, and that he learned the secret and received the warning at some later x 
Sch s lapee in groping back through past of seren-and-wenty yeas Issel GRE 


probable than 
perfect stranger. 


in many ways by 


Tt strack the 


Theard, E contrived that a particular service should 


Coleridge should have divulged a jealously. 
. young : 
difficulties, Immediately after 


secret 
man that cf 


might 
Bristol, he learned that sach was the ease, ‘and in consequence’ (he says) “of what 
be rendered Coleridge, = 


week after, through the hands of Mr. Cattle.” 
Such 


rressures which alone stood in the way of the completion of works, wl 


plete, would make him easy. 


Tn one year he hopes to ask the name 


+ that he may show him good fruits of the ‘tranquillity of mind 


2. Rem m HDL The narmtive In, as 
‘usual, full of inaccuracies—as is shown by a com- 
parison with the correspondence printed in De 
Quincey's Memorials ( vols. xf9¢), but the 
Jntier gives no new complexion ta the condnct 
of the parties. Hoth De Quincey and Cottle 
write ax if the transaction had been carried 
through at once, but the comespondence explains 


how it came to drag on from July 

ember, This was not De Quincey's 

he found difficulties in ralsing the 

the money at once, Cottle prints . 
receipt: ‘November 12, 1807—Recelved from 
‘Mr. Joseph Cottle the sum of Three hundred 
pounds, prevented to me, through him, by ain 
unknown friend. §. T, Coleridge, Bristol 





ETURN TO ENGLAND—LECTURES—THE FRIEND’ xxv 





‘has rendered possible.! I do not doubt the perfect sincerity with which 
Pe cara ee ar nh Salome it-can only be read 
use to which De Quincey’s gift was put by Coleridge, nothing, 
known. One hopes that part went to raves pacrirteaee es 

; and there must have been plenty of i 
among others; but, at all events, soon afterwards it was all gone, for 
(08, when borrowing £100 from Stuart, ina great hurry, Coleridge uses words 
that Stuart has been paying his expenses as well as giving him a lodging.* 
Jeft Stowey for Bristol about the 12th September. On the 11th he 
letter to Davy? in reply to an urgent message regarding the pro- 
ares. He is better, and his «will acquiring some degree of strength’ and 
r ” 41 have received such manifest benefit from horse exercise, 





view to ascertain whether I can conscientiously undertake what I so 
whh, a series of Lectures at the Royal Institution,’ He has, however, 
mind as to the subject. If he lectures, it will not be on ' Taste,’ but on 
of Poetry,’ and he will ‘not give a single lecture till he has im fair 
one-balf of the whole course, for as to trusting anything to immediate 

' itas from guilt, and guilt in him it would be.’ He concludes 
“Davy to await his decision, at the end of the month, During the 
‘November, which Coleridge spent in Bristol, he seems to have given 

talk about religion, surprising his friends there with the 

taken place in his beliefs. A long and deeply interesting letter § 

‘shows that he was no longer a Unitarian—he probably never was 
Trinitarian, In a letter® to Poole from 


He said he must go to town immediately, about the 
three weeks without another word about removing, and I 


pH ‘Trinity a philosophical and most important Truth, 
DT and he is very much delighted with Middleton's 
work onthe subject. Dr. Sayers would not find 

not seen the him now the warm Harileyan that he has been; 

no dosbt, carefully revised © Hartley was ousted by Berkeley, Berkeley by 
‘The reports of con- — Spinora, and Spinora by Plato; when last I saw 
topics are more completely him Jacob Rehmen had some chance of coming in. 
Recetliigyrz4- These The truth is that he plays with systems, and any 
tthe letter, open to the sus nonsense will serve him for a text from which he 








Ixxvi 


INTRODUCTION 





three weeks after I received a letter from him Raped aersisin— 


he was just arrived in town, had been ill, 


three weeks at the house of a Mr. Morzan oi had ce tab hs 


ine til 


ante! maT tome Narr aed 6 Hh 
eee es beeen aa Dr. Stoddart is arrived from Malta He & 


‘equally reticent. 


(ona diesen barnes the delay in reocring the thoes iced pa 
which was paid on November 12, at least a fortnight after Mrs Coleridge's 


parture. 
Coleridge resumed bis old quarters at the top of the Cowrier 


in the: 


Strand,? His sole duty being to prepare his lectures, no doubt he gave to thems 


time as be could 


spare from assisting Stuart and Street in the conduct of their news 


paper, Of this, the first course of lectures delivered by 


record remains. 


tain, Wordsworth ® is coming to see his.” orths sounds a little unfecling, as coming 
from Lamb; but it was Coleridge's own letters, etc., confirmed by one from | 


Lamb,’ which were bringing Wordsworth to town. 


that Lamb 


that opium was largely responsible for his friend’s illness, and that Wordsworth’s 
moral influence would be more powerfal than his own, Wordsworth came 

Southey followed ; and during their stay in town Coleridge recovered, and b ‘before 
Wordsworth left on the 3rd April he had heard two lectures, which (he says) "seemed 


1 See page 179, and "Note ats,” p. 6x. 

¥ See De Quincey's ammiing account of Cole- 
ridge’s slowaion in Works (2863, i. 98). 

# It was really the first, notwithstanding state- 
ments by Coleridge and his editors to the con- 


trary. 

4 The following is a list of all the lectures of 
which there is any general or particular record, 
printed and unprinted: T. Jan. 12, 2808; 11 
Feb. $} 111. and 1V, before April 3 At least 
three moce were given before May 13, and several 
more in the course of the succeeding five or six 
weeks Notes of four were made by H. Crabby 
Robinson—see his Diery, ete., 2872, 4. 240; and 
Ie Cees ier atl Cetera 


va re by 
ccallected by T, Ashe (Bell, a883) a usefbl, and in 


many respects an excellent compilation, 

# To the confusion of the sense, this wont hat 
hitherro been printed ‘inteaded.’ 1 quote from 
the original letter. 

© On this, wee Mem. of Coitorton, ti. 35. 


7 Coleridge tad been iM} amd better again tn 
December eat Cen. Oo 


‘Whar other mosive hawe 11! (Mf, of Ce te a7 
“There is not a word of lectures: 








xxviii INTRODUCTION 





th 


Coleridge is with us constantly, . . . Mr. Coleridge and his wife are 
Thope they will both be the better for it. ‘They are upon friendly terms, 
sionally see each other. In fact, Mrs, Coleridge was more than a week at 
[Allan Bank] under the same roof with him. Coleridge intends to spend the 
with us. On the [other] side of this paper you will find the prospectus 
which he is going to undertake; and I have little doubt but that it 
executed if his health does not fail him; bet on that score (though he 
present) I have many fears.’? 

The ‘ prospectus’ was, of course, that of The Friend, Coleridge and bis 


cit i 
iiili 


perhaps interpret this to mean that he had suspended opium-eating ae time. 
to the physician, it is a little suspicious that he says nothing of him to Davy.® 
The * Prospectus ? mentioned by Miss Wordsworth was sent out without consultay 
“and the first number was announced for ‘the first 
January 1809, sufficient number of subscribers being obtained.’ © 
he carry the thing on? Dios ex gue sate,’ wrote Southey to his brother 
“if he does but fairly set it forward, it sball not drop for any accidental deiky al aaa 
on his part." Of course The Friend did not appear on January 7. On Joneary 18, 
Southey told Rickman ; ‘Meantime a hundred difficulties open ‘pos ae in the 
ms ipa lication, and doubtless some material changes must be made i pant 
vise half-a-crown or five shitting numbers irregularly, whenever fetes 
ie no promised time, no promised quantity, no promised anything... . 
iced is expected to start in March.’ Stuart suggested monthly instead of weekly 


4 Knight's Lif fi. w20. 

4 Frag. Rem, po 10%. 

3 In all these letters of December, Coleridge 
writes of The Friend as of something of which 
they had been previously aware, Can it have 
Leen to some euch project chat Coleridge alluded 
in # morilated pastage of his letter to Wordsworth 
‘of May 12087 He has been writing of Words- 
‘worth’s pecuniary anxieties, and goes on: ‘Tn: 
eed, before my fall... Thad indulged the 
hope that, by division of labour, you would have — Southey’s fault, 








INTRODUCTION 


g 


ze 


Hl 
epithe 


q 
) 
| 


Bank—ftickering 
oat with “No, XXVIL, Thursday, March 15, 1810"—the last riated wonds, *(Tobe 
concleded in cor next number},’ referring to the sbout Ball. 


mr oben gerne The Friend of Wi 


1} Seem wim om wher wenbariey TF Alem of Coleortan, gee 
SEE, OF COM et Fal gt cn very 3 ha. 1. appenred en Decendiers, step and 
Ay wh ane, ti Th See! No VIN. und Mest on Jameary aq afi Re 


Na ie 8) des 





LONDON—' REMORSE’ Dexxi 





to describe as a *riffacciamento' of the original, was a new work. The 
‘bear reprinting, for it is now unknown except to the curious book- 


Jong period of Coleridge's domestication with the Wordsworths a 
intercourse was kept up between Allan Bank and Greta Hall. 
‘were at school at Ambleside, and Mrs. Coleridge had only her 
Sara under her immediate care. The following passage from a letter ! 
iss Betham is pleasant reading, not only for the tone in which her 
meationed, but as showing that Coleridge and Charles Lloyd no longer 
sbupned each other. ‘Brathay’ was Lloyd’s home. ‘My dear friend, I know 
give you [pleasure] to hear that I was very comfortable during my visits in 
(oleridge] came often to Brathay, before I went to Grasmere, and 
my wish of taking my little daughter home again with me after she 
‘a fortnight with him at Allan Bank. His first intention was to keep her 
him wntil Chiristmas, and then to bring her home with her brothers. . . . C. is 
to spend the last week of the boys’ holidays here, and take them back with him [to 
Ambleside}... Ehope you will soon come again to see us, and I will introduce 

you to C., and &e to his invaluable friends.” 
movements after the cessation of The Friend in the middle of March 
‘Ste Ot exsy to trace. On the 5th April he wrote to Lady Beaumont from Amble- 
side excusing himself from inattention to a letter which had arrived at Grasmere when 
ression of spirits ‘amounted to little less than absolute despondency.’ He had 
cealy that day found courage to open the letter, which contained an ‘enclosure. He 
ust not accuse himself of idleness, for he has been * willing to exert energy, only not 
in any which the duty of the day demanded.’ The next glimpse is in a letter 
‘Coleridge to Poole, dated October 3.2 The poor wife knows not ‘what 
te think or what to do,’ Coleridge has been at Greta Hall for four or five months 
*in an almost uniform kind disposition towards us all,’ His spirits have been better 
an for years, and he has been reading Italian to both the Saras—only, he has been 
ne else, wine Taal! ah Tio, ee his desk, the sight of 
| fills my heart witl and my cyes with tears,'and she never ceases to pray 

* Mr, Poole were here.’ 


£ 


X, Loxpox—Remorse 


October, Basil Montagu, with his wife and her little daughter (Anne Skepper, 
‘Mrs. B. W. Procter), called at Greta Hall on his way south from a 
‘Scotland. ‘There was a vacant place in the chaise, and this Coleridge 
party arriving at Montagu’s residence (55 Frith Street, Soho) on the 26th 
idge was to have been a guest there for an indefinite period, but 
‘the visit came to an abrupt and painful end. When the chaise 
Bank, and Wordsworth learnt that Coleridge was to become an 
‘Montagu household, he expressed to Montagu, in confidence, a fear 
4 ways would prove inconvenient in a well-ordered town 

did with the kindest motives, and no doubt in the kindest 

was better than cure —if Coleridge and Montagu 


ih 


fe 


RLEE 
ist 


fs printed ‘ August 3," but the month must have 
‘been October. 





relays! (to use De 
ier Asa Bist 


Henry Crabb Robinson first met hi 


at Lamb's on the 14th November, and for some time thenceforwai 
Boswell, eae, down in his diary! summaries of Coleridge's discourse. 
describes his old friend at this time in a fashion not all ier 


ridge has 


did not begin until April, 

that since his departure from Greta F 

* See ‘Fragment 76° (p. 463), which’ probably 
‘was written during this distressful period. 

4 Southey’s deliverance was ns follows, in an 
unprinted 

Betham + 


as having sald anything to such « man which be 
‘would have felt any dislike co seeing in the 
Morning Part’; that 1 do not wonder at G's 
‘Teventinent.” The story of the quarrel between, 
Coleridge and Montagu as told by De Quincey 


dered his hair, and looks like Bacchus, 


iors, 1863, i, 120) is no better founded han 
the accompanying statement that the quarrel 


» Fraser's Magaxine, July e878, p. 75 





LONDON—' REMORSE’ Lxxsiii 





m friends,’ and that she had only just heard, and by chance, of her 
; domiciled with the Morgans. He had then left them temporarily for 
Southampton Buildings,’ with an intention of applying for advice from 

1 wish C. would write 1’ exclaims the sorely-tried wife, * both 

itten often to him’—letters which, more suo, the 


March, 
Pe app 


the Cowrier, when there was room.” 
jent,’ and at all events would like 
Stuart peered him to ‘Street, and on May 5 


rrowed | r 
Friend, which will contain a full 

ling The Friend'—a work which had been sug- 
the publisher. Nothing came of the ‘monthly work,” 
in the Courier, doing a good deal of work both as a 
contributor? during the CaaS ‘months, His connection 
in July, An article he had written on the Duke 
the 12th, but the Government heard of it, procured 
‘sacrifice of about 2000 copies * which had been struck off, 
whose suspicions that the Comrier was not alto- 
were now confirmed, and he moved Crabb Robinson to 
him an engagement on the Zimer., Robinson's endeavours failed, 

went on with the Courier until the end of September, 
‘seems to have thought of resuming his old rife of lecturer ; 


‘Traill considers them as in all respects much 
inferior to the early work in the Morming Pest. 


4 Diaries of H.C. R. i. 177, und Euays on 





INTRODUCTION 1811- 


of October had issued a prospectus of a course of fifteen lectures 
rooms of the * London Scots Corporation 


h November, and the others followed in due succession, on Mondays 
days, until aay 27, 1812—seventeen in all. Coleridge did not write a 
lectures, but delis Cecting Uren ee 


Fidge to write to her, and on no account to leave the Lake country 


them. It was all in vain. But ‘this Grasmere business,” 

(March 27, Baa “has kept me in a fever of agitation, Sacer a a 
to apologise. . . . Ihave been in such a fever about the Wordsworths, my reason 
deciding one way, my heart pulling me the contrary; scarcely daring ms set 
without seeing them. Brown, the printer of The Friend, who had £20 of. 
mine and £36 worth of types, about 14 days ago ran off and Pook eth 
probably a hope of saving something out of the wreck of Brown's estate that ca! 
Coleridge to take Penrith on his way back to London, but it hardly excuses | 
staying there for a whole month without communicating with any of his friends, ¥ 

had begun to feel great anxiety long before he reappeared in town towards the end 


2 The Morgans complained that Coleridge 
feowiit not look into his Shakespeare, which 
they were continually putting in his way; and 
that, as if spellbound, he would make no prepara: 
tion for his lectures except by cecasional reference 


printed them in sts (Seren Lectunes om Shake 
Shears aad Mie) 87 a 
that Collier was quite incapable of 


to an old MS. commonplace book. 
Lectures and Noter on SI 


and 
other Englick Ports. My 8. T, Coleridge. 


Now first collected by T. Ashe. London 883.= 
‘Much unnecessary doubt was cast on the authen- 
ticity of Collie’s shorthand notes when he 


Mr. Tomalin, have recently been 
may yet be published. 

3 Moore's Life one-wol. ed pp. sary 248 

+ Lewer printed in the Catalogue of Mr. 
Locker-Lampson’s collection at Rowfasit, pe 200. 
‘The date is there misprinted as * May.* 





LONDON—' REMORSE’ 





@ year—a proposal which Mrs, Coleridge listened to gravely, suggesting 
children's education was completed, it was better she and they 
country ; and that then she would willingly follow his amended 
this scheme was settled, and Coleridge promised that he would write 
that never, never again would he leave his wife's, or the boys’, or 


"kept the press waiting fifteen months for an unfinished 
at last I ordered the sheet in which it was begun to be cancelled, in 


Coleridge retumed to the Morgans—now living at 71 Berers Street, Oxford 
Street—about the end of April, and immediately issued his prospectus for a series of 
*on the Drama of the Greek, French, English, and Spanish stage, chiefly 

with reference to the works of Shakespeare.’ They were to be delivered at Willis's 
“og the Tuesdays and Fridays in May and June, at 3 o'clock precisely,” be- 

oa May 12th, “An account is opened at Messrs. Ransom, Morland, & Co., 

Pall Mall, in the names of Sir G. Beaumont, Bart., Sir T. Barnard, Bart., 


produced by 

by Robinson for the reconciliation with Wordsworth. 
on May 3, and ended happily, as already described, on the rth. 
only record with which I am acquainted is contained in 
‘Wordsworth attended one of the lectures, At what proved 
an June 5, Coleridge announced « farther course to take place 
winter, for which the money would be taken at the doors—which looks as 
‘of fine names and the Pall Mall banking-house had not proved a 


August 7 be expressed a wish to Stuart? to rejoin the Courier, but only as 
‘occasional contributor, proposing to send in within the next fortnight some twenty 
om current Church and State politics. His finances have been thrown behind~ 
‘by the rewriting of his play, and by composing the second volume of The 
bat be hopes before another eight days have passed to submit the tragedy to 
‘theatre. and if they will not have it, to accept Gale & Curtis's offer 
pablish has also been consulting a new doctor, 

‘Some time before the beginning of October Coleridge's * rewritten play," with its 
title of Remorse, had been, through the influence of Lord Byron, accepted by 
Drury Lane Committee,* whose new theatre was about to be opened. In Octo- 
was issued a Syllabus of a Course of Lectures on the Belles Lettres, to be 
by S. T. Coleridge, Esqre., at the Surrey Institution.’ Lecture I, was to 
Wight use of words; If, and III. on the Evolution of the Fine Arts; IV. 
in general; V, on Greek Mythology; VI. on the connection between the 


4 ‘Do you see or hear anything of Coleridge? 
Lamb writes to Lloyd that C.'s play has been 
accepted. Meaven grant it success’ (Wordse 
worth to Stuart, Letters from the Lake Poets, 
Ps 350) 


carb 





little project, ‘one steady effort to understand music.” a 
On December 22, idge informs Stuart? that his play is in rehearsal, 
that he finds the repeated alterations Sareieeatatetinr The 


rence in this letter is one of th 
drawal by Josiah Wedgwood of his half of 
1 Diaries, etc 1 205 


a 
Autobiographical Kecokivetions of CK. Leatie, — 649-652, * 
R.A, by T. Taylor, 1860, ik 32-93% Newspap a7. Ais Friends, ihe age 





LONDON—‘REMORSE* Ixxxvii 


remembered,! the total pension was granted to Coleridge for life, and 
litions except ‘the wreck of the Wedgwoods’ fortune.’ 

present action is unaccountable save on the assumption that he 

the terms of his letter of Jan. 10, 1798, But this assumption 

tenable, for as a man of the strictest business habits, he must have kept an 
Had this, by some accident, been 


of the 


at legally to Coleridge for life, and this fact was of 

ee ee padicstion that the whole had been granted on the same terms, Very 
reluctantly, for Josiah W. had otherwise shown himself to be just and gener- 
‘ous, I am driven to the conclusion that the withdrawal was a high-handed proceeding, 
and that Coleridge, though aware of this, made no complaint, owing to a painful 
i that the benefaction had not been used for the high purposes which had 

fing and to the acceptance of it. Practically, Mra, Coleridge 

the er of the half, for the Aakers ‘been for many 

‘either did she, though sorely by the increasing, 

prospective, of the children, bring any accusation against 


‘On the 1st December 1812 a shadow was cast on Wordsworth’s household by 
little son, Thomas. It seemed to them as ifthe sun had gone down, 
was deeply moved. As soon as the sad news reached him he wrote 

mate letter?: ‘© that it were within my power to be with you myself 
my letter. The Lectures I could give up; but the rehearsal of my Play 
this week, and upon this depends my best hopes of leaving town after 
iving among you as long as I live. . . .. What comfort ought I not 
have given you so much pain... . I am distant from you some 
but glad Iam that Iam no longer distant in spirit, and have faith, 
‘but once, 0 it never can happen again.’ Of this letter, in 


Epes 


son wrote to Robinson: ‘C., as I told you, wrote to them 
several times after the death of little Tom, and said that he 
it [the play] successful, Willlam and Dorothy have 

to him to say that nothing would do W. so much good as his company 
no notice whatever of these letters; . . . and they 
Morgan to Southey or Mrs. C., that C. is going out 

ide £1! Imagine them in the depths of sorrow, receiving this 
Her justification of Wedgwood wns writen in 


ignorance of the unconditional terms on which 
the pension had been granted, 


# Knight's Li of WY, Wi. xBn. 





Lxxxviii INTRODUCTION 1813 





cutting intelligence. . . . The account of the state of the family at Grasmere would 
make your heart ache—supposing myself to have been deeply injured, would one 
wish for a more noble triumph than to fly to the succour of the friend who had 
inflicted the wound?’ It was at the request, expressed or implied, of the Words- 
worths that Mrs. Clarkson was endeavouring to soften Coleridge's heart, She saw 
him at Morgan's, but he seems to have been obdurate, Mary Lamb took Coleridge's 
side, and ‘after all’ acknowledged Mra, Clarkson on March agth: ‘I do incline to 
think with M. Lfamb] that there is something amongst them which makes it perhaps 
better that they should not meet just now. I am, however, quite sure that . .. it rests 
with him [Coleridge] entirely to recover all that he has lost in their hearts.’ I have no 
doubt Mrs. Clarkson correctly interpreted the Wordsworths’ feelings, as they were at 
at the end of March, and that it would have been better for both parties, had 
Coleridge forgiven and forgotten the offence, when the Wordsworths had in their 
turn humbled themselres to him—but the documents which would enable us 
to judge with some approach to accuracy are not before us, A bond, such as had 
existed between Coleridge and Wordsworth, once broken may be mended, but it 
eannot be welded, It was broken by Wordsworth in an unguarded moment. But 
evils wrought by want of thought call ep Nemesis as surely as those wrought by want 
of heart. The bond had been mended, as such bonds may; it would seem ns if 
under stress of sorrow he had been driven to break it afresh ; and one must regret that, 
when he became conscious of what he had thrown away, his cries were unavail 

But we need not be surprised, and our regret must be even greater on Coleri 
account than on Wordsworth’s, for, in the conduct of life, Wordsworth was 

“strong in himself and powerful to give strength.’ One feels, too, that with Cole- 
ridge it could not have been hardness of heart which held him in London when he 
was needed at Grasmere ; but rather paralysis of will, Whatever the cause, the effects 
were disastrous, Had Coleridge received an instant and worthy response to his letter 
of Dec. 7, his impulse, momentary though it may possibly may have been, to return 
to the Lake country as a permanent resident, might have been strengthened, and the 
current of his life turned into a smoother channel! 

He scems to have remained in London, doing nothing, until October. Southey 
came up to town in September and saw him several times. On the qth October he 
took Coleridge to Madame de Staél's, ‘and left him there in the full spring-tide of 
his discourse.’ (It was that clever Indy’s first experience of his greatness in mono- 
logue.) Southey adds that Coleridge’s ‘time of departure seems still uncertain,” and 
that ‘Mra. C, will not be Sorry to hear that he is selling his German books."* This 
evidently last desperate effort to raise money is also mentioned to Stuart of Sep. 27. 
In the same letter he asks him to look at what ‘he should have called a masterly 
essay on the cause of the downfall of the Comic Drama, if he were not perplexed by 
the distinct recollection of having conversed the greater part of it at Lamb's.’ The 
essay was in that day's Morning Chronicle, for which paper Hazlitt then acted as 
dramatic critic. Coleridge had not written to his wife since March, but when 
Southey was in town, proposed to go home with him, ‘Then came the invitation 
or propesal—from which side, I know not—to lecture at Bristol, and analy 
betaine raed that as soon as the course was finished he would set out direct 

wick. 


1 Soe Knight's Life of JP. Wi, 1816. 9 Letters of R. S- ii. x32. 





BRISTOL—CALNE 


XI. Brrsror—Carne 


Some time in Octoher Coleridge left London for Bristol by coach. It was the 
day announced for his first lecture at the Great Room of the 
“White * Hie ‘talked incessantly for thirty miles out of London, . . . and 
‘afterwards with little intermission till the coach reached Marlborough, when he dis- 
covered” that a fellow-passenger was the sister of a particular friend, and on her way 
to North Wales. At Bath he took a chaise, and gallantly escorted the lady to her 
Gag ete ‘two oF three days behind time. He came as the guest 
(flNis Galihfel old friend Josiah Wade, anda fresh day was appointed for the opening 
fecture. It was Oct. 28, and after some difficulty the person of the lecturer was 
secured and deposited on the platform *just one hour’ (says Cottle) ‘after all the 
impatiently awaited him.’ After that evening ‘no other important 
and the lectures gave great satisfaction.’ The six were completed on 
bast bot wei and gratuitous on account of the *diffuseness he un- 
in his introductory discourse.’ On Nov. 17 he appears to have 
seventh lecture on Education, but of this no record seems to remain. 
ate, unfortunately, attended a second and similarly successful course’ of 
peare and four on Milton—announced on Dec. 30, 
bya third of four lectures on Milton, delivered between 
and 14, 814,° which Cottle® says ‘were but indifferently attended,’ He 
‘Coleridge announced four lectures on Homer, hoping to ‘attract the many,” 
t that ‘only a few of his old and staunch friends attended,’ All these Bristol 
tures, Cottle tells us, were ‘of a conversational character,’ such as those with which 
jed his friends in private, ‘The attention of his hearers [of the lectures] 
‘and his large dark eyes, and his countenance, in an excited state, 

hese his audience in his favour.” 
thought it best to keep together the records of the various courses of 
‘narrative must needs go back to October 1813. C. R. 
ler, then a promising Academy student of twenty, was at Bristol on 
friends, the Allstons, and heard three of the first course of 
he wrote at the time, ‘a much more distinct and satis- 
nature and ends of poetry, and of painting, than I ever had 
seen that Coleridge did not fulfil his promise to return to 
of his lecture engagement. He did not even write to Keswick— 
His family had not then seen him for two years, and 

had received a letter from him. 

him returning to Robinson two borrowed volumes of 
to procure some things of J. P. Richter, Fichte, and 
returned to Bristol from a visit to the Morgans, who had 


te 
i 


rau 


a 


nT 


i 
i 


© Rew, po 3546 

7 Leslie had accompanied the Allstons from 
London to Bristol. Mr. Allston fell ill on the 
way at Salt Hill, and Coleridge was sent for 
from town. Leste says (Afew. i. 35): * 
Hill and on some other occasions, TF witm 
his (Coleridge's) performance of the duties of a 
friendship in a manner which few men of his eon- 
stiturfonal indolence could have roused them- 
selves to equal.” 


u 








pyesaetinny: Lian 


Hue 
se : 


ae 








xeii INTRODUCTION 1815 





proxduced by the presence of hypochondriacal Mrs. Fermor, Lady Beaumont’ sister, 
who had come to Bristol expressly for the benefit of his 

But in spite of the gaicty exhibited in the unprinted letter - which the 
is a summary, Coleridge was conscience-stricken and bowed down, Tt was. 
on quitting kind Wade's roof for that of the equally kind Morgan, that he wrote the 
saddest of all the letters of his which have come down to us, one of the saddest, 
perhaps, which any man ever penned :— 

«Dear Sir, for I am unworthy to call any good man friend—much less you, 
whose hospitality and Jove I have abused ; accept, however, my intreaties for your 
forgiveness, and for your prayers, Conceive a poor miserable wretch, who for many 
years has been attempting to beat off pain, by a constant recurrence to the vice that 
reproduces it. Conceive a spirit in hell employed in tracing out for others the road 
to that heaven from which his crimes exclude him. In short, conceive whatever is 
most wretched, helpless, and hopeless. . . . In the one crime epg tens crime 
have [ not made myself guilty of !—ingratitude tomy Maker ! and to my 
injustice ! and unnatural cruelty to my poor children !—self-conteny ernaaal repeated 
promise—breach, nay, too often, actual falschood | After my death, I earnestly entreat 
that a full and unqualified narration of my wretchedness and of its guilty cause may 
be made public, that at least some little good may be effected by the direful 
example.” 

Before the middle of September, Coleridge was able to inform his friends that his 
Bristol physician being persuaded that nothing remained * but to. superinduce pordiey 
health on a system from which disease and its removable causes had been driven out,” 
had recommended country air. He has therefore rejoined the Morgans in a cottage at 
Ashley, half a mile from Box, on the Bath road. His day he represents as es Taid 
‘out in the most methodical manner—* breakfast before nine, work till one, 
read till three,’ etc. etc. His morning hours are devoted to a great work now printing 
at Bristol at the risk of two friends. ‘The title is ristianity, the one Sate 
Philosophy ; or, Five Treatises on the Logos, or Communicative Intelligence, natural, 
human, and divine," to which is prefixed a prefatory essay on the laws and limits 
of toleration and liberality, illustrated by fragments of AuTo-biography.' A 9 
in the author's best style, of the Five Treatises follows, and a statement that ‘the 
purpose of the whole is a philosophical defence of the Articles of the Chureh, 50 
far as they respect doctrine, as points of faith,’* to be ‘comprised in two portly 
octavos.' This I believe to be the first mention of the magnwm ops, The *two 
portly octavos” eventually shrank into the two slim ones, containing the ‘Fi 
of AUTo-biography,’ eked out by the ever-ready ‘Satyrane’s Letters,’ which we 
know as Biographia Literaria, ‘The evenings! (proceeds the admirably methodical 
Coleridge) ‘I have employed in composing a series of Essays on the Principles of 
General Criticism concerning the Fine Arts, especially those of Statuary and 
Painting, and of these four in title, but six or more in size, have been published in 
Felix Farley's Bristol Journal’—a strange place for such a publication, but my motive 


* Coleridge's orthodoxy seems now to have — 171-174) 
een complete. In one of his lectures of April 1 OB . 
1814 he said that Milton's Satan was.a "sceptical peeing € Bis Eg 0 
Socinian.’ The phrase offended Dr. Estlin, and 
probably other of Coleridge's Unitarian friends. Reprinted in Cotle's Karly Recollections 
See Eatlin Letters, pp. veasy: (Appendis), 18373 and again in Miscettanier, 

1 See a polite statement of Mrs Fermor’s case — ASsthetic and Literary, edited by T. Ashe, 
in o letter to her sister (Alem. ¢f Colcortem, ii, 1885. 








Ha We tt Ht 
ni ep 


: 
g 
: 
5 
Es 


Faas 


ine 








xevi INTRODUCTION: 





fy 


end of the vacation. Southey had fears for the bors 
Lamb, who suggested a visit to Poole a3 « comective,! 
with accounts of his father's good health and industry, of the successfal 
ance of Ressorse by the travelling company, and 
his father made an eloquent of 
returned to Oxford, Coleridge sped him om his 

On October 7, 1815, he tells Stuart* that he has been 
—re-writing Shakespeare's Rickard //., and also 
and Be + Bush, He has ‘unwisely mentioned this to—— 
nected with the two theatres,’ and, possibly by mere 
are announced as about to be produced—by others! It cannot be helped, 
work on the last-mentioned is so nearly finished,® that he begs -Stuatt to 
Drury Lane people about it. He has sent to the Bristol printers the MSS, 
Biographia Literaria and Sibyiline Leaves. For the last four months he has never 
worked Jess than six hours cach day, and cannot do more if he is to have any time 
for reading and reflection. He is now at work on a i 
ment, giving half his time to these, and the other 
title of which {s to be ‘Logesophia ; or, On the Logos, human 
Treatises ’—and then follows, in the letter, another of Coleridge's inimitably com- 
prehensive syllabuses and the customary statement that the work is to occupy ‘two 
large octavo volumes, six hundred pages exch.’ He only wishes to work hard, but 
what can he do, he exclaims, if he is to starve while he is working! He fears that, 


fall 
all 


gett 
gee 


unless something can be done, he must sink; for as to politics, he can write only 
on principles, and where is the newspaper which will admit such writings? *T have 
tried ' (he says) ‘to negotiate with the booksellers for a translation of the works of 
Cervantes (Don Quixote excluded) and of Boccaccio, and Mr. , Rogees [the once de- 


spised Rogers ') promised to use his influence, but all in vain,” letter concludes 
with the gratifying news that his health is better than he has known it for ee - 
twelve years. About this time Stuart was again asked to make arrangements for 
publication of Coleridge’s political essays, and the volume would probably have sin 

blished had he not decided to * complete * the book by freshly-composed additions. 
Waiting for these, the negotiations apparently died out, 

‘On March 31, 1815, we find Lord Byron‘ replying toa letter he had received 
from Coleridge, aged (apparently) an introduction to a publisher. Byron 
it will give him great pleasure to comply with the request, and ada +f oe 

mitted, I would suggest that there never was such an opening fr tragedy. . . a 
1 should think that the reception of [Aeworse] was sufficient to encourage the 
highest hopes of author and audience.’ On Oct. 28th,5 Byron wrote to Moore: 
* You have also written to Perry, who intimates hopes of an opera from you, Cole- 
Hidge has promised a tragedy. Now if you keep Perry's word and Coleridge keeps 
‘his own, Drury Lane will be set up. 

On January 15, 1816, Coleridge informs Dr. Brabant that he goes on * pretty 
well,’ and is ‘decently industrious.’ Hee has finished three acts of a play in verse, 
but it is not ‘the tragedy he promised to Drury Lane.’ ‘Lord Byron has behaved 
very politely, but never answered the mast important part of my letter '—whatever 


16, Leto Re Sy Aug. 9, 2815, *T think at Soar ay J am aware, no trace of any of hese 
Jeast he should go through a course of matter. re-writings haa been foun: 

ofact with some sober man, after the mysteries. a 

Could he not xpend a week at Poe's?" © Moore's LUG 9 Byes Sorel eer 


2 Letters frome the Lake Poets, pe 34% 5 Thy, 086. 





HIGHGATE xevii 





‘omission seems to have acted as a discouragement to 
some time after this dates fail us. Tt was in April of 
Calne for London and Highgate, but previous to this, 
the upper hand. He has received professional advice 
him that ‘his plan’ has succeeded, and that he confines 
‘of poison that will suffice to keep him tranquil and 
But for thorough emancipation from *the most piti- 
which do indeed eat into the soul,’ he feels that he 


i 
Ni 


ELTLE 
Hf 


ul 


ton 
had (he adds) * from 
and on these subjects disgusting, namely, writing 
we read Spurzheim’s book and Bayley's Morbid 
criticism '—and then follows a scientific excursus, 


HF 
i 
EB 


XII. Hicuoare 


Towards the close of March, Coleridge went up to London carrying with him 
i. i the play, sof for Drury Lane, of which by 
finished three acts. The tragedy promised for Drury 
fidge has been here about a fortnight,’ wrote Lamb 
* His health is tolerable at present, though beset 

lace, 

ving 


Just written to C. a 

well to say nothing about its fate till 
who conducts every creature by 

¢ up his abode at a Chemist's 

might as well have sent a Aed/uo 
inviolate among the traps and 


‘their manner of receiving, 
the next. He is at 

7° ae, where he plays at leaving off laud—m, 1 

f ; is very bad ; but then he wonderfully picks up 


eee. s face, when he repeats his verses, hath its ancient glory ; an 
“Tittle damaged. Will Miss Hutchinson] pardon our not replying at 


” “estoninster Revirw, July x87, pp. 10, 11. 2 See “Note ern’ p. 299 





INTRODUCTION 


without the desire 
Coleridge, of course, but it brought from him a 


on the 


the Murray Memoirs (i. 303, ete.) 
particulars were given by Coleridge in 18s, 
in a letter written to bis nephew, John Taylor 
{afteewards Mr. Justice) Coleridge, printel 
in Beawnt, pp. gst-3sq- It is a letter of 
recollections, but they are manifestly drawn from 
a defective memory, ‘The most important state- 
‘ments in this letter are inconsistent with facts re- 
‘corded at the time of their occurrence, and. esp 
clally with Coleridge's awn letters of the 
printed in Ligpincott’s Magazine for June 1874- 
8 See" Note 116," p. 609. 


ay pte ha 


with a 


4 See ‘Arrexorx Ky’ pp. 551, 55% 
‘In its place, Maturin’s Bertram war 
accepted 


Another attack on the play, which was 
unworthy of such heavy metal, 
‘weed to fill up the second 

Sdinburgh veview. 


art's Life (1957), Ive nya) 





c INTRODUCTION 





1816~ 
dated “1th November 1816,’ and the book was probably ing gift. 
at all events was back at Gillman’s before December 5, on ‘hich day he wrote, oe 


a ‘of the Statesman's Manual, to Dr, Brabant.+ ¢ sea-air had done him good, 
ind be works from nine till four, and from seven till twelve—sometimes till * the wee 
short hour,” and expects that ‘next week’ will apy ‘Sermons— 
to the middle and labouring classes." 


grossly calumniated me in the Axandner and in the Edinburgh Review is a William 
Hazlitt—one who owes more to me than to his own parents. . . . The only 
Thave done him has been to decline his acquaintance, Howl 
at page xxi of the appendix to my sermon,” and the reader 
to read the passage. 
Robinson saw Coleridge on December 21, 1$16,* and found him looking 

i ve a good account of his submission to discipline. He drinks onl) 
£ wine ee ‘no spirits, and no opium beyond what is prescribed. 

iis stay at Muddiford, Coleridge was carrying on an acrimonious correspondence 
with his Bristol friends, especially with Guteh, in connection with the printing of the 
Sidyitine Leaves and the Biggrapkia, It resulted in the transference of the printed 
sheets? to Gale & Fenner, on repayment of the cost of the printing and 
‘The bulk of the advances ‘made on the security of the MSS. by Coleridge's fiends 
‘was forgiven him, but so contentious were the negotiations that the transfer was accom- 
plished only in May 1817. By that time Coleridge had quarrelled with his new 
publishers over entanglements with Gatch, Murray, and Longman which it would 
Serve no good purpose to unravel. The relations between Coleridge on the one hand 
and Fenner and Curtis on the other fluctuated. From time to time 
strained almost to breaking-point, and when a peace was proclaimed, it was no better 
than an armed truce. During one of these truces the scheme of the 2s 
Metropolitana was drawn out for behoof of Curtis and Fenner. A kind of committer 
meeting took place on April 7, 1817, and was opened by Coleridge reading his ows. 
sketch of the prospectus and’ plan for this ‘History of Human Knowledge "=a 
supremely congenial task which had been entrusted to him, 

Coleridge also undertook to farnish large contributions at fixed dates, and to gire 
‘one entire day in each fortnight’ to the general superintendence of the work, in con- 
sideration of receiving £500 a year. When, however, he demanded an advance in 
promissory notes to the amount of £300, on the security of his Biag. 


on {about March) the Bisgraphia Literaria, ‘The latter was a miscellany, 
‘ns such could never have been ‘completed’ in any proper sense of the word, 
the second volume had been printed up to p. 128, and it was necessary to 
&s much matter as would bring up its bulk to something like that of vol. i., which 
consisted of 296 pages. This was managed by adding §4 pages to the critique on 
Wordsworth, and by inserting the three ‘Satyrane’s Letters,’ which already had 
Served a similar purpose for Tae Fried, There being still a vacuum, the critique 
of Maturin's tragedy of Bertram, and a rambling but very interesting auto- 

1 West. Rew. July vop0 ax. 3 Diaries, etc 1. ot 

3 The whole of the S. £., and the J £. up to vol ih py ral. 





HIGHGATE a 





chapter was put together. The book was 
raat eh for August ft and to the article 
wit! 


i a 

‘every offer, however convenient to myself, that did not leave two-thirds of the pro- 
sacred to Mrs. Coleridge, and that I have given up all Thad in the world to 
Continued to pay yearly £30° to assure her what, if I live to the year 
‘nearly £2000; that beyond my absolute necessities . . . T have held 
‘acoountable to her for every shilling ; that Hartley is with me, with all his 
(oi a eam ‘and that I have been for the last six months, and 
now am, to procure the means of having Derwent with me, ... I 
like a sleve ‘mom to night, and receive as the reward less than a mechanic's 

this period, 


‘imposition, and je." 
Ti ea scene hi cnet with the Couréer—indeed, his industry 


had also 
ee lways applied to the business most urgently required, 
i Re a EA hl In March he supplied the paper with a 
second: Lay Sermon which had been ‘written by a friend'?; in 
: “he came to the rescue of Southey with two letters® vindicating 
friend from ions cast upon him in consequence of the piratical 
a of the the absurd Wat Tyler, which the future Laureate 
not printed) in 1794; and on March 26 he wrote to John 
‘The article in Tuesday's Courier was by me; and two other articles 
oie Renegadism which will appear next week.’ These are not 
in the Hite on his own Times, and it is not improbable that other con- 
been overlooked, for in a letter to Stuart of this period Coleridge begs 
‘tae “until Street’s return” may be remunerated at the rate of two guineas 
and proposes a succession of papers for three or four months. I cannot 
letters any expression of gratitude for Coleridge's warm and 
of him cate the attacks of the enemy on the subject of Wat 


ES bythe editor Coleridge died tn 1854, upwards of Lag00 was 
ca 2 NA the heen (London: paid on the policy. 
New Morality, © Referring to the new edition of the The 
Friend (3 vols. xBit), and to ies printer and 
publisher, Curtis and Fenner, 

1 Letters from the Lake Poets, 270. 

# Kesays on his own Times, pp 939-99 Two 
other vindicatory letters were written for, but not 
printed in, the Westeineter Review. They 
are given In the Sasi, pp. 9so-ptn 

9 Memeirs of John Murray, i. 36. 

° ® See also Letters from the Lake Poets, py. 
‘S The exact amount was £97, 95. 6d. When ofa. 


work 
at 





cli 


Essays 


In June ne pa eee vet in 


mequaintance begun 
og rane ea 


who was as deeply interested in eas es 
of 


Snes, desicen at faking the waters 
‘Tieck recommended 


a course with Professor Solger of Berlin, a 


heartily encouraged by Coleridge 


Col 
of the last seventeen 


of Coleridge’ 
Tn August, Sout 


‘I shall go 


room—the Rickmans being our sativa meant to live with his 
ishiment. I shall neither speak harshly nor 

[the thing is impossible] 
will begin as he did when last I 
‘equally congruous subject, and go on 
Pande in his endless loquacity." And Southey, evidently pall a 
time, goes on to say that Coleridge, if he gets an advance from 

ja, will pay it away, and then abandon the whole thing. 


R amt ne at life ii a ite, with ES pe 
at my time of life, with my ions 
Ya an I wish it were over, 

* of some 


improbable that Coleridge had any intention of settling at Keswick 
may have said something vague ci isi 
sounding the disposition of the master of Greta Hall. 

September was passed at Littlehampton, and there Coleri 
with two men with whom he was afterwards on very friendly 
man of fortune with an uncommon taste for phil Chsasles 
Augustus Tulk,® afterwards M.P. for Sudbury, and a hee friend of Flaxman, 


The other was ‘Dante’ Cary, to whom Col 
He then first heard of Cary’s translation of 


were walking by the shore. 


+ Green's biographer, Sir John Simon, does 
not feel quite certain ux to the date of the be- 
ginning of the intimacy, but his suggestion of 
ality is confirmed by an unprinted letter which L 
hhave seen. 

‘F*When the book appeared T was extremely 
angry, and went to hii at Mr, Gilman's, where 
1 too warmly reproached him" (Stuart in Gent. 
aa June 1838, p. 578) 

3 Streatham, August 13, 181p—an unprinted 


4 Coleridge was at the time deeply interestet 
fn this wubject: 4n June he proposed to write a 
popular book on it, a proposal which he renewed 
(to Curtis) eighteen months later, when his old 


» then a mere acquaintance of 

carried out, and on Green’s return from Berlin, the it 
“an intimacy which Leptin the chief stimulus and the 

came up to town, He saw Stuart, who 

Coleridge's statements about him and his newspapers in the. 

to Highgate to-morrow’ (wrate 


i 
Har Es 


Hh ¥ sg 
: ie fu 
TH 


introduced himself while both: 
Dante, 


teacher, Blumentach, had recanted his disbelief 
in Animal Magnetism. He offered to conteibute 
an historical treatise to the Swaye. Metrap. The 
letter, which is extremely interesting, is printed 
in Lippincotts Mag. for June 1874. 

5 Coleridge supplied Twlk with an account of 
his system in a saries of twenty-two long letters, 
which, bound together in a volume, were sold at 
Sotheby's auction rooms, June 13, 1382, "The lok 
has since been broken up, but could probably be 
gathered together again, and might be found to 
>be worth printing ax a connected whole, 

‘© Memoirs of the Rew, UH. P. Cary, wBab, Ve 
18. Athenewae for Jan. 7, 1888; Art, !Cole- 
ridge on Cary’s Dante,’ 





HIGHGATE ciii 


$ 





= 
a 


that tlme had been a commercial failure, Coleridge was greatly pleased 
pA ania to recommend it in the lectures which he contemplated deliver- 
winter. He did not fail of performance, and the consequences 

the sale of a thousand copies, a new edition, and the position 


nee 
oF 


‘an English classi 
ich had been promised to Fenner for August, was delivered somewhat 
for publication as ‘A Christmas Tale,’ and two thousand copies 
essay on Method, which was promised for October, was delivered 
» It was printed in January, and Coleridge received for it sixty 
‘He complained bitterly of the way in which the essay had been treated by the 
of the Emcye: “bedeviled, Interpolated, and topsy-turvied ’—and asked 
to reprint it in The Friend, then at press. The permission was granted 
on condition that it was acknowledged, with the rider, that the essay as written had 
‘approved by the committee.’ This condition Coleridge could not accept, 
in February 1818, being hard pressed for matter with which to fill up the third 
volume of The Friend, he seems to have taken the enemy in flank, by inserting the 
‘of the essay without mention of its source. Zite Friend was completed 
time, for it had been put to press more than a year before, on the 
asearance that only the customary ‘three weeks" were required to put the 
order. On January 5th, 1818, Coleridge wrote to Morgan?: ‘ From 10 
till 4 in the afternoon, with one hour only for exereise, I shall fag 
third volume of Zhe Friend. 1 hope to send off the whole by 
{It was incomplete on Feb. 18.) As I cannot starve, and 
my own feelings engage in any work that would interfere 
the MS, of the third volume of Tie Friend is out of my 
le to hit on {no] mode of reconciling the difficulties but. by 

Jectures, of which I very much wish to talk with you.’ 
(817, Wordsworth came up to London, and although he had been 
Coleridge’s magnificent criticism in the Siagraphia, the two old 
itercourse, and before returning to his fastnesses, he wrote a most 
P. Collier * begging him to do what he could to further the success 
course of lectures, To Collier, Lamb also wrote on the same 
Coleridge as in bad health and worse mind,’ and needing en- 
‘The recurrence to lecturing as a means of livelihood, which, as we have 
‘seen, had been planned as far back as September, took more definite shape in December, 
‘and the Setter to Morgan shows that it had become a matter of prime necessity. It 
‘was then, probably, that the prospectus’ was issued. How unwillingly and with how 


3 


Ht 
| 


i 


4 ‘Coleridge seems to have valued highly cer- 3 Coleridge goes on to threaten his enemies 
with a ‘vigorous and harmonious’ satire, to be 
called ‘ Puff and Slander.” 

441 recollect hearing Haslitt sxy that W. 
would not forgive a single cenmre, mingled with 
however a great mass of eulogy.’ H.C. Robin« 


Life of W. Wii, 288. 
5 Seven Lectures on Shakespeare and Mitton 
[utix} Parvace, p. ly. 
Deer. 10, 1817. Ainger’s Letters, il. 8. 
7 Printed in Gilman's Lie; in Lit, Rem 
vol. i; in Auhe's collection, and elsewhere, 


fal 
pil 





civ 


INTRODUCTION 





‘keen a sense of hui 


Poetical Literature, native and 


Shakespeare 
. From Cribb Robinson's Dares we learn thet 


Fe hae Seaces God deere ca fo aseiat asian 1818, and that, upto 
the tenth, due dates (Tuesdays and Fridays) had been observed. After the tenth, 
Robinson pedeermcet to return until March 26, by which date the course 


es stent ipa N sc thisierea 


cand have tera 


sracaons at the ose nttation, ‘@ competition which 


cannot have contributed 


to the success of either course. On the evidence of Allsop—that the lectures 
‘constantly thronged by the most attentive and intelligent 


With or without reason, Coleridge failed to send a ticket for these lectutes 


to Lamb, but 


To lord 
in Thomas Allsop had introdu 
le-luce Court. 


1 Canterbury Magwaine for September 1834, 
Pas. 

2 Ata hall in Flowerde-luce Court, in Fetter 
Lane. 


3 The record Is scanty. A few preparatory 
notes, mostly marginalla, on a copy of Warbur- 
son's Shakespeare, with a few Jottings taken 
down by friends, were plously collected in Lér, 
Kem, ( Grays) under the heading “Course of 
Lectures, 1818." A slight addition was made by 
the publication In Notes and Queries (1320, 
series Tv. vol. v. 335, 336) of some memoranda 


& 


there was no cessation of intercourse, and when Lamb 


at Morgan's. ‘A new fiendthi wits Oa eae to begin, and to 
ced invelf to Coleridge after the first Jecture at 
By September, the young man was sending 


presents of 
made by a Mr. H. H. Carwandive ; and 1 have 
eh unt Tater sme nts 
of the ninth and fourteenth (Athenenm, 
‘March 1889). 


«I suppose the new edition of The Fried had 
discover the exact date, “Time Funuso : A Series 
of Fsays, in Three Volumes (ets.) : 
Coleridge. A new edition, London 
for Rest Fenner, Paternoster Row, 2808,” 


* October #6 1818, Ainger’s Letters, ii. x6. 





HIGHGATE cv 





aad 


an invitation to ‘The Grove,’ and before the end of 
the first of a series of confidential letters, 


iy le 


characteristically. 
those who denied 
fate from this rule, ‘first, it was not till 


been for fourteen years successively toiling 


idge’s wounded feclings towards Words- 


He has never admitted */aslts 


+ + « its beauties.’ If (he says) he 


been established ; and secondly and chiefly 
Ming the necessary task from malignant defamers, 


FE 


lencies. 
liabl 
by 


ft 


t 


‘On Nov. 


Huy 


yet 
of 
of 
aod 
the 


fr 


Mir 
ee 


ze 

V4 

' 
THE i 


forth the excellencies, and the triflin 
But this, my dear sir, is a mistake to 


proportion which 


+ + the mistaking hose who are 
;, for those who love you. We doubts 


the course will be more entertaining than any he has 
Coleridge had sent to Allsop a prospectus of two sets 
to be delivered at the ‘Crown and Anchor" tavern, in the Strand,—one 
‘on the History of Philosophy, the other on six select plays of Shakespeare 
f. other dramatic Histories), Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, 
‘were to be delivered concurrently—the former on Mondays, 
on intermitting the Christmas week—beginning with Monday, 
‘The commvencement, however, was postponed for a week, the first philo- 
place on Dec, 14, and the 
the tus, there was issued ‘An Historical and Chronological 
een Sisieree? cutie is aa decbt, a pentecel 
which Allsop has printed at 187. 
who writes on Dec. 24tt ‘Thank ori kindly for your ticket, though 


first Shakespeare one on the 
A ticket was presented 


worth’s Peenes, 1845 (le 350), this deduction is 
‘unwarranted. 


3 Allsop prints the body of the prospectus of 
the Philosophical Course (p. 240); but makes no 
mention of the other. Mr. E. H. Coleridge has 
kindly permitted me to ee his unique complete 
copy of the original. ‘There are other references 
(pp. 5, 187, 208) to these lectures in Allsop's 
book, but they have been overlooked by. all 
Coleridge's editors and biographers, who wni- 
formly write of the Flowerde-luce Court Series 
Uan-March 18:8) as the Inst. No adequate 
record of either course is known to exist—the few 
fragments f have been able to discover in the 
Journals of the day will be found gathered to- 
gsther in the Atheneum for Dec. 26, 1293, and 
Jan. 2, 3852; Art. "Some Lectures delivered by 

idige in the winter of 1818-29." 


4 Ninger’s Letters, ii 16. 





INTRODUCTION 





the mournfil prognostic which accompanies it certainly renders ils permanent 
pretensions less marketable; Dat Tite 6( Seat Sy 8 ee 


are sorry it never lics in your way to come to us, but, dear M: we 
come to you. . . on 3rd January 1819, Shall we be ablle to catch a skirt of the 
‘old out 2° 
If all the lectures promised in the prospectus were given, the delivery must bave 
been carried into the beginning of April, for there was a break of a week, on account 
of indisposition. From Coleridge's letter to Mudford (Canterbury Magazine), we 
Jearn that the lectures attracted but scanty audiences, * When I tell you that yester- 
evening’s receipts were somewhat better than many of the preceding; and that these did 
not equal one-half of the costs of the room, and of the stage and hackney coach (the 
advertisements in the 7¥mes and Morning Chronicle, and the printer’s prospectus bill, 
not included). . ... Again, the Romeo and Juliet pleased even beyond my antici- 
pation : but alas! scanty are my audiences! ~ But poverty and I have been such old 
cronies, that I ought not to be angry with her for sticking close to my skirts.”* 
About the same time Coleridge wrote, also to Mudford : ‘Alas ! dear sir, these lectures 
are my only resource. I have worked hard, very hard, for the last years of my life, 
but from Literature I cannot get even bread.’ From the letter to Britton mentioned 
in the preceding footnote, we gather that Coleridge had been asked to redeliver, at 
the Russell Institution, the course of lectures given at the Surrey Institution. Cole. 
ridge replies that he possesses no MS. or record, even in his memory, of these or any 
other lectures he has delivered. ‘I should greatly prefer’ (he writes) * your come 
mittee making their own choice of the subjects from English, Italian, or German: 
and even of the Fine Arts, as far as the philosophy of the same is alone 
He goes on to say that he feels himself, from experience, $0 utter 
ecuniary matters, that if the committee will mention the sum 
to give, he will consult a friend and instantly decide, Whether 
anything came of these negotiations, I am not aware. Robinson makes no mention 
of hearing lectures at the Russell Institution, but this is not even negative evidence, 
for he makes no mention of the ‘Crown and Anchor’ series. 


XII. Hicnoate: 


In March 1819, Coleridge had an interview with Blackwood, who had the hardi- 
hood to call at Highgate to solicit contributions to his Magazine. Surely Coleridge's 
werty and not hs will comféntéd even to receive the owner of a periodical which 
faa eighteen months before so grossly outraged him. To Mudford, Coleridge 
wrote: ‘It seems not impossible that we may form some connection, on condition 
that the Mayasine is to be Conducted,—first, pure from private slander and public 
malignity ; second, on principles the direct opposite to those which have been hither- 
to supported by the dintwret Review, moral, political, and religious.’ Pethaps 
Coleridge waited a little to see whether his conditions would be fulfilled, for nothing 


1 When to! far onwards waving on the wind printed in the Lt, Kem, ii, 2, mention is made 
Tsaw the skirts of the Durasrinc Vaart" of a lecture on X, wad J. at the "Crown and 
Original editions of the Ove, Ih 7, 8 Anchor.” 
2 Kemeo and Joliet was not among the six 3 In the portion omitted from the Lit Kem 
plays announced, but in Coleridge's letter to See the entire letter, which is very interesting, in 
Britton (Feb. 96, 1819), a portion of which is the Literary Gazette for 2854, p. Gabe 





HIGHGATE evii 


in Blackwood until seventeen months had passed away. And 
819 he must have been in desperate need of money, for he 


€ 
find 

writings" (writes Coleridge to Allsop) 
‘been 


obliged, at a sum larger than all the profits of my 
Books and the balf copyrights. . . . T have 


that Coleridge met Keats ina Highgate lane, and 
jal, When, thirteen years later, he related the 

Talk, Aug. 14, 1832) he had forgotten that the 

“a minute or so"; but Keats's own account, only 

world, was contem + ‘Last Sunday I took a walk 

the lane that winds by the side of Lord Mansficld’s park, 

‘at Guy’s, in conversation with Coleridge. I 

by a look whether it would be agreeable. I walked 

after-dinner pace, for near two miles, I suppose, In those 

ings, Let me see if I can give you a list 

oes (a aap seepage [es and 

‘of dreams—nightmare—a dream accompanied with a sense of touch—asingle 

and double touch—a dream related—first and sccond consciousness—the difference 


‘explained between will and volition—so many metaphysicians from a want of smoking 

the second consciousness—monsters—the Kmken—mermaids—Southey believes in 

them—Southey’s belief too much diluted—a ghost story—Good morning. I heard 

his voice as he came towards me—I heard it as he moved away—I had heard it all 

the interval—if it may be called so. He was civil enough to ask me to call on him 
Good-1 ' 


~ ‘of 1820 was brightened by a visit of the poet's sons, Hartley and 


Derwent. * Would to Heaven’ (he wrote to Allsop, April roth) * their dear sister were 
‘with us—the cep of paternal joy would be full to the brim,’ and he cites ‘the rapture" 

which both brothers speak of Sara. At the same time Coleridge was invited to 
sect Scott at Charles Mathews’: ‘I seem to feel that I ougét to feel more desire to 
ean ‘man than I really do feel, and I do not wish to appear to two 


* Except ‘Fancy dn wahitur® (p, 199) See 
“Note 203," p69. With reference to this Lamb 
witie 1A 30, th20; Ainger's 

freon 


‘own books and half copyrights, shock which 
has embarrassed me in debt (thank God, to one 
person only) even to this amount [f moment)’ 
ST. C. Bth May 1825 (Brampl, p. 333) I have 
already expressed my estimate of this letter (p. 
xovili, supra) The loss of such n sum as £1100 
must have been purely imaginary, for itis Improb- 
able that he left money in his publisher's hands. 
One can hardly conceive such a variation of habit 
as possible. The failure wax no doubt both a 
pecuniary loss and a discouragement, but these 
‘were asauiaged to some extent by a gift of money, 
accepted as a loan, from Allsop, who, however, 
‘makes no mention of this in his book, 

2 Keats's Werdy, ed. by M, Buxton Forman. 
Supp. vol. ago pr raz; and Letters of J. Ky 
ed. by S. Colvin, 1891, ps 244+ 





HIGHGATE cix 





hhimself, he is anxious to get forward with his Zogic and with his Avsertion of 

Religion. an immense); letter of Jam 1821,! begun with assurances: 

that if Allsop were a son robe he could Het ld him dearer, Coleridge states 
se is to ‘open himself out’ to his correspondent *in detail.’ Health 

but had he the tranquillity which case of heart alone could give, 

might be regained for the accomplishment of his ‘noblest under- 

epur, which, when completed, will revolutionise ‘all that has 

‘or Metaphysics in England and France since the era of the 

i ‘of the mechanical system at the restoration of the second 

Bat this cannot be pursued to any advantage without a settled income. 

He bas nothing sctually really enh booksellers, but he has four works * so near 
that he has ‘literally nothing more to do than to frawserite,’ The 

Pallas can only be done by his own hand, for the material exists in 

eceape end Spline leaves, including margins of books and blank pages.” ‘Then, he 
*to those who will not exact it, yet who need its payment”; and, 

besides, she is far behindhand in the settlement of his accounts for board and lodging. 
‘These needs compel him ‘to abro, oa the name of philosopher and poet, 
‘as fast as he can, for Blackuvod's Magazine,’ or (as he has been employed 

for the last days) *in writing MS. Sermons for Inzy clergymen, who stipulate that the 
Must not be more than respectable, for fear they should be desired to 

the visitation Sermon.’ ‘This I have not yet had the courage to do, My 

oul sickens and my heart sinks.’ ‘Of my poetic works, I would fain finish the 
Christabel, Alas for the proud time when I planned, when I had present to my 
“the materials as well as the scheme of the Hymns entitled Spirit, Sun, Earth, 

Air, Water, Fire, and Man, and the Epic poem on—what still appears to me the 
‘one only fit fe remaining for an Epic poem—Jesusalem besieged and destroyed 
‘by Titus’? of the forperie he can discern but one way—it is not a new 
ome—that a few feiends who think respectfully and hope highly of his powers and 
attainments’ should subscribe for thrce or four years an annuity of about £200. 

‘Two-thinds of his time would be tranquilly devoted to the bringing out of the four 
tminor works, one after the other; the remaining third to the completion of the 
Great Work ‘and my Caritate/, and what else the happier hour might inspire.’ 
‘Towards this scheme Mr. Green has offered £30 to £40; another young friend and 
3 ard he thinks he can rely on £0 to £20 from another. Will Allsop 

the asks, and decide if without “moral degradation” the statement now 

form, might be circulated among the right sort of 


more, and we may assume that nothing came of the 

informs his friend that he has called on Murray 

ie should take him and his concerns, past and future, for 
under his umbrageous foliage.’ ‘He promises . . .’ but here the 


Preaching, etc,, addremed to a candidate for 
Holy Orders. | I have compressed the titles 
Numbers 1, 2, and 3 evidently refer 10 notes 
made for the lectures he had delivered, Whar 
Coleridge meant by the material for the 4th I 
‘ain unable to conjecture, 

3 See, on ‘ihe only fit subject,’ TaSie Talk, 
April 38, 1832, and September 4, 1233. 

# Letters, ete, 9 95. 

& 





cx INTRODUCTION 3821, 


scrap of a letter ends—* cetera desuns,' adds Allsop. brea y publisher and author 
may have promised to each other, no business resulted, and Coleridge had nothing 
to offer to the trade for yet three years. 

In July he writes to Poole, whom he had met shortly before in London, that 
his health is not painfully worse, and that he is making steady with the 
waymerne opees, and asks for copies of the letters about his chil and about the 
* Brocken * seer intending to work them up into papers for Siackwoed. But here 
again the purpose failed. At last, in September, he managed to scrape together 
something for Blacknwod—trifles which appeared in the magazine for the following 
month,* together with what professes to be a private letter to the proprietor,” 

A sojourn of nearly two months at Ramsgate,t is company with the Gillmans, 
greatly improved the philosopher's health and spirits, and he was almost persuaded 
by Dr. Anster® to undertake the delivery of a course of lectures in Dublin.* 

But with the new year (1822) came a new idea—the extension of his philosophical 
class.$ For more than four years Green had been ‘ pum) into’ for the whole of one 
day in each week. A Mr. Stuttield, witha Mr. Watson, had recently to come on 
Thursdays, and Coleridge thought he could as easily dictate to five or six amanuenses: 
as to a pair,—if so many were procurable, In February an advertisement was 
inserted in the Courier, but Stuart—who had forgiven or forgotten the wounds 
received in the house of his friend—thought it hardly precise enough, and in a ae 
letter which explained the scheme,* Coleridge consulted him as to 
effective. ‘There have been’ (he writes) ‘three or four young men (under ie 
in the last five years, have believed themselves, and have 


and-twenty) who, wi 
been thought by their acquaintances, to have derived benefit from their frequent 
opportunities of conversing, reading, and occasionally corresponding with me”; and 
goes on to say that he wishes to form a weekly class of five or six such, who may be 


eclucating themselves for the pulpit, the bar, the Senate, or any of those walks of 


life in which the possession and 
the ‘course’ to occupy two years. 


the display of intellect are of es] ‘im — 
‘The classroom might be either at Highgate 


or in Green's drawing-room in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Either then or later on, some 


* 1 have a copy of the real lester, which is 
very unlike the print. Coleridge promised 
‘within ton days" several papers, which, in their 
tury, would be followed by ‘the substance of 
his Lectures on Shakespeare,’ etc. He further 
promised 10 devote the next six weeks un 
dividedly to the magating, and requests an ad- 
vance of £50 to enable him to go to Ramsgate. 
This advance no doubt was made, for a week 
later he tells Allsop (p. 130) that se 
stances are easier, and that he is about to sait 
for Ramsgate. Of the articles promised none 
appearet in Blackwood except Maxifian, a 
fantastic piece of mental autobiography, printed 
inthe number for Jan. 1822, and this no doubt 
fally liquidated the balance of the advance of 
bse 

+ The Cowden Clarkes introduced. themselves 
tohim ou the Kast Cliff as the friends of Lamb, 
‘and atraightway he discoursed to them on the 
spot foran hour and half. They knew Cole- 


ridge must be in the town, for a friend “had 
heard an elderly gentheman in the public library, 
who looked like a Dimsenting minister, talk as 
she never heard man talk’ (Recadl. of Writers, 
21878, pp. 30-32). 

1 Some of which are printed in the supplement 
to the Singraphin Literaria, ol. 1847. The 
*Brocken” letter was printed in the Avmilet for 
1829. 

2 Selections from Mr. Coleridge's Literary 
Comespondence with Friends aml Men of 
Letters.” 

2 Regius Profesor of Civil Law at Trinity 
College, Dublin, and translator of Fanat. 1 
have a copy of his Peet (1819), the frst few 
leaves of which were cut open and annotated by 
Coleride. 

4 Allsop aes ete, DP Raperbre 

9 Thy pat 

© Letters from the Lake Poett, ppe 281286 
“Posted March 15, x20" 





HIGHGATE xi 





and his re down from Coledge’s lips ; and 
no fees were stipulated, the disciples * gave the teacher 

‘were able fo render,’ * 
Jetier to Allsop of Dec. 26, 1822,? Foley ¢ announces that the work on 
all but that, as ‘Mr. Stutfield will give three days in the 
has no doubt that, at the py it, the book will 
By the time this work is ‘printed off” he will be ready 
reat at Exercises, and all this ‘without interrupting the 
Religion, of which the int half. «was completed on Sunday 
Perhaps I have printed too many such passages from Coleridge’s letters, but I 
an Linaked greater number—and may plead that the life of 
ycannot be told without the inclusion of a good many examples of the 


3 1522, Mn, eee and her daughter Sara arrived 
‘at the Grove om a visit which was prolonged until the end of the following Febru- 
ary, after which the ladies went on to stay with their relatives at Ottery St. Mary. 
It ‘ta read im a contemporary letter of Mrs. Coleridge that ‘our visits to 
have been ‘of the greatest satisfaction to all parties." 
Henry Nelson Coleridge, who seems at once to have fallen 
‘with his cousin, whose delicate beauty and grace charmed all beholders, 
Wes wrote Lamb to Barton, +I have seen Miss Coleridge, and wish I had just 
o aghter.. . . God love her!’2 The cousin’s love was returned, and the 
smiled the attachment, but there could yet be no formal engagement. 
Creag however, considered the matter as settled, and never 
fae os seven years which had to pass before marriage was 

delay being mainly caused by the delicate health of both. 
be seems to have hesitated a good deal before sanctioning the 
ety kindly to his nephew as a frend and companion, | The frst 

en uncle i 


‘of Coleridge with the other members of his family. On May Day 

he dined at the house of John Taylor Coleridge, the brother of Henry 
‘apd, a tile later, we read of his meeting their father, Colonel James, 
‘bead of the family.” Various records of this and succeeding years show that 
vent pretty frequently into society, charming alike with his divine talk the 


psx The other article ap- he is but a stranger or a visitor in this world. 
7 4 If the matter were quite open, 1 should 
mak “Set also Prefatory incline to disapprove the intermarriage of first 
in Spiritwal Philosphy, i, cousins; but the Church has decided otherwine on 
the authority of Augustine, and that seems enough 
‘th Hay. On March sx he writes on such a point’ (Tae Talk, June roy 18a4)- 
to Barwon; “The She! Subsequently, confidence in these authorities was 
shaken, for on July 9, 1806, be requests 
‘and Mea. Stuart te favour him with their opinion 
on the point (Letters from the Lake Poets, p 
on). 





exii INTRODUCTION 


1823- 





dignified guests of Beaumont and Sotheby, the professional and philosophic friends 
of Green, and the equally refined but more general company brought together by 
Mrs. Aders. The famous Highgate ‘ Thursday evening’ was probably not a regular 
institution much, if at all, before 1824, but two or three years earlier the silver tongue 
had begun to attract an increasing stream of willing listeners, other than the pro- 
fessed disciples. Edward Irving was a sedulous and receptive visitor as early as 1822, 
In a letter of July, Southey mentions that Coleridge talked of publishing a work 
‘on Logic, of collecting his poems, and of adapting Wallenstein for the stage—* Kean 
having taken a fancy to exhibit himself i {t"'—but none of these projects came to 
anything, save the second, and that some five years later. The autumn of 1823 is 
remarkable for a revival of Coleridge's long dormant poetical faculty. ‘The first 
draft of the exquisite Youth and Age is dated ‘Sep. 10, 1823,’ and seems to have 
been inspired by a day-dream of happy Quantock times,? Unfortunately, the faculty 
seems to have gone to sleep again almost immediately, and all the hours which could 
be spared from talk, and Green, and the magnscw ofus'were given to Arch! 
Leighton. What had been at first intended as selections of * Beauties’? grew 
into that which became the most popular of all Coleridge's prose works—Aiids to 
Reflection, Yn January 1824 Lamb reports that the book is a ‘good part printed 
Dut sticks for a little more copy.” It ‘stuck,’ alas! for more than a year—why, it i 
impossible to conjecture, unless his interest in Leighton palled, for in the in 
Coleridge must have written * the bulk of a volume or two of similar marginalia on 
the books he read in the delightful new room prepared for him by his kind hosts— 


the one pictured in the second volume of Tie alt. The cage was brightened, 
but the bird seems to have felt the pressure of the wires, for towards the end of 
March 1824, Coleridge took French leave, and established himself at Allsop’s house 
in London. The Gillmans probably had no difficulty in discovering the whereabouts 
of the truant, and in ten days they happily recovered him,+ never to lose him any 


more, Two months later we find him attending a ‘dance and rout at Mr. Green's 
in Lincotn’s Inn Fields." * Even in the dancing-room, notwithstanding the noise of 
the music, he was able to declaim very amusingly on his favourite topics" to the ever- 
willing Robinson, who had joined the giddy throng and who ‘stayed till three.” A 
week later the same diarist records : [Thursday] June toth, ‘Dined at Lamb's, and 
then walked with him to Highgate, self-invited, There we found a large party. 
Mr, Coleridge talked his best." 


* Although not published till r240, Coleridge's 
Confessions of an Enguiving Spirit were prob 
ably composed in the latter half of 1824. ' Letter 
1" begins thus: *T employed the compelled and 
most unwelcome leisure of severe indisposition 
Jn reading The Confessions of w Fuhr Saint in 

tion of the Withelm 


+. gave 
the immediate occasion to the following eontes- 
sions,’ ete. Carlyle presented Coleridge with a 
copy of the newly-published Acheter Meister in 
June 1826. 

+ See letter of April 8, xBaq, and Attsop's 
remarks thereon (Letters, te, pr 213) The 
cause of the tempornry rupture is woknewn to 
me, but there is some reason for supposing it to 


have been connected with the that 
Coleridge was not atrictly confining his con 
sumption of laudanum to the quantities prescribed 
and supplied by Mr. Gillman. 

t The subject was the Internal evidence for 
Christianity. Henry Taylor played enfant 
terri8ie on beball of Mahometanien, which 
impelled Lamb, when the departing gueatx were 
hunting for their hats, to ask him: “Are you 
looking for your turban, sie?” 

1 See "Note 225,’ p. 649 

2 See ‘ Note 205," p. yo 

3 + With a few notes nnd a biographical preface, 

Hence the term, Sditor, subsoribed to the 
” See Preface to Aids te Resection, was, 





HIGHGATE xiii 


the previous month Irving had preached a missionary society sermon, which, 
published, bore a dedication to Coleridge that greatly took the fancy of Lamb, 
& hutmble disciple at the foot of Gamaliel S, T. C." (he wrote to Leigh 
Joige how his own sectarists must stare when I tell you he has dedicated a 
Sy to have learnt more of the nature of faith, Chris. 

from him than from all the men he ever conversed 


tit, 


Lal 


or June Aids to Reflechion® struggled into the light, but with a printed 
‘and Amendments’ as long as that which graced the Sibylline 
Leaves, while the presentation copies had as many more added in manuscript. To 
Julius Hare itappeared to crown its author as ‘the true sovereign of modern English 
"3 while some younger men, as yet unknown to the author—Maurice and 
‘among others—felt that to this book they ‘ owed even their own selves.'5 
‘Theologians differing as widely as the Bishop (Howley) of London, and Blanco 
White joined in TRADE tathewecs were allstar Beil, kad Na Bids Gre 
Slow.* The author's natural disappointment was somewhat solaced by his namina. 
tion to one of the ten Royal Associateships of the newly-chartered * Royal Society of 
‘Literature,’ each of which carried an annuity of a hundred guineas from the King's 
‘This appointment was probably obtained through the influence of 
John Hookham Frere, who for some years past had been one of Coleridge's kindest 
‘and most highly-valued friends. It would scem that each Associate had to go through 
the formality of delivering an essay before the Socicty, and accardingly Coleridge, on 
May 18, 1825, rend a paper on the Prometieus of Eschylus.* It was stated to be 
"to a series of disquisitions,’ which, however, did not follow. 
ut this time appeared Hazlitt's Spirit of rhe Age, with a flamboyant sketch of 
Lar oyrohated its most notable chapters. The high lights, as usual, are very high, 


z 
AS 


iH 


‘Diack, but the middle tints, also as usual, are aid on with an 

hand—in this lar instance, perhaps, owing to some remorseful desire 

to and fair, The presence of an attempt in this direction is as apparent 
‘as its want of success, for though the exsay bristles with barbed home-truths, they are 
not, as usual, poi idge is charged, of course, with political apostacy, but 
only to the extent of having ‘turned on the pivot of a subtle casuistry to the unclean 
Hide”; he has not declined to the utter profligacy of becoming a poct-laureate or a 
ibeter into ‘torpid uneasy repose, tantalised by useless resources, 

a apace Bia Tipe Bay sieving, bat his ee for ever wil.’ Cole- 
Fidge t ‘complacently, expressing his own view of his past and present in 
the gool-hamenred doggerel which he called A Trifle and his editor of 1834, 4 


GT. Cte Stuart (Letters from the Lake character. . . . London: Printed for Taylor & 
S88) He adds that the comment on —-Hesiey, 1205. 8v0, pp. xvij gou Frequently 
reytatpes ‘contaltes the aim and object of reprinted. 
the whole book"; and draws particular atrention —-?-Prefatory Memoir of John Sterling in Resays 
‘and 218; tothelast ra and Taiss, by J. 8. 9 vole. 4b, b aiv. 
* Conclusion." 4 First printed in L4¢. Rene. sfiy6, ii. 333-3599- 
© Clearly this must have been written before 
(US. i. x97, rearing of the Royal Assoclareship, with its 
ay dbundred guineas a year. 
Ane te Refectimsia the formstion of manly © Page 19s, fouf. See aluo* Note 210)' ps 642. 





INTRODUCTION 





XIV, HiciGarn—Lasr Years 


straggle which, hitherto, and with varying energy and 
emleavoured in some fashion to keep up with the Perini d 
ition, of Addy te Reflection, be scems to have assumed, and to have 
for the rest of his life, the unique position which 
2 ‘Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill 
Loodoa amd Letbercetae,: Mas 


i 


H 

[ 

i ze 
Feesheesie 


Here i the first romph sketch * : +1 bave 
i physician and quondam 


and 
yet 
have 


Godt poetry magnet 

its shapes. His very attitude bespeaks 

Ye with his fat, il-shapen shoulders, and in walking 

thovel Eevale 2 anit slide, My father would call it “skiuiting. 
have a look of anxious impotence. . . . There is no method in his talk 


tht 


(Proce, b 26: How mach he kaew of it 


Li 


whiheut getting more than oc- 
ilintpees of “what he would be at”* 
ie Life, WL who) 
Hkaoenr, i. 292. One show try te enjoy 
WH ik fed Favoured Language without taking it 
Wermmtlounly. Even in afiaq-as Carlyle confesses 
Mak the ‘a1! bag, Dyspepsia, bast got him bitte 1 Life of Sterling, chap. ii. 


. 











which 
been 


ly another year to live, and though it was one of ever: 
weakness, all witnesses testify that the spirit remained 
In the winter he took leave of himself in the 


In this atmosphere of peace, he assured his visitor, all things were 
led and harmonised.’* On July 20th, dangerous symptoms 

for several days his sufferings were great, but they abated during the 
hours. On the last evening of all, Coleridge, after recommending his 
the care of his family, repeated to Mr, Green, who was with his 
“acertain part of his religious philosophy which he was especi- 
tely recorded. He articulated with the utmost difficulty, 

powerful, and so continued until he fell into a state of 

he ceased to breathe, about six o'clock in the morning 

out of his many deeply attached and revering friends attended 

wre, together with my husband and [his brother] Edward ; and 
idm such ** grievous wrong,” was laid in its final resting- 


‘of 's oldest friends stood by the grave. Poole was far in the 
Southey as far in the north, and Morgan was dead. Lamb 

‘would not permit him to join the sorrowing company, 

few months of life which remained to him, he never recovered 
“Coleridge is dead,’ was the abiding thought in his 

*His great and dear spirit haunts me,’ he wrote, 

déath—' never sw I his likeness, nor probably the 

= + What was his mansion is consecrated to me a 
read the news his voice faltered and then broke, 

have said little except of his friend's genius, calling him ‘the 
had ever known.’® What Southey said has not been 

wrote? is better forgotten. Doubtless he had the rights 
Him, ‘but he remembered both at an Inappropriate mo- 

to speak, a father to the fatherless and a husband to the 

nothing from the credit due to him, that in many ways, even 


a 


i 
| 


(aun 


‘Wordeworth, ih. ay 
[Mra H. N.] Caleritge, i. 
took place on Auguat 3. 








COLERIDGE AND HIS CHILDREN 


XV, COLERIDGE AND HIS CHILDREN 


leave the narrative to work its own impression on the mind of the 
somewhat fuller and more orderly presentment of what I honestly 


scales, 

cant and prejudice. To my own mind it scems that Coleridge's 
are too obvious to require cither all the insistence or all the moralising 
Ihave been lavished on them; and that his fall is less wonderful than his 
recovery. His will was congenitally weak, and his habits weakened it still farther ; 
‘bat his conscience, which was never allowed to sleep, tortured him ; and, after many 

days, its workings stimulated the paralysed will, and he was saved. 
A belef dawn of unsurpassed promise and achievement ; ‘a trouble as of ‘clouds 
‘and weeping rain’; then, a long summer evening's work done by ‘the setting sun's 
ic ‘such was Coleridge’s day, the afterglow of which is still in the sky. 
arm sare the le, with all the rabble which combined with its marble, must 
Ihave been a grander whole than any we are able to reconstruct for ourselves from the 
stones which lie about the field. ¢ living Coleridge was ever his own apology— 
men and women who neither shared nor ignored his shortcomings, not only loved 
but honoured and followed him, This power of attraction, which might almost 
called universal, so diverse were the minds and natures attracted, is itself con- 
sive proof of very rare qualities. We may rend and re-read his, life, but we 
Know him as the Lambs, or the Wordsworths, or Poole, or Hookham Frere, 
the Gilimans, or Green knew him, Hatred as well as Jove may be blind, but 
‘has eyes, and their testimony may wisely be used in correcting our own 


three children, Hartley, his eldest born, was also a poet and a 
Not a few of his sonnets have taken a place in permanent literature, 
and essayist he is remarkable for lucidity of style, and balance of 
it. He was a gentle, simple, humble-minded man, but his 

and broken by intemperance. He lies, in death as in life, close to 
fonisworth, and his name still lingers in affectionate remembrance 
“Jakes and sandy shores ' beside which he was, as his father had prophesied, 
like a breeze.’ The career of Derwent, both as to the conduct of life and 
‘was in marked contrast to his brother's. His bent was to be a student, but 
into action, partly by circumstance, partly by an honourable ambition. 
and usefal life, more than twenty years of which were spent 2s 
Mark's College, Chelsea, he did signal service to the cause of 

He cannot be said to have left his mark on literature, but his 


TEFEE 
Ui 


iH it 


for ‘its calm scholar-like tone and careful English style,’ 
Prebendary of St, Paul's in 1846, and Rector of Hanwell in 1863. 
of bis Inter years was devoted to linguistic and philological studies, 
‘attainments were remarkable. At rare intervals, to the inner circle 





exxiv INTRODUCTION 





of his friends, he would talk by the hour, and though in these ‘conversational 
monologues’ he resembled rather than approached his father, he delivered himself 
with a luminous wisdom all his own, He edited the works of bis father, his brother, 
and of his two friends, Winthrop Mackworth Praed and John Moultrie, Of his 
sister Sara, it has been said that ‘her father looked down into her eyes, and left in 
them the light of his own.’ Her beauty and grace were as remarkable as her 
talents, her learning, and her accomplishments; but her chief characteristic was 
‘the radiant spirituality of her intellectual and imaginative being.’ ‘This, with other 
rare qualities of mind and spirit, is indicated in Wordsworth’s affectionate appre- 
ciation in The Triad, and conspicuous in her fairy-tale PAantasmion, and in the 
letters which compose the bulk of her Memoirs. 





POEMS 


GENEVIEVE 


Mar of my Love, sweet Genevieve | 
In Beauty's light you glide along : 
Your eye is like the star of eve, 
And sweet your voice as seraph’'s song. 
Yet not your heavenly beasty gives 
This heart with passion soft to glow : 
Within your soul a voice there lives | 
It bids you hear the tale of woe. 
When sinking low the safferer wan 
Reholds no hand outstretcht to save, 
Fair, as the bosom of the swan 
‘That rises graceful o'er the wave, 
T've seen your breast with pity heave, 
And therefore love I you, sweet Gene- 
vieve ! 1786, 


DURA NAVIS 


‘To tempt the 
fturoes yout 
Wag docs thy tacest with fondest wishes 
No tender 
soot 
No much-lowd Fried stall share thy 
Why does thy miod with hopes 
misd wit delusive 
a at 
Vain are Ca by heated Fancy 


Joythou'it see toSorrow turn 
from Bliss, and fom thy native 
land, 


deep, too ven 


there thy cares shall 


& 





Hast thou foreseen the Storm's impending 
Ze, 
When to the clouds the Waves ambitious 


rise, 10 

And seem with Heaven a doubtful war 
to wag 

Whilst total 
skies ; 

Save when the lightnings darting winged 
Fate 

Quick bursting from the pitchy clouds 
between 


larkness overspreads. the 


| In forked Terror, and destructive state? 


Shall shew with double gloom the horrid 
scene. 


Shalt thou be at this hour from danger 
| free? 


Perhaps with fearful force some falling 
Wave 

Shall wash thee in the wild tempestuous 
Sea, 

And in some monster's belly fix thy 
grave 5 0 

Or (wofal hap!) against some wave- 
worn rock 

Which long a Terror to each Bark had 
stood 


» Sérte, Grandeur This sehoot exercise 
written in the asth year of my age does not 
contain a line that any clever «choolboy might 
‘pot have written, and like most school postry ix a 
Patting of Thought ints Verse ; for such Verven 
as strivings of mind wad struggles after the 

Promise of betuer 
ivbo31 


a 





2 NIL PEJUS EST CALLIBE VITA 





Shall dash thy mangled limbs with firious 
shock 


And stain its craggy sides with human 
blood. 


‘Yetnot the tempest, or the whirtwind’s roar 
‘Equal the horrors of a Naval Fight, 
bs thundering Cannons spread a sea 
‘of Gore 
And varied deaths now fire and sow 
affright : 
‘The impatient showt, that longs for closer 


war, 
Reaches from either side the distant 


shores ¢ > 

Whilst. frighten’d at His streams en- 
sanguin'd far 

Loud ca his troubled bed huge Ocean 
roars! 


What dreadful scenes appear before my 
t 


eyes 

Ah! see how each with frequent slaugh- 
ter 

Regardless of his dying fellows’ cries 

Over their fresh wounds with impious 
‘order tread 1 

From the dread place does soft C 


passion fly [mand ; 
‘The Furies fell att alier'’d breast com- 
Whilst Vengeance drunk with human 
blood stands by 
And_ smiling fires cach heart and arms 
each hand. ° 


1 well remember old Jemmy Bowyer, the 
* plagosus Orbiling’ of Christ's Hospital, but an 
admirable educer no less than Educator of the 
Tntellect, tale me leave out as many epithets ax 
‘would turn the whole into eight-syllable lines, and 
then ask myself if the exercive would not be 
greatly improved. How often have I thought of 
the proposal since then, and how many thousand 
loaned and puffing fines have I read, that, by 
this process, would have tripped over the tongue 
excellently. Likewise, 1 remember that be told 
me on the same occasion—* Coleridge } the con- 
bbeetions of a Declamation are not the traritions 
of Postry—tad, however, as they are they are 
Detter than  Apesteophes ” and "© thov's,” for 
‘Mt the worst they are something Tike common 
sense, ‘The others are the grimaces of Lunacy.” 
8, T, Covaxtpor. 





T 
Should’st thou escape the fury of that day 


A fate more cruel still, unhappy, view, 
Opposing winds may stop thy Tuckless 


ma 

‘And spread fell famine through the suk 
See, 

Canst thou endure th’ extreme of enging 
‘Thirst 


Which soon may scorch thy throat, ab ! 
thoughtless Youth 
Or ravening hunger canst thou bear which 


erst 
| Onitsown flesh hath fix'd thedeadly tooth? 


Dubious and fluttering'twixt hope and fear 
With trembling hands the lot I see thee 


draw, pe 

Which shall, or sentence thee a victim 
rear, 

To that ghaunt Plague which savage 
knows no law: 

Or, deep thy dagger in the friendly heart, 

Whilst Sad on passion agitates thy 


Tow ot h with Horrec Bap eae 


Lot Hunger drives thee to th’ inhuman 
feast. 


‘These are the ills, that may the course 
attend — 
Then with the joys of home contented 


Here, mesk-eys8. Pesca rik anit 
Plenty lend 

‘Their aid a still, to make thee blest, 

To case each pain, and to increase eack 


joy— be 
Here mutual Love shall fix thy tender wife 
Whose aeeae shall thy youthful care 


And gid ert yightest rye the evening 


of thy Life. ryt. 
MS, 


NIL PEJUS EST CAILIBE vita 
[EN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK) 
1 


Witar pleasures shalll he ever find? 
What joys shall ever glad his heart ? 





SONNE T—ANTHEM 3 





O¢ who shall beal his wounded mind, 
if by misfortune’s smart ? 
Who Hymeneal bliss will never prove, 
‘That more than friendship, friendship 

maix’d with love. 


u 
‘Then without chili! or tender wife, 
To deive away each care, each sigh, 
Kendle tree the paths of life 
A stranger to Affection’s tye: 
And +l from death he meets his final 


No Sia wife with tears of love 
shall wet his tomb. 


at 

‘Tho! Fortune, riches, honours, pow'r, 
lad giv'n with every other toy, 
arable 

"Those painted nothings sure to cloy : 

He dies forgot, his name no son shall bear 

To shew the man so blest once breath'd 

the vital alr, 


Dod 
SONNET 
‘TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON 
of the various-vested 


working visions ! hail ! 
while with watery 


Minp 


Mother of wi 
1 watch thy gli 


Thy weak eye glimmers through s feccy 

‘And when thou lovest thy pale orb to 
shroad 

Behind the gathered blackness lost_on 

And when hoa dartest from the wind. 
rent clowd 

“Thy placid lightning o'er the awakened 

An mach i Hope ax changeful’ and as 


N rhdrers the wistful sight ; 
wink fe peter ateeed 





But soon emerging in her radiant might 
She o’er the sorrow-clouded breast of 
Care 
like a meteor kindling in its flight. 
a7. 


ANTHEM ' 


FOR THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S 
HOSPITAL 


Serapus! around th’ Eternal’s seat 
who throng 
‘With tuneful ccstasies of praise : 
©! teach our feeble tongues like yours 
the song 
Of fervent gratitude to raise— 
Like you, inspired with holy flame 
To dwell on that Almighty name 
Who bade the child of woe no longer sigh, 
And Joy in tears oerspread the widow's 
eye. 


all-gracious Parent hears the 
wreteh's prayer; 
‘The meek tear strongly pleads on 


Th 


high ; 
Wan Resignation struggling with de- 


spair 
The Lord beholds with pitying eyes 
Sees cheerless Want unpitied pine, 
Disease on earth fts head recline, 
And bids Compassion seek the realms of 
woe 
To heal the wounded, and to raise the 
low. 


She comes! she comes! the meek- 


eyed power I see 

With liberal band that loves to 
bless ; 

The clouds of sorrow at her presence 


flees 
Rejoice! rejoice! ye children of 
distress! 
‘The beams that play around her head 
‘Thro! Want's dark vale their radiance 
spread : 
‘The young uncultured mind imbibes the 
ny, 





a 


SULIA—QUA NOCENT DOCENT 





Amd Vice reluctsnt quits th’ expected 
peey. 


Cease, thou lom mother! cease thy 
wailings drear; 
Ye babes! the unconscious sob 
forego; 
Or et full gratitude now prompt the 


tear 
Which erst did sorrow foree to flow. 
Unkindly cold and tempest shrill 
In life's morn oft the traveller chill, 
But soon his path the sun of Love shall 


warm 5 
Anil each glad scene look brighter for the 
storm ! nto. 


JULIA 
[es cueist’s Hoserrat, nooK] 


‘Medio de fonte leporum 
Sorgit amar aliquid, 


JorsA wos blest with beauty, wit, and 


grace: 
Small poets loved to sing her blooming 
face. 
Before her altars, Io! x numerous train 
Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr’d in 


vain, 
Till charming Florio, 


born to conquer, 

came 

And touch’d the fair one with an equal 
lame, 

‘The flame she felt, and ill could she con 


eal 

What every look and action would reveal, 

With boldness then, which seldom fails 
to move, 

He pleats the cause of Marriage and of 
Love: 

‘The course of Hymeneal joys he rounds, 

‘The fair one's eyes danc’d pleasure at the 
sounds. 

Nought now remain’d but ‘ Noes '—how 
little meant ! 

And the sweet coyness that endears con- 
sent, 


The youth upon his knees enraptur'd fell ; | 


‘The strange misfortanes, oh! what words 
can tell? 

Tell ye neglected sytphs! who kap-dogs 
guar, 

Why snatch’d ye not away your precious 
ward? 

Why suffer’d ye the lover's weight to fall 

On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball? 

The favourite on his mistress casts his 


Gives a short melancholy howl, and— 
dies. 
| Sacred his ashes lie, and long his rest ! 
‘Anger and grief divide poor Julia's breast. 
Her eyes she fixt on guilty Florio first: 
On him the storm of angry grief must 
burst, 
‘The storm he fled: he wooes a kinder 


fait, 

Whose fond affections no dear puppies 
share, 

"Twere vain to tell, how Julla pin’d away : 

Unhappy Fair! that In. one: ticles 


Fronifitee Minamata day becrost!— 
At once her Lover and her Lap-dlog lost. 
378 


QUA NOCENT DOCENT 
[IN CHRIST'S HOSPITAL BOOK] 
©! mihi procterivos referat al Jupiter annos! 
On! might my ill-past hours retin 
again! 
No more, as then, should Stoth around 
me throw 
Her soul-enslaving, leaden chain | 
No more the precious time would 1 
employ 
In giddy revolls, or in thoughtless joy, 
A present joy producing future woe. 





But o'er the midnight Lamp Td love to 
pore, 
1'd seek with care fair Learning's depths 
to sound, 
And gather scientific Lares 
Or to mature the embryo thoughts in- 
clin’, 





THE NOSE—TO THE MUSE 





‘That half-conceiv'd lay struggling in my 
Ay 


mind 
‘The cloisters’ solitary gloom I’d round. 
"Tis vain to wish, for Time has ta'en his 
fi 


t= 
For follies past be ceas'd the fruitless 
tears: 
Let follies past to future care incite. 
Averse maturer judgements to obey 
Youth owns, with pleasure owns, the 


Passions’ sway, 
But sage Experience only comes with 
ee oe 


“ THE NOSE 


‘Yer tonls unused to lofty verse 
Who sweep the earth with lowly 


wing, 
Tiles paar Before thie Bans disperse— 
A Nose! a mighty Nose I sing! 
As ent Promethem stole from heaven 
the fire 
To animate the worder of his hand; 
Thus with enballow'd hands, O muse, 


aspire, 
And from tay subject snatch a burn- 
‘ing brand 
Iba the #000 I iog—eay vere shall | 
Like ilies wy vared in: waves of 
fire shall Bow! 


Seht of this once all darksome spot 
ar ew the ed ‘conirée mortals 


Fis barn of Sirius begot 
Upan the focus of the sun— 
10) call thee —! for such thy carthly 


ane — 

What name so high, but what too low: 
most be? 

eer ete? Sse tie solar 


Arata pps uett lage ince: 
Morn madly, Fire! o'er earth in ravage 


for shame more red by fiercer | 
outdone! 





1 saw when from the turtle feast 
‘The thick dark smoke in volumes 
I saw the darkness of the mist 
Encircle thee, O Nose! 
Shor of thy rays thou shott'st a fearful 
gleam 
(The turtle quiver'd with prophetic 
fright) 
Gloomy and sullen thro’ the night of 
steam = 
So Satan’s Nose when Dunstan unged 
to flight, 
Glowing from gripe of red-hot pincers 
dread. 
Athvart the smokes of Hell disastrous 
twilight shed! 


The Furies to madness my brain de- 
vote— 
In robes of ice my body wrap! 
‘On billowy flames of fire I float, 
Hear ye my entrails how they snap? 
Some power unseen forbids my lungs to 
breathe! 
What _fire-clad 
whizzing fly ! 
I vitrify thy torrid zone beneath, 
Probescis fierce! 1 am calcined! T 
die! 
‘Thus, like great Pliny, in Vesuvius’ fire, 
I perish in the blaze while I the blaze 
admire, 178. 


meteors round me 


TO THE MUSE 


‘Tuo! no bold flights to thee belong; 
And tho’ thy lays with conscious fear, 
Shrink from Judgement’s eye severe, 
Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my 
song! 
For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ 
Exalts my soul, refines my breast, 
Gives each pure pleasure keenet zest, 
And softens sorrow Into pensive Joy. 
From thee I Jearn’d the wish to bless, 
From thee to commune with my heart: 
From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part, 
‘To laugh with pity at the crowds that 
press 





6 DPASTRUCTION OF THE BASTILE—TZO A YOUNG LADY 





Whore Faekion flauite her robes by 


Holly sen, 
Whee hae gaywarylug wanton in the 
ite ris. 


JM PAVOTION OF THE BASTILE 
i 


WOARI NG Ue en Waabeoenal cay, 
Nuh vbsosk ava Maggee stil wa Galltia’s 
Naas * 
Aik EXoaiaay) eaenlh ene Dasdarous 


Wok nd maninith power 

Wilh Vix hace hana sesamin 
nen 

Yew 

Va 


b thy Koon saagAcious ranges 

Wicslodih catiaed: hy Sance Dis- 

a wibliy bealke Ung tripde chaim, 

Avs) Whe Ue sisaua which earth's decp 
‘ealnnlle, hicks, 

Ak Wg Daw Dark Ba waye amd spyrenal 


Ve vwine wale. 


Wm cigs Urat sickly Decatt was spent 
act dew 
Qe Maepe Dad ceased the long lou dng 
be ghee 2 
(4 UE dhelvabog, its some dittiing dream, 
Ve GANG Unc, to cic Gents and 
oibeen 
Awaked dy bo melts rete 
Pu alk the deubiind Doewes pound, 
NE adoewR Mey stom Oppoesson’s 
bund 
Wail soguiah sist she diners 


2 ve Wet De mtn’ coe 


Dye! exec Vueming weit welt talks wi 
Peony mill 


thet comes, ve pitwing Scum come 
died? 


Such scenes no more demand the tear 
hi 


uemne 5 
I sce, I see! glad Liberty succeed 
With every patriot virtue in her train! 
And mark yon peasant’s raptured ~ 


* 
Secure bt tiga ia Barvoots lot 
No fetter vile the mind shall know, 
And Eloquence shall fearless glow. 
| Yeat Liberty the soul of Life shall 


reign, 
Shall throb ‘in every pulse, shall flow 
thro? every vein! 


vw 
Shall France alone a spun ? 


ball she alone, O Freedom, boast 
thy care? 


‘Noe cts vecline thy weary head, 
Those bel Sorel Se 
‘Shall boast ome i 

Sond sth, a erat, let favour’ Briain be | 

Sient coer wf the fiest and frecst of the 

feet ‘ti 
TO A YOUNG LADY 
\ 2OUM ON THE FRENCH 
EEVOLETION 


venta 


(Pratehiy she prenasing verses] 
Mores wn ag ently peut J fove to 
desil, 


Doe yet bo demir chat Seemdily dome fare- 
=, 
Shere ies, Semen: che echoing clodsters 


alley 


& eum of gut amt wondered af the 


we 

cc howls be Sours dew by om careless 
=p. 

Pal Newuly of Sumow would I sing. 

Aww a She sur ad comming Seng its beam 

2 Qerkoe lace om the Savy stream, 





LIFE ? 





My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom 

Mourned with the breeze, O zen Boo 
o'er thy tomb, 

Where'er I {acess Pity still was per, 

Breathed from the heart and glistened in 


the tear: 
No knell that tolled but filled my 
anxiows 


eye, 
And ing Nature that one 
suffering ee wept 


Thus to sad sympathies 1 soothed my 
Calm, the rainbow in the weeping 
When aig Freedom roused with 


Disdain 
With giant fury berst ber tripte chain | 
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog.star 


glowed ; 
He ae like a midnight “el 


Amid oper Felling of the storm-rent widest ! 
bh i aes ‘attered battles from her 


Then Exehation waked the patriot fire 
And swept with wilder hand the Alexan | 


lyre: 
Red from the Tyrant’s wound I shook 
Ad atrede In Foy the f 
A joy the reeking plains of 

vrocet — 


Feeney, friendless, ghastly, 
And my heart sche, though Mercy 
With Tie he iow thought 
‘once more T seck 
the shade, 
Where 


‘And © if Eyes whose holy glances roll, 
‘Swift memengers, and cloquent of soul ; 


I Virtue weaves the Myztle 


Sad Bool the sen of Adin Thole, Prince of | 
‘Pelew it 





If Smiles more winning, and a gentler 


ion 

Than the love-wildered Maniac’s brain 
hath seen 

Shaping eclestial forms in vacant air, 

If these demand the empassioned Poet's 


care— 

If Mirth and softened Sense and Wit 
refined, 

The blameless features of # lovely mind; 

Then ia. shail my trembling hand 


No fading aa ee many 
shrine. 

Nor, Sarat thou these early flowers 
refuse— 

Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their 
simple hues; 

No vee i bloom the Child of Nature 


From latte? 's nightshade: as he feels 


he sings. 
Sehlember 1793 


LIFE 


As tale {Journey ctr the extensive 
plain [stream, 
Where native Otter sports his scanty 
Musing in torpid woe a sister’s pain, 
“The gctiies pruspect oko" wie! Boer 
the dream. 


At every step it widen'd to my sight, 
Wood, Meadow, verdant Hill, 
dreary Steep. 
Following in quick succession of delight, 
Till all—at once—did my eye ravish'd 
sweep! 


and 


May this (f cried) my course through Life 
portray ! [display, 
New scenes of wisdom may each step 
And knowledge open as my days 
advance! 
‘Till what time Death shall pour the un- 
darken'd ry, 
My eye shall dart thro’ infinite expanse, 
And thought suspended lie in mpture’s 
blissfal tranos. 178. 





MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON 





Elate of Heart and confident of 
Fame, 
From vales where Avon sports, the 
Minstret came, 
Gay as the Poet hastes along 
He meditates the future song, 
Mow Aélla battled with his county's 
foes, 


And whilst Fancy in the air 
Paints him many a vision fair 30 
Hils eyes dance mpture and his bosom 


With generous joy he views wy idea 


He listens to many a Widow's prayers, 
And say sn Orphan’s thanks be 


fae tosis to pence the care-worn 
breast, 


He bids the Debtor's eyes know 
reat, 

Asd Liberty and Bliss behold : 
And now he punishes the heart of steel, 
‘And her own irom rod he makes Op- 

pression feel. 


Fated to heave sad Disappointment's 
sigh, 1° 
To feel the Hope now mais'd, and now 


jeprest, 
To feel the tmmings of an injur'd 
breast, 


From alli thy Fate's deep sorrow keen 
Is vain, O Youth, I tun th' affrighted 


eye; 
For powerful Fancy evernigh 

The hateful picture forces on my sight. 
‘There, Death of every dear delight, 
Frowns Poverty of Giant mien ! 

Iu vain 1 seck the charms of youthful 


grace, *|| 
‘Thy sunken eye, thy haggard cheeks it 


» 
The quick etotlons strugying in the 


Fain ox of thy mental Throes, 
When each strong Passion spurn'd con: 


troll, 
aon tocalm thy 
stormy soul. 





Such was the sad and gloomy hour 

When anguish’d care of sullen brow 

Prepared the Poison’s death.cold power. 

Alteacly to thy lips was rais'd the bowl, 

‘When filial Pity stood thee by, 

Thy fixed eyes she bade thee roll 60 

On scenes that well might melt thy 
soul 

Thy native cot she held to view, 

‘Thy native cot, where Peace ere long 

Had listen'd to thy evening song ; 

‘Thy sister's shricks she bade thee hear, 

And mark thy mother's thrilling tear, 

She made thee feel her deep» drawn 


sigh, 
And all her silent agony of Woe. 


And from thy Fate shall such distress 
ensue? 

Ali! dash the poison'd ebalice from thy 
hand! 7 

And thou had'st dash’d ft at her soft 
command ; 

But that Despair and Indignation rose, 

And told again the story of thy Woes, 

Told the keen insult of th? unfeeling 
Heart, 

‘he dread dependence on the low-bora 
mind, 


| Told every Woe, for which thy breast 


might smart, 
Neglect aa grinning scorn and Want 
combin'd— 
Recolling back, thou sent'st the 
friend of Pain 
To roll a tide of Death thro’ every freez- 
ing vein, 


© Spirit blest 1 oe 
Whether th’ eternal Throne around, 
Amidst the blaze of Cherubim, 
‘Thou pourest forth the grateful 
hymn, {main, 
Or, soaring through the blest Do- 
Enraptur'st Angels with thy strain,— 
Grant me, like thee, the lyre to 
sound, 
Like thee, with fire divine to glow— 
But ah! when rage the Waves of 
ec, 





10 


INSIDE THE COACH—MUSIC 





Grant me with firmer breast t'oppase 
their hate, 
And sear beyoed the storms with wprght 
eye clate ! 
om 


INSIDE THE COACH 


"Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try 

Unclosed to keep the weary eye; 

Bat ah! Oblivion’s nod to get 

In rattting coach is harder yet. 

Shambrows God of half-shut eye ! 

‘Who lovest with limbs supine to lic; 

Soother sweet of toil and care 

Listen, listen to my prayer; 

And to thy votary dispense 

‘Thy soporific influence ! 

What tho” around thy drowsy head 

‘The seven-fold cap of night be spread, 

Yet lift that drowsy head awhile 

And yawn propitiously a smile; 

In drizzly rains poppean dews 

O'er the tired inmates of the 
diffuse ; 

And when thou'st charm'd our eyes to rest 

Pillowing the chin upon the breast, 

Bid many a dream from thy dominions 

Wave its various.painted pinions, 

‘Till ere the splendid visions close 

We snore quartettes in ecstasy of nose. 

While thus we urge our airy course, 

© may no jolt’s electric force 

‘Our fancies from their steeds unhorse, 

And call us from thy fairy rei 

To dreary Bagshot Heath agai 


Coach 


DEVONSHIRE ROADS 


Tne indignant Bard composed this 
furious ode, 


As tired he dragg’d his way thro Plimtree 
road! 


‘Crusted with filth and stuck in mire 

Dall sounds the Bard's bemadded 
lyre 5 

Nathless Revenge and Tre the Poet 
goad 

‘To pour his impreeations on theroad. 


] 


Curst road! whose execrable way 
Was pats shadow'd out in Milton’ '* 


When "the sad fiends thro’ Hell's 
sulphureous roads 

Took the first survey of their new 
abodes; 

Or when the fall's Archangel fierce 

Dared through the realms of Night to 


pierce, 
What time the Bloodhound lured by 
Human scent 
‘Thro! all Confesion’s quagmires Rounder- 
ing went. 


Nor cheering pipe, nor Bird’s shrill note 
Around thy dreary paths shall float ; 
Their boding songs shall scritch-awls pour 
To fright the guilty shepherds sore, 

Led by the wandering fires astray 

‘Thro’ the dank horrors of thy way ! 
While they their mud.lost sandals hunt 
May all the curses, which they grunt 

In raging moan like goaded hog, 


Alight upon thee, damned Bog! syya. 


AN INVOCATION 


Sweet Muse! companion of my every 
hour! 

Voice of my Joy! 
sigh! 

Now plume thy pinions, now exert each 


Sure soother of the 


power, 
And fly to him who owns the candid eye. 


And if a smile of Praise thy labour hail 
(Well shall thy labours then my. mind 
employ) 
Fly fleetly bach, sweet Muse! and with 
the tale joy! 
rend my Features with a flush of 
179% 


| O'ersp 
MS. 


MUSIC 


Hence, soul-dissolving Harmony 
That lead'st th’ oblivious soul astray— 
‘Though thou sphere-descended be— 





Hence away !— 





ANNA, AND HARLAND—PAIN 





Thou mightier Goddess, thow demand’st 


their beings to enshrine 
bodies vile of herded swine, 
rout were plunging 
leeps 
devil mingling grunt and 
the car with horrible ob- 
= 


‘What though no name's sonorous power 
thee at thy matal hour !}— 
eeenerel slg, 
pa ee Hate Dorel ines flight. 
power on 
Sable clerk of Tiverton, 
And oft where Otter sports his stream, 
T hear thy banded fing scream. 
Thou Goddess! thou inspir'st cach 
Uiroat 5 
‘Tis thou who pour'st the scritchowl 


ANNA AND HARLAND 
Wernes these wilds was Anna wont to 


rove 
While Harlanid toll his love in many 
rt 
But stern’ on Harland rolled her 
eve, 
They fell her brother and 
ay 


‘To Death's dark house did gricf-worn 
Anna haste, 





Vet here hee pensive ghost delights 
to stay; ; 
Oft pouring on the winds the broken 
lay— 
And hark, E hear her—'twas the passing 
blast. 


T love to sit upon her tomb’s dark grass, 

‘Then Memory backward rolls Time's 
shadowy tide ; 

The tales of other days before me 


glide : 
With eager thought I seize them as they 
pass 5 2 
For fait, tho’ faint, the forms of Memory 


gleam, 
Like Heaven’s bright beauteous bow 
reflected in the stream. —t 1790, 


‘TO THE EVENING STAR 


O Menx attendant of Sol's setting blaze, 
Thail, sweet stax, thy chaste effulgent 


glow; 
On thee full oft with fixed eye T gaze 
Till I, methinks, all spirit seem to 
grow. 


O first and fairest of the starry choir, 
© loveliest ‘mid the daughters of the 


night, 
Must not the maid I love like thee inspire 
Pure joy and cain Delight? 


Must she not be, as is thy placid sphere 
Serencly brilliant? Whilst to gaze a 


while 
Be all my wish "mid Fancy’s high eareer 
E’en till she quit this scene of earthly 
toil 5 
Then Hope perchance might fondly sigh 
to join 
Her spirit 


‘hy kindred orb, O star 
benign ! 


ta790- 


PAIN 

ONcx could the Mom's first beams, the 
healthful breeze, 

All Nature charm, and gay was every 


hour s— 





120 ON A LADY WEEPING—MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE 


But ah! not Music’s self, nor fragrant 
bower 

Can glad the trembling sense of wan 

Now peat frequent pangs my frame 

Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and 

And seas of seem waving through 
each 


oo elit pecld an pellet 
se eto whom youth and health 


Hear the it ugh and catch the 
ve 
Then gh and think—t too could laugh 


a y 
And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre, 
Ere Tyrant Pain bd che sry light 
Ere the wild thro” 
the night eee tay 


ON A LADY WEEPING 


IMITATION FROM THE LATIN OF 
NICOLAUS ARCHIUS: 


Lovey gems of radiance meck 
Tumbling down my Laura's cheek, 
As the streamlets silent glide 

‘Thro’ the eit enamell'd pile, 


Pledges sweet of pious woe, 
Tears which Friendship taught to flow, 
Sparkling in yon humid light 
Love embathes his pinions eee 
‘There amid the glitt'ring show'r 
As some winged Warbler oft 
When spring: clouds sted Uhele. krouaurés | 


Joyous foks hie plumes anew, 
‘And flutters in the fost¥ing dew. 
is. te 


Tipe 


MONODY ON A TEA-KETTLE 


Muse that late sing another's poignant 


pain, 
‘To griefs domestic turn thy coal-black 
steed f 


Tn slowest steps the funeral steeds 
shall go, 





ees oe heads in all the pomp 
And let the sya 

ul 
itor ta 


howling run) 
His tea-kett spoilt and Coleridge 
= raeetoty 


Your chafing, yataasea eae 
Let Seek ot gtet ocr ea 
For he oe responsive to your 
What tne the joyous bubbles ‘gan to 
he ihn kt rs 
sect K-) 1 ne and all my woes 
I vod th ‘water hissing from the 


No more aaa Hh throw ite fragrant 
steam around 


oO bere best beloved ! Delightful 
wih beet me Wise? what yields the 


delight 
And the pure joy prolong to-midimost 
ant ee 1a ay ao cm 


Enfoldet else in agticf thy form I see | 
‘No more will thew expand thy wig 


Receive the Jeroen fece, and) yloldiidan 
‘all thy charms! | 


How ee the es sink by Fae | 
Pena ro Kale! thon by. scorit 
Rude conte {! ignoble place with plaint- 


May'st a obscure midst heaps of 
valgar tin s— 





ON RECEIVING, ETC.—A MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM 


3 





As if no joy had ever cheard my | My woes, my joys enshared | Ah! long 


When from thy spout the stream did 


As if, inspir'd, thou ne'er hadst known 
V inspire 

All. the warm raptures of poetic 
fire t 


Bat bark1 or do 1 fancy Georgian 
voice— 
‘What the’ fis form did wondrous 


charms disclose— | 
(Not sech did Memnon’s sister sable 
direst) 


Take these beight arms with royal 
face imprest, 

A better Kettle shall thy soul rejoice, 

And with Oblivion's wing o’erspread 
thy woes!” 

‘Thus Fairy Hope can soothe distress 
apd toil; 


On empty Trivets she bids fancied 
Kettles boit ! = 


ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT 
“THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S 
DEATH WAS INEVITABLE 
‘Tie tear which mourn’d a brother's fate 
perce dey — 
Pain after pain, and woe succeeding 


‘woe— 
Is my heart destined for another blow? 
© my sweet sister! and mast thou too | 


die? 
Ab? how es Disappointment pout 


tear | 
(er infant Hope dlestroy’d by early frost! 
How are ae whom most my soul 
! 


Scare had 1 loved you ere E mourn'd 
‘you lost 5 

Say, is this bellow eye, this heartless 

Fated to rore thro! Life's wile chectless 





‘sister meet its ken— 


ere then 
On me thy icy dart, stern Death, be 


proved » 
Better to die, than live and not be loved! 
179% 


ON SEEING A YOUTH AFFEC 
TIONATELY WELCOM BY 
A SISTER 


I Too a sister hail ! too cruel Death ! 

How sad remembrance bids my bosom 
heave! 

‘Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's 
breath ; 

Meek were her manners 2s a vernal 
Eve 

Knowledge, that frequent lifts the 
bloated mind, 

Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast, 

And Wit to venom'd Malice oft 
astign'd, 

Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle’s nest. 

Cease, busy Memory ! cease to urge 
the dart ; 

Nor on my soul her love to me 
impress ! 

For oh I mourn in anguish—and my 
heart 

Feels the keen pang, th’ unutterable 
distress. 

Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows 
cease, 
For Life was misery, and the Grave is 

Peace ! tay 


A MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM 


If Pegasus will let thee only ride bim, 
‘Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him, 
Some fresh expedient the Muse will try, 
And walk op aties, although she cannee fly. 


To tHe Rev. Groner Corzeipcn 


Deak Broriuge, 

T have often been surprised that 
Mathematics, the quintessence of Truth, 
should have found admirers so few and 








SONNET ON QUITTING SCHOOL—ABSENCE 15 





All are equal, each to his brother. 
Preserving the balance of power 50 


trues 
Abt the like would the proud Auto- 
cratrix? do ! 
Attaxes impendingnot Britain would 
trembl 


le, 
Not Prussia stroggle her fear to 
Aissemble ; 
Nor the Mah'met-spring wight 
The great Mussulman 
Would stain his Divan to 
With Urine the soft-flowing daughter of 
Fri 


w 


But, Ege ee eocasing Ninel 
Should bloat the scientific line? 
Or with dishevell'd bair oll madly do ye 


run 
For that your task is done? 
For dene i dome it ik—the cause is tried | 


And tion, gentle maid, 
Who ly ask’d stern Demonstra- 


tion's aid, 
Has proved her right, and A. B.C, 
‘OF Angles three p 
Is shown to be of equal side ; 
And now oar weary steed to rest in fine, 


"Tis raised spon A. Bi, the straight, the 
given Hine. 179% 


SONNET 
ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR COLLEGE 
Faxnwett. parental scenes! a sad fare- 
well! 


To you my gratefal heart still fondly 
"The? 


Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell, 
Adieu, adlea! ye much-loved cloisters 


Geet ites chacy 
re lays return 
again, 


round on  Fancy’s 


4 Emmyeess of Russix. 





When ‘neath your arches, free from every 
stain, 

T heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale 1 

Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays 


Isang, 

Listening meanwhile the echoings of my 
feet, 

Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang, 

As when erewhile, my weeping child. 
hood, torn 

By carly sorrow from my native seat, 

Mingled its tears with hers—my widow'd 
Parent lorn. pete, 


ABSENCE 


A VAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL 
FOR JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE 


WHere graced with many a classic spoil 

Cant rolls his reverend stream along, 

T haste to urge the Tearned toil 

‘That sternly chides my loveclorn song : 

‘Ah me! too mindful of the days 

Tilumed by Passion's orient rays, 

When Pence, and Cheerfulness and 
Health 

Enriched me with the best of wealth. 


Ah fair Delights | that o'er my soul 

On Memory's wing, like shadows fly ! 

‘Ah Flowers ! which Joy from Eden stole 

While Innocence stood smiling by !— 

But cease, fond Heart! this bootless 
moan 

‘Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown 

Shall yet return, by Absence crowned, 

And scatter livelier roses round, 


The Sun who ne'er remits his fires 

On heedless eyes may pour the day : 

‘The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, 

Endears her renovated ry. 

What though she leave the sky unblest 

To mourn awhile in murky vest ? 

When she relumes her lovely light, 

We bless the Wanderer of the Night. 
179% 





PHILEDON 


PHILEDON 
‘Dycotms honsimun 0, gpantam ent ta sabes 


se eam ers na, trad | Cones 


enon icon Priledon ty 
His feeble frame consumptive 


Br ark as noe 


CUERE 5 
His fortune ruin’d and his wealth clecay'd, 
Clamorous his duns, his guming debts 


np, 
‘The youth indignant seized his tailor’s 
And on its back thus wrote with moral 


Or similar in cmptinass alone, 
How false, ei vain are Man's peomilis 


below 
Wealth, Tune, Pleasure—what can ye 
bestow ? 


Yat sce, how high and low, and young 


Pursue the all delusive of Gold. 
Fond man} should all Peru thy empire 


For fects tho! all Golconda’s jewels shone, 


What greater bliss could all this wealth | 
? 


supply 

What, bat to eat and drink and sleep 
and die? 

Go, tempt the stormy sea, the burning 

Go, waste the night in thought, the ay 
in 

Dark pes the rock, and fierce the 
tempests mve— 

i Tease Rac naar ht} 

Or en at thy door the midnight | 

Or Death shall knock that never knocks 
in vain. 

Next Honour’s sons come bustling on 


apain 5 
T Jaugh with pity at the idle train, 


Tnfem oh eal aha ee 


{na nen wing of ama fa — 


Gazest undaunted in the face of death ! 30 
What art thou but a Meteor’s glaring 


Iactng 5 raeene ane er Goa 
Caprice which ase thee high bal hu 
Or envy ben steer oateay tee 


i 
Whea p fame was toiling Merit's 


Te Moon Homo ether ays ong 
Profuse of jay and Lord of right 





Honour can game, drink, riot in the 
stew, 

Cut ao friend's throat ;—what cannot 
Honour do? e 

Ah ara storm within can Honour 

For ei ee whom Honour mare 

Or val ‘ ‘ory Honomr tell the 

To tied, which Honour mah 


Or if with oa apd terrific threats 
T Lei some traveller pay my Honout's 


pr herr ee 

Ah, Bei Honour dies to make my 

jour lime, % 

But ee young Pleasure and er tit 

so anger ie he ie 
dance 5 

| Around my Beg throws her rs 
white arms, 

‘T meet Nes “ves and madden at her 

| For we a ey rae can joys celestial 

| And ‘what So eWBee am as Wotnan’s 
| love? 


A pales 





To such poor joys could ancient Honour 





ON IMITATION—HAPPINESS 





With such high transport every moment 
ere enmaks- 200 


Forafbe Gen feeder etkiona Sew, 
And the 


gloomy 

A hideous hag th’ Enchantress Pleasure 
Seen, 

And all ber joys appear but feverous 
dreams. 


& 
‘The vain resolvestill brokenand still made, 
Disease and Joathiog and remorse invade ; 
‘The charm & ‘'d and the bubble’s 


Alara toiplcaser is n slave to smoke !” 
Such lays repentant did the Muse 


7 

When athe Sn war tering down 
¥ 

In glittering state twice fifty guineas 
conte, 

is Mothers pate antique bad sxiscd 
the sam. 

Forth leapld) Philedon. of ‘new i 


ON IMITATION 
vemey ‘born to soar—and ah ! how 


In tracks where Wisdom leads their 


IIAP See an a eh orcorst ac, 


con ME cael eoigembaa 
every fool his talent tries ; 

It asks some toil to imitate the wise 
ee Fox spn coined Pint 


Yet alt Boron geme—tike Pitt can 


Tazo 


HAPPINESS 


Where first his infant buds appear; 
Or upwards dart with soaring force, 
And tempt some more ambitious course? 

Obedient now to Hope's command, 

T bid cach humble wish expand, 

‘And fair and bright Life's prospects seem, 
While Hope displays her cheering beam, 
And Fancy’s vivid colourings stream, 1+ 
While Emulation stands me nigh 

The Goddess of the eager eye. 

With foot advanced and anxious heart 
‘Now for the fancied goal I start »— 
Ah! why will Reason intervene 
Me and my promised joys between | 
She stops my course, she chains my speed, 
While thus her forceful words proceed :— 
“Ah! listen, youth, ere yet too late, 20 
What evils on thy course may wait ! 
To bow the head, to bend the knee, 
A minion of Servility, 
At low Pride's frequent frowns to sigh, 
‘And watch the glance in Folly's eye 
To toil intense, yet toil in vain, 
‘And feel with what a hollow pain 
Pale Disappointment hangs her head 
O’er darling Expectation dead t 

«The scene is changed and Fortune's 


gale 
Shall belly out cach rous sail, 
‘Yet sudden wealth fall well I know 
Did never happiness bestow. 
That wealth to which we were not born 
Dooms us to sorrow or to scorn, 
Behold yon flock which long had trod 
O’er the short grass of Devon's sod, 
To Lincoln's rank rich meads transferr’d, 
And in their fate thy own be fear'd 5 
‘Through every limb contagions fly, 
Deform’d and choked they burst and die. 
“When Luxury opens wide her arms, 

And smiling wooes thee to those charms, 
Whose fascination thousands own, 
Shall thy brows wear the stoic frown? 
And when her goblet me extends 
Which maddening my Is press around, 
What power divine vf tere soul befriends 
‘That thon should’st dash it to the 
| ground 2 

No, thou shalt drink, and thou shalt know 
Her transient bliss, her lasting wor, 5 


c 








THE RAVEN 


(Axoft when Night o'er Heaven ie spread, 
Round this 


And thine the peaceful evening walk ; 
wn stroke thee ny sweetest are— 

ie setting sun, the evening star— 
The tints, which live along the sky, 
And Moon that meets thy raptured eye, 
Where oft the tear shall ful start, 
‘Dear silent pleasures of the Heart ! 
Ah! Being blest, for Heaven shall lend 
‘To share thy simple joys a friend! 
Ah! doubly blest, if awe supply ye 
His influence to complete thy joy, 
If chance some lovely maid thou find 
‘To read thy visage in thy mind. 

“One blessing more demands thy | 

care 2— 

‘Once more to Heaven address the prayer 
For humble independence pray 
The guardian genius aes sa 


| By theta snr bth dog and 








XxX THE RAVEN 


A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A 
SCHOOL-ROY TO HTS LITTLE BROTHERS 
AND SISTERS 


‘Usprrxtarit a huge oak tree 

‘There was of swine a huge company, 
“That granted as they ruched the ma 
For that was ripe, and fell fall fast. 
Then oe" trotted away, for the wind 


‘One cen they ef ancl aa naeeetn 


|Next ct 3 Raven, that Hike nots 


Me belonged te di ay, to the with | 
Melancholy ! 

Wacker oes he thee aca jet, 

Flew low in the ral snd ia Seti 


ot wet. co 
He vik up the acorn and) buted i 


Where then did the 
He went high and low, 
Over hill, oe dale, did the black Raven | 


Many Avtumns, satya 
Teed he eric c | | 
wings 


Many Summers soma SV Stee | 
I can’t tell half his 
At length be came bk, aed with hin 


Ant he cm wae ow to 8 al ok | 


peash 


‘they ballt “them a nest in ‘the topmost 
‘bough, 





4 WISH—AN ODE IN THE MANNER OF ANACREON 


19 





And young ones they had, and were 
now. 
Bat soon came a woodman in leathern 
guise, 
His boom, Hike a pent-house, hung over 
eaietae eiasibesd) oot word he 


Bat many a bemt and a sturdy 
he beought down the poor 
wen's own 
His young ones were killed; for they 
could not depart, 
And their mother did dic of a broken 
heart, » 


At 


The boughs from the trunk the woodman 
fid sever 5 

And they Rostd it down om the course 
of the river, 

They sawed it in planks, and its bark 

Beare se te oo sik hay mae 
‘a good ship. 

‘The ship, it was launched ; but in sight 
of the Fand 

Such = storm there did rise as no ship 

rm Ranney nt th 

‘on a rock, 1 waves 

rush’d im fast : 

‘The old Raven flew round and round, 
and cawod to the blast, 

He beard the last shriek of the perishing 
souls——- 

See! see! perce topmast the mad 


And — pee home on a cloud he 
And te t Saad “him again and again for 

Toy ha taken his al and Revencr 
wa tancme Serikbik a3 ‘bat forget and 


gives life to, we'll still 
fer. 


fet it tive ty 





A WISH 
WRITTEN IN JESUS WOOD, FER, 10, 
1792 
[Sennt, with the two pieces which follow, to 
Mary Evans, in a setter of that date,) 


Lo! through the dusky silence of the 
ih 
‘Thro’ vales irriguous, and thro’ green 


retreats, 
With languid murmur creeps the placid 
stream 
And works fts secret way. 


Awhile meand'ring round its native 


elds, 

It rolls the playful wave and winds its 
flight : 

Then downward flowing with awaken'd 


speed 
Embosoms in the Deep ! 


‘Thus thro’ its silent tenor may my Life 
Smooth its meek stream by sordid 
wealth unclogg’d, 
Alike unconscious of forensic storms, 
‘And Glory’s blood-stain’d palm f 


And when dark Age shail close Life’s 
little day, 
inte of sport, and weary of its toils, 
E’en thus may slumbrous Death my 
decent limbs 
Compose with icy hand t 
aS, 


AN ODE IN THE MANNER OF 
ANACREON 


As late in wreaths gay flowers I bound, 

Beneath some roses Love I found, 

‘And by his little frolic pinion 

‘As quick as thought I seiz'd the minion, 

‘Then in my cup the prisoner threw, 

‘And drank him in its sparkling dew : 

And sure I feel my guest 

Fluttering his wings within my breast ! 
MS. 179% 





20 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT—THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA 


divans Colley 16 12 | et oe 


A LOVER'S COMPLAINT TO HIS 
MISTRESS 
WHO DESERTED HIM IN QUEST OF A 


MORE WEALTHY HUSBAND IN THE 
RAST INDIES 


Tue dubious Tight sad glimmers o'er the 

‘Tis sl all, By lonely anguish 

With wandering feet to gloomy groves I 

Remora bors iit tackarny cre 
forlom. 


And will scsel Julia seal yor ge? 
And i yt The Oca dak 


Shall cag wat'ry world between us 
flow ? 

‘And winds unpitying snatch my Hopes 
away ? 


Thus could you sport with my too easy 
heart 2 


Yet prac Test not unaveng’d 1 
eve t 
‘The winds may learn your own delusive 


art, 
And faithless Ocean smile — but to 
deceive t 179% 
MS, 
WITH FIELDING’S ‘AMELIA’ 
Vinruxs and Woes alike too great for 
man 
In the soft tale oft claim the useless 
For vain the attempt to realise the 
plan, 
On Folly's wings must Tmitation fly. 
With ao ao has Fielding here dis- 
play’ 


Each social duty and each social 
care 5 





What grees site eae ee 
And sure the Parent of a race so sweet 
With double 


shall meet, 
While Reason still with smiles delights 
to tell 
Maternal hope, that her loved 
Th all bat sorrows shall maaan ba 
7 


IMITATED FROM OSSIAN 


Tie stream with languid murmur creeps, 
In Lumin’s flowery vale: 

Beneath the dew the Lily weeps 
Slow-waving to the gale, 


‘Cease, restless gale t" it seems to say, 


* Nor wake me <i a sighing! 


“holed a blooming 

Vho late me 2 

His searching eye shall vainly roam 
"The dreary vale of Laman. 


With eager and wetted cheek 
My Secoted Sena along, 

Thus, faithful Maiden | ¢dow shalt seek 
‘The Youth of simplest song. 


Bat I along the ea 
The voice of fecble power 

And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy sou 
In Slumber's nightly hour, sz95 


THE COMPLAINT OF NINA+ 
THOMA 
FROM THE SAME 


will ye round me be 


How swelling, 
tumbling waves of the sea? 


Oye 





as Deticibery [foro dalle fe Sav thi , 


“SONGS OF THE PIXIES ar 


‘oper, ht 
of the 


myer by nh 


ta SONGS OF THE PIXIES 


“breebers, the hand of th 
Pa Atha fot ef heb foe he svee 





nm 
When fades the moon all shadowy-pale, 
And scuds the cloud before the tae to 
Ere Morn with living ems 
Purples the East wit! ei i 
We ty the furze-flower’s fragrant dews 
robes of rainbow hues ; 
Or sport amid the rosy gleam 
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team, 
While lusty Labour scouting sorrow 
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow, 
‘Who jogs the accustomed road along, 
And paces cheery to her cheering 
song. » 
ut 
But not oor filmy pinion 
We scorch amid the blaze of day, 
When Noontide’s fiery - tressed 
minion, 
Flashes the fervid ray. 
‘Aye from the sultry heat 
‘We to the cave retreat 
O’ercanopied by huge roots intertwined 
With wildest texture, blackened o'er with 


age: 
Round then thelr mantle green the ivies 


bind, 
Beneath whose foliage pale yo 
Fanned by the unfrequent ine 
We shield us from the Tyrant’s mid-day 
rage. 
wv 
‘Thither, while the murmuring throng 
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song, 
By Indolence and Fancy brought, 
‘A youthful Bard, ‘unknown to Fame," 
‘Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, 
‘And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh 
Gazing with tearful eye, 
‘As round our sandy grot appear 4o 
Many a rudely-sculptured name 
To pensive Memory dear! 
Weaving gay dreams of sunny.tinctured 
Ne, 
We glance before his view = 
O’er his hush’d soul our soothing witcher- 
ies shed 


jee 
And twine our faery garlands round his 
head. 








THE ROSE—SONNET TO THE RIVER OTTER 23 





THE ROSE 


‘As late each flower that swectest blows 
I plucked, the Garden's pride ! 
Within the petals of a Rose 

A sleeping Love I spiod, 


Around his brows a beamy wreath 
Of many a lucent hue ; 

All parple glowed his check, beneath, 
Inebriate with dew. 


1 softly seized the ungearded Power, 
Nor scared his balmy rest : 

And him, caged within the flower, 
‘On spotless Sara’s breast. 


Bat when unweeting of the guile 
Awoke the prisoner sweet, 

to escape awhile 
cadets his faery fect. 


Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight 


*And O17 be cried—‘ Of magic kind 
What charms this Throne endear ! 


js tell aright, 
a worn legen Delight. 
o'er love-kindled flames he 


the magic dews which Even- 
Tdalian star by faery 
wings c 
Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he 
join’ 
Each Carri Pleasure of th’ unspotted 
bers, whe whose tints with sportive 


Aad Mg he ts 


parasite of 





The cycles Chemist heard the process 


rise, 

The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs; 

Sweet sounds transpired, a8 when the 
enamour'd Dove 

Pours the soft murmuring of responsive 


Love. 
The finish’ work might Envy vainly 
blame, 
And * Kisses” was the precious Com- 
mind's name, 
With half the God his Cyprian Mother 


est, 
And breathed on Sara's lovelier lips the 
rest. 179% 


THE GENTLE LOOK 

Tuov gentle Look, that didst my soul 

ile, 

Why bast thou left me? Still in some 
fond dream 

Revisit my sad heart, auspicious smile ! 

‘As falls on closing flowers the lunar 
beam : 

What time, in sickly mood, at parting day 

T lay me down and think of happier years; 

Of joys, that glimmered in Hope's twi- 
light ray, 

‘Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. 

O pleasant days of Hope—for erer gone! 

Could I recal you !—But that thought is 
vain, 

Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone 

To lure the fleet-winged travellers back 
again: 

Yet fair, though faint, their images shall 


gleam 
Like the bright rainbow on a willowy 
stream. terg3 


SONNET 
TO THE RIVER OTTER 


DrAR native Brook ! wild Streamlet of 
the West ! 

Howmany various-fated yearshave past, 

What happy and what mournful hours, 
ince last 





TO A SPRING—ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING 


I skimmed the smooth thin stone along 
thy breast, 

Racitrcy Se Hight lecpe yet-so deep 

Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that 
mine eyes 


Tnera edt cia the kenay 
But stright witha hele tint thy 


‘Thy sing plank, thy marge with 
An eel ht int witha 
hana sh npr 

‘wa 


caret, yet waking fond 
st 
Abt that once more I were a careless 
Child ! 


oa 
oe 
Ar idlw tines 
‘TO A BEAUTIFOL, SPRING IN A VILLAGE 


‘Oxce more, sweet Stream! with slow 
foot wandering near, 

T bless thy milicy waters cold and clear, 

Escaped the flashing of the noontide 


With one fresh garland of Picrian 
flowers 

(Exe from thy zephyr-haunted brink I 
turn) 

My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy 
um. 

For not through pathless grove with 
murmur ride 

Thou soothet the sat wood-nymph, 
Solitude ; 

Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to 

The Hermit-fountain of vome dripping 
eel! 7 


Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams | 


‘The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet | 





The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks | 


With infant uproar and soul-soothing 
from school, their little hearts 

at rest, 
Launch, ,eaper navies on: thy. waveles 


‘The musa re ah ays w Ea pe 
ere: Torn ditties Teans upon his 


To list the much-loved maid's accustomed 
She, i i of ber ate 
Teter, the Tong-fill'd pitcher in her 


‘Unboastful Stream! thy fount with 
‘bbled falls. 


“The faded form of past delight recalls, 
What time the morning sun of Hope 


arose, 
Atl wet 7) ee 


At saasloct ean soul 

Tike Pas sete pode tmp pare OF 

Lie tent thn an ang the 

Or save stole beneath the pensive 
jon = 

Ah! now it works mde brakes and 
thorns among, 

Or o'er the rough rock bursts and 
foams along ! oe 


LINES: 
(ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING 
O tow ad sate check thy wing? 
No 


Those Si ‘white flakes, those purple 
clouds 


fii 
Bathed in Tich amberglowing fleods of 


Tights 





LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING 


25 





Nor in mee where slow descends 

With —- ee a 

Aht caer hid the perished pleasures 

Aistatoey tenia, accom the 300 of 
Lovet 


O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling 
Esch flower that wreathed the dewy 


rie, ~ 

7 haa from Hope's 

She lent: eral by the pattering 
shower. 

Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper 
gleam, 

Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's 
dream ! 


With facry wand O bid the Maid arise, 
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright- 


eyes 
Ax ext when from the Muses’ calm 


abode 
1 came, with Learning's meed not un- 


When as sbe twined a iaurel round my 
brow, 

And met my kiss, and half returned my 
vow, 0 

O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled 

And every nerve confessed the electric 
dart. 

O dear Deceit! I sce the Maiden rise, 

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright. 

eyes! 

When firs the Lark high-soaring swells 

Mocks the tired cye, ani scatters the 
Joud note, 

T trace her es footieepe on the accustomed: 

‘mak fe lncing mid the gleams of 

When ot en wer beneath the night» 

Cees ckrtia elves Seatve seepe, 

Amid the paly mdiance 





soft and sal, 3: | 


She meets my lonely path in moon-beams 
clad. 
With her along the streamlet’s brink I 


rove; 
With her I list the warblings of the 


groves 

And seems in each low wind her voice 
to float 

Lone whispering Pity in each soothing 
note! 


Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! 
Obey 

‘The powerful spell, and to my haunt 
repair. 

‘Whether on clustering pinions ye are 
re 

Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle- 


es, ° 

Or with fond languishment around my 
fair 

Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her 
hair 5 

© heed the spell, and hither wing your 
way, 

Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze ! 


Spirits! to you the infant Maid was 
given 

Formed by the wonderous Alchemy of 
Heaven ! 

No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire 
Teno’ 

No fairer Maid er heaved the bosom's 
snow. 

A thousand Loves around her forehead 


ve 
A thousand Lowes sit melting in her eye; 
Love lights her smile—in Joy's md 
nectar dips 
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her 


lips. 

She speaks! and hark that passion 
warbled song— 

Still, Faney { still that woice, those notes 
prolong. 

As sweet as when that voice with rap: 
turous falls 

wake the softened 

Heaven's Halls! 


Shall echoes of 





® AINGS ON 4N 20TOMNGL ZFENING 


WA UAW Begg MD rete itn ne etm 
VS ie OS enn Dee, Saree 
oe 


_—™~  O 
_ 
>= — =e = — 





aad Gebisehe deft. ive 


i 13s ) 


OU aey 


TO FORTUNE—LEWTI 2 





TO FORTUNE 


To tHe Eprron or Tae Aoewinc 
Cunowicts 


eS following poem you may 
Mica diane into your jour- 
pat you will commit it «ls lepbv 
[gaizroo.—-I am, with more 
(apernte than I ordinarily 
for Editors of Papers, your obliged, 

tc., Cantan.—s. T. C. 


To Forruxe 
On buying 2 Ticket in the Irith Lottery 


Composed during a walk to and from 
the Queen's Heal, Gray's Inn Lane, 


Holborn, and Homsty’s and Co., Com- 


Promrrasss of unnumber'd sighs, 
O snatch ponte ‘bandage from thine 


eyes 
Olook, and smile! No common prayer 
Solicits, Fortune ! thy propitious care ! 
Tl the glided chan of 
of politesses, 

Nor ask thy boon what time I scheme 

cha gh Pleasure’s frail and feverish 

dream ; 


view life's essle blinds — 
1 Bower !—I give you 
to the winds t 

Let the little bosom cold 
Melt only at the sunbeam ray of gold— 
My Lace cheeks glow—the big drops 
Di reted Fickag rots at riy heurt 
And if in lonely durance pent, 
‘Thy poor mite mourn 2 brief imprison. 


ment — 
‘That mite at Sorrow’s faintest sound 
Leaps from its scrip with an clastic 
bound 1 


But ob ! if ever song thine car 
‘Might soothe, O haste with fost'ring hand 


to rear 
‘One Flower of Hope! At Love's behest, 





Trembling, I plac'd it in my secret breast : 

And thrice I've viewed the vernal gleam, 

Since oft mine eye, with joy’s electric 
beam, 

Mlam'd it—and its sadder hue 

Oft moistened with the tear's ambrosial 
dew! 

Poor wither'd floweret ! on its head 

Has dark Despuir his sickly mildew shed! 

But thou, O Fortune ! canst relume 

Its deaden’d tints—and thou with hardier 
bloom 

May’st haply tinge its beauties pale, 

And yield the unsunn’d stranger to the 
western gale! 

Morning Cleromicle, Nov. 7, 170% 


LEWTI * 
OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHAUNT 


Ar midnight by the stream 1 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 Tainaha’s stream ; 
But the rock shone brighter far, 
‘The rock half sheltered from my view 
By pendent boughs of tressy yew.— 10 
So shines my Lewti’s forehead fair, 
Gleaming through hee sable hair, 
Image of Lewti! from my mind 
Depart ; for Lewti is not kind, 


T saw a cloud of palest hue, 
Onward to the moon it passed 5 
Still brighter and more bright it grew, 
With floating colours not a few, 
Till it reach’ the moon at last : 
Then the cloud was wholly bright, 
With a rich and amber light ! 
And so with many a hope I seck 
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 ! Jeave my mind, 
If Lewti never will be kind, 





Wireny prem 


3 


AD LYRAM—TO LESBIA 





‘The little cloed—it floats away, 
Away it goes ; away 50 soon ? 

Als | it has mo power to stay: 

Its haes are dim, its hues are grey 
Away it passes from the moon ! 

How mournfully it seems to fly, 
Ever fading more and more, 

To joyless regions of the sky— 
‘And pow 'tis whiter than before ! 

As white ax my poor cheek will be, 
When, Lewti ! on my couch 1 lie, 

A dying man for love of thee, 

Nay, treacherous image ! leave my mind— 

And yet, thou didst not look unkind. 41 


I saw a vapour in the sky, 
Thin, and white, and very high ; 
[ne'er beheld so thin a cloud: 
Perhaps the breezes that can fly 
Naw below and now above, 
Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud 
Of Lady fair—that died for love. 
For maids, as well as youths, have 


perisl 
From fruitless love too fondly cherished. so 
Nay, treacherous image ! leave my mind— 
For Lewti never will be kind. 


Hash! 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. 
© beauteous birds! methinks ye measure 

Your movements to some heavenly 

tune! © 
© beauteous birds ! ‘tis such 4 pleasure 

To see you move beneath the moon, 
[would it were your true delight 
\. To sleep by day and wake all night, 


1 know the place where Lewti lies 

When silent night has closed her eyes : 
It isa breezy jasmine-bower, 

‘The nightingale sings o'er her bead : 
Voice of the Night ! had I the power 

‘Phat leafy labyrinth to thread, 7° 

And creep, like thee, with soundless 

tread, 


T then might riew her bosom white 
| Hearing lovely to my sight, 

| As these two swans together heave 
On the gently-swelling wave, 


Oh! that she saw me in a dream, 
‘And dreamt that I had died for care; 
All pale and wasted I would seem 
Yet fair withal, as spirits are 1 
I'd die indeed, if I might see 
Her bosom heave, and heave for me { 
Soothe, gentle image ! soothe my mind 1 
To-morrow Lewti may be kind, 


70H 


IMITATIONS 


AD LYRAM 
(CASIMIR, BOOK If. ODE 3) 


Tuk solemn-breathing air is ended— 
Cease, O Lyre! thy kindred lay! 

From the poplar-branch suspended 
Glitter to the eye of Day! 


On thy wires hovering, dying, 
Softly sighs the summer wind: 
I will slumber, careless lying, 
By yon waterfall reclined. 


In the forest hollow-roaring 
Hark! I hear a deepening sound— 
Clouds rise thick with heary louring ? 
See! the horizon blackens round! 


Parent of the soothing measure, 
_ Let me seize thy wetted string? 
Swiftly fies the flatterer, Pleasure, 


Headiong, ever on the wing, 1794. 


TO LESBIA 


Vivamus, mea Lesbla, atque amemus, 
‘CaruLics. 
My Lesbia, let us love and live, 
| And to the winds, my Lesbia, give 
Each cold restraint, each boding fear 
Of age and all her saws severe, 








THE DEATH OF THE STARLING—THE SIGH 29 





Morning Pest, Mpeil 53, 1793. 


THE DEATH OF THE 
STARLING 


Lagete, O Veseres, Cupilinenyue —Carutics. 


MORIENS SUPERSTITE 
‘Tie hour-bell sounds, and I must go; 


Desth waits-—again I bear him call- 


reae 
bee 


oF 





To-morrow death shall freeze this 
hand, 

And on thy breast, my wedded trea- 
sure, 

T never, never more shall live ;— 

Alas! I quit a life of pleasure, 


Marning Post, May 10, 1798. 


MORIENTI SUPERSTES 


Yer art thou happier far than she 

Who feels the widow's love for thee! 

For while her days are days of weeping, 

‘Thou, in peace, in silence sleeping, 

In some still world, unknown, remote, 
The mighty parent's care hast found, 

Without whose tender guardian thought 
No sparrow falleth to the ground. 


THE SIGH 


WHEN Youth his faery reign began 

Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man; 
While Peace the present hour beguiled, 
And all the lovely Prospect smiled ; 
‘Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee 
T heaved the painless Sigh for thee. 


And when, along the waves of woe, 
My harassed Heart was doomed to know 
The frantic burst of Outrage keen, 

And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen; 
‘Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea 
Theaved an anguished Sigh for thee | 


But soon Reflection’s power imprest 
‘A stiller sadness on my breast ; 
‘And sickly Hope with waning eye 
‘Was well content to droop and dic: 
1 yielded to the stern decree, 

Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee! 


And though in distant climes to roam, 
‘A wanderer from my native home, 
T fain would soothe the sense of Care, 
‘And lull to sleep the Joys that were! 
Thy Image may not banished be— 
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee. 

June 1794 





kid 


THE KISS—TRANSLATION 


| cianpiitnar acca eh ower 


THE KISS 


‘One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sighed — 
Your scorn the little boon denied. 

Ah why refuse the blameless bliss? 

Hn ee turk within a kiss? 


‘on viewless wanderer of the vale, 


Sweet Fulsshood tha endeabs Consent 
For on those lovely lips the while 


TRANSLATION 
‘or 
WKANGHAM'S HENDECASYLLABL 4D 
BRUNTONAM & GRANTA EXITURAM 


Map of unboastful charms! whom 
white-robed Truth 


Right onward guiding through the maze | 
of youth, 


ith, 
Fortate the Circo Praise to witch thy | 
soul 
And dash’d to earth th’ intoxicating 
hs 
‘Thee meck-eyed Pity, eloquently fair, 


Bete pple Ss to 
The al le wae oer Br pai 


For never aad tal poke Sa 
Tone more ong to the sadden'd 


Whether, to rouse the 
Thou Pont lone 


Or haply cothest with funeres) vet 
The loves that wept in Juliet's 


‘breast. 

O’er our chill limbs the thrilling Terrors 
cree} 

‘TW’ cotranced Passions thelr still vigil 

‘While the bec sche recital Ort 

Scand throcgh the Silence of ia trea 
ling throng, 

But puter mapites thas 


Ant el al hy fm a Rl 


athetic glow, 
a's tale of 


When een the daughter's breasts the 
father drew 
‘The life he see ins and mix’d the big 


Nor watt tice 2 Herts oleae 
With mimic feelings foreign from the 


ag thy ae ene a he 
Matoogt "he anid ‘Thou art po 
A venblanes) of thysses Greciem 


dame, § 
And Branton and Euphrasia: still tf 
same!” 


O.s0on to seek the city’s busier sce 
| Pause cla a while, thou chaste-e 


id serene, 
Til ‘Guente sons from all her 
bowers 4 
‘With grateful hand shall weave Pierian 





flowers 





TO MUSS BRUNTON—THE FADED FLOWER 


31 





To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy 
brow, 


Enchanting ministress of virtuous woe ! 
119% 


TO MISS BRUNTON 
WITH THR PRECEDING TRANSLATION 


Tar dating ofthe Tragle Muse 


| 
Bat transient was th’ unwonted sigh; 
For soon the Goddess spied 
A sister-form of mirthful eye 
And danced for joy and cried ; 


‘Meck Pity’s sweetest child, proud 
dame, 


The fates have given to you ! 
Still bid your Poet boast her name ; 
4 have my Brunton too.’ 1708 


ELEGY 
IMETATED YROM ONE OF AKENSIDE’S 
BEANK-VERSE INSCRIPTIONS 


Near the lone 


ile with ivy overspread, 
Fast by the el 


let's sleep-persuading, 
Where ee the moonlight’ on yon 
verdant bed— 


© Wambly press that consecrated 
ground ! 


For bgpeatees - ‘Ednmund rest, the leamed 
And. th his spirit most delights to 
Young "Edmund | famed for each har- 
‘momiows strain, 
And ite sore wounds of ill-requited } 


Like some ‘tall tree that spreads its 
branches wi 
Ani Hoar: the west-wind with its soft | 
perfeme,, 





His manhood blossomed till the faith- 
less pride 
Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb. 


But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt 
pursue ! 
Where'er with wildered step she wan- 
dered pale, 
Still Edmund's image rose to blast. her 


ew, 
‘Still Edmund’s voice accused her in 
cach gale, 


| With keen regret, and conscious guilt’s 
alarms, 
Amid the pomp of affluence she pined ; 
all that lured her faith from 
Edmund's arms 
Could lull the wakeful horror of her 
mind, 


Go, Traveller ! 
fraught : 
Some tearful maid perchance, or bloom: 
ing youth, 
May hold it in remembrance; and be 
taught 
That Riches cannot pay for Love ot 
Truth, tir 


tell the tale with sorrow 


THE FADED FLOWER 


UnGrarervt he, who pluck’d thee from 
thy stalk, 
Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless 


w 

Inhal’d awhile thy odours on his walk, 

Then onward pass’d and left thee to 
decay. 

| Aht melancholy emblem ! had I seen 

| Thy modest beauties dew’d with even. 
ing’s gem, 

Thad not rudely cropp'd thy parent stem, 

But left thee, blushing, ‘mid the en 
liven’d green. 

And now T bend me o'er thy wither'd 
bloom, 

And drop the tear—as Fancy, at my 
side, 





32 AN UNFORTUNATE—TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN 


Devp-ighing, plots the fle fat Abra's 

“Like ae flower, was that poor 
wanderer's pride ! 

ee eee 
oy 

Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to 
destroy !" 


1704 
New Monthly Sagusine, August vy. 


AN UNFORTUNATE 
Pais Roamer through the night ! thou 


poor Forlorn ! 
ae that man on his death. bed 


mers ee er te 
ear shite 
But no true love in his eye. 
Loathit ited 
Ce a et 
Seek thy fother's cot, 
With a wiser 


‘Thon bas oon ce enters 
‘Thon hast felt that vice is woe = 
With a musing melancholy 
Toly armed, go, Maiden! go. 


Mother sage 


yaa the ceelaaia hoes ab soderness 7 


Bareyesh then cast thee forth to want 
and scorn ! 
‘The world is pitiless: the chaste one’s 


Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress : 
‘Thy Loves and they that envied thee 


deride : 
And Vice alone will shelter wretched~ 
! 


ness 
1 Lam sad to think that there should be 
Cold-1 


lace 
Fea) Celeron on tie Wictoy of vleery, 
force from Famine the caress of 


Love; 
May He shed healing on the sore dis 


grace, 
He, the great Comforter that rules ipbovet 
1m 


TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN 
AT THE THEATRE 


Maipex, that with sullen ee 
Sitt’st behind those virgins gay 

Like @ scorched and nildewed igh; 
Leafless "mid the blooms of May! 


Him who lured thee and per 
‘Of T watched with angry 
Lead aa his leading toe ieee 
his fervid phrase, 


‘bosom'd lewd ones, who endure to 





Is the memory of past folly. 


Mute the sky-lark and flor 
While she moults the firstling plumes, 
‘That had skimmed the tender corn, 
Or the beanfield’s odorous blooms, 


Soon with renovated wing 
Shall she dare a loftier fight, 
Upward to the day-star spring, 
And embathe in heavenly ight, 
1TH 


TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN 
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN 1 
‘THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE 


Mvetin-tiar that, ill besped, 
Pinest in the 


"Far from thy protecting spray ! 


When the partridge o'er the sheaf 
Whirred along the yellow vale, 

Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf 
Love the dalliance of the gale. 


| Lightly didst thou, foolish thing ! 


Heave and flutter to his 
While the flatterer, on his 
‘Wooed and whispered thee to rhe. 


| 





LINES ON THE 


“MAN OF ROSS'—DOMESTIC PEACE 


33 





Gaily from thy mother-stalk 
‘Wert thom danced and wafied high— 
Seon on this unsheltered walk 
Fung to fade, to rot and dic, 
Dazo8 


LINES 
WOURRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, 
WORMERLY THK MOUSE OF THR ‘MAN 
oF Ross’ 
FExcinx than Miser o'er his countless 
_ __ boards, 
BSobler than Kings, or king - polluted 


Lords, 
Ekee dwelt the Max oF Ross! 
‘Traveller, hear! 
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear, 
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man 


°o 


health, 
With generous joy he viewed his modest 


wealth ; 

He hears the widow's heaven breathed 
peayer ; 

He mark’d the sheltered orphan’s tear- 

fal gaze, 

Gx where the sorrow-shrivelled captive 
lay, 

Fours the bright blaze of Freedom's 
nooe-tide ray. 

Peneath this roof if thy cheered moments 
pass, 

Fall to the good man’s name one grateful 

So egbersse tall Demory,wake thy 


‘And Virtue mingle in the ennobled howl. 
But if, like me, through life's distressfal 


scene 
Looely a. sad thy pilgrimage hath 
And if i with heart-sick anguish 
Thos jorteye ‘onwanl tempest-tossed 


Fae I ald 1 In gencrous visions | 


malt, 
a oe of goodness, thou hast never 
t 


174 





ON BALA HILL 


Wirt many a weary step at Iength T gain 

Thy summit, Bala! and the cool breeze 
plays 

Cheerily round my brow—as hence the 


gure 

Returns to dwell upon the journey'd 
plain. 

"Twas a long way and tedious !—to the 
eye 

‘Tho! fair th’ extended Vale, and fair to 

iow 

The falling leaves of many a faded! hue 

That eddy in the wild gust moaning by ! 


Ev‘n 50 it far'd with Life! in discontent 
Restless thro’ Fortune's mingled. scenes 1 


went, 

Yet wept to think they would return no 
more! 

© cease fond heart ! in such sae thoughts 
to roam, 

For surely thou ere long shalt reach thy 
home, 

And pleasant is the way that les before, 

170 


IMITATED FROM THE WELSH 


Ip while my passion T impart, 
You deem my words untrue, 

O place your hand upon my heart— 
Feel haw it throbs for yore ! 


Ah no ! reject the thoughtless claim 
In pity to your Lover t 

That theilling touch would aid the flame 
It wishes to discover. 


DOMESTIC PEACE 

[rRoot 790m FALL OF RODESPIRERS, ACT] 
‘Tri. me, on what holy ground 
May Domestic Peace be found ? 
Halcyon daughter of the skies, 
Far on feasfal wings she flies, 
From the pomp of Sceptered State, 
From the Rebel's noisy hate. 
In a cottaged vale She dwells, 


rT) 





w 


34 ON A DISCOVERY MADE 


TOO LATE—MELANCHOLY 





Listening to the Sabbath bells ! 
Still around her steps are seen 
Spotless Honour's meeker mien, 
Love, the sire of pleasing fears, 
Sorrow smiling through her tears, 
‘And conscious of the past employ 
Memory, bosom-spring of joy. 1794. 


ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO 
LATE 


Tuou bleedest, my poor Heart ! and thy 
distress 

Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile 

‘And probe thy sore wound sternly, though 
the while 

Swoln be mine eye and dim with heavi- 
ness. 

Why didst thou listen to Hope’s whisper 
bland? 

Or, listening, why forget the healing 
tale, 

When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale 

Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac’s 
hand? 

Faint was that Hope, and rayless !— 
Yet ‘twas fair 

And soothed with many a dream the 
hour of rest: 

Thou should’st have loved it most, when 
most opprest, 

And nursed it with an agony of care, 

Even as a mother her sweet infant heir 

That wan and sickly droops upon her 
breast ! 1794 


TO THE 
AUTHOR OF ‘THE ROBBERS’ 


Scuiuier ! that hour T would have 
wished to die, 

If thro’ the shuddering midnight 1 had 
sent 

From the dark dungeon of the tower 
time-rent 

‘That fearful voice, a famished Father's 
ry— 


| poet here describes is called the 


Lest in some after moment aught more 

| mean 

Might stamp me mortal ! 
shout 

j Black Horror screamed, and all her 

goblin rout 

Diminished shrunk from the more wither- 
ing scene ! 

Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity ! 

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood 

Wandering at cve with finely-frenzied 


A triumphant 





eye 
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging 
wood ! 
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would 
brood : 
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy ! 
T1794 


MELANCHOLY 
A FRAGMENT 


STRETCH'D on a mouldered Abbey’s 
Droadest wall, 
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins 
steep— 
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered 
Ml, 
Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep. < 
The fern was press’d beneath her hair, 
‘The dark green Adder’s Tongue! 
was there ; 
‘And still as past the flagging sea-gale 
weak, 
‘The long Jank leaf bowed fluttering o'er 
her cheek. 


That pallid cheek was flushed : her eager 
Took 
Beamed eloquent in slumber ! 
wrought, 
Imperfect sounds her moving lips 
forsook, 
‘And her bent forehead work’d witha 
troubled thought. 
Strange was the dream—— 
T7908 


Inly 





1A Yotanical mistake, The plant which the 


ari Tenge 


LINES ON A FRIEND—TO A YOUNG ASS 35 


LINES ON A FRIEND 


WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER IN- 
‘DUCED BY CALUMNIOUS REFORTS: 
EpMunp ! thy grave with aching eye I 
sean, ~ 
‘And inly ay great fee Heaven's poor out- 
ra tepenans poor; in early youth 
‘If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth 
We force to start amid her feigned caress 

Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ; 

ae ‘Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, 
we go in heaviness and fear ! 

Bat four bo beara call to Pleasure's 


Some Folly in a careless hour, 10 
tes guest shall stamp the en- 


And mi “of Misery. tise 
sgl 

‘Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look 
“Theat courts the foture woe to hide the 


‘Remorse, the poison’d arrow in his side, 
And loud Mirth, to Anguish close 


Tat Frese, Bieweyed cha af moping 
"Dans br hhot lightning-Aash athwart the 


‘Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander 

_ . _ squatting near 

eee eee ce ed man's 
ear * 
sega le glow 


plotter, ei Pores ’s meck woe; 
cheer the mornent as it 


‘Cares, and smiling Court- 
in thy heart the firmer Virtues 
grew, 

im thy heart they wither’d! Such 
ill dew 


om each young blossom 





And Vanity her flimy net-work spread, 

With eye that roll’d around in asking 
gaze, 

And tongue that trafficked in the trade 
of praise. 2° 

Thy follies such | the hard world marked 
them well ! 

Were they more wise, the Proud who 
never fell? 


ever fell ? 

Rest, injured shade! the poor man’s 
grateful prayer 

On heaven-ward wing thy wounded 
soul shall bear. 


As oft at twilight gloom thy grave 
T pass, 


Similitude of soul, perhaps of-—Fate ! 

‘To me hath Heaven with bounteous 
hand assigned 

Energie Reason and a shaping mind, 40 

The ee ken of Truth, the Patriot's 


And vi 's = tighy that breathes the gentle 
heart— 
Sloth jaundiced all { and from my grasp- 
Jess hand . 
Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like 
hour-glass sand. 
1 weep yet stoop not ! the faint anguish 
jows 


4 
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish 
doze. 


Is this piled earth our Being’s passless 
jound 


m™ ? 
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with 
poppies crow: 
‘Tired Centinel ! mid fitfal starts I nod, 
And fain would sleep, though pillowed 
on a clod ! 0 
Newewber 1794 


TO A YOUNG ASS 


ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR 1 


Pook little foal of an oppressed race ! 
1 love the langwid patience of thy face: 





TO A FRIEND, WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM 





Lest = devil suddenly unhamp'r- 
Slap-assh } the imp should fly off 
with the 
On revolutionary broomstick scamper: 
ing. — 
© ye soft-headed and soft-hearted 
people, 


If yon can stay so Jong from slumber 


My mae shall make an effort to 
salute ‘er 
For lo! @ very dainty simile 
Flash’ sedden through my brain, and 
"uwill just suit "e ! 


You know that waterfowl that cries, 


9 
Full often have I seen a waggish crew | 

Fasten the Bird of Wisdom on its back, 
“The ivy-haunting bird, that cries, Tu- 


whoo t 
Both een together in the deep mill- 


(stitlatrean, ‘ot farmyard pond, or 
mountain Lake,) 
Steril, eee ee | Concintion 


Tusnios! “quoth Broad face, 
down dives the Drake ! 


‘The green-neck’d Drake once more pops 
up to view, 
‘Stares round, cries Quin 
an angry pother ; 
‘Then shrilicr streams the bied with eye- 
lids blue, 
The liroad-faced bird ! and Sad 
dives the other. 
Ve Lager i ‘Statesmen! ‘tis even bef 


One scar ‘is het Hiker to another. 


Even 20 0a Loyalty's Deooy.pond, each 
Pops ep bis. bead, as fir’ with British 


Hears once again the Ministerial screech, 
‘And once more seeks the bottom’s 
‘Dackest mud! 196 


and 


! and makes 


TO A FRIEND 
(Cuanes Lame) 
TOGHTIER WITH AN UNTINISIED POEM 
[‘ Religions Musings" 

‘Titus far my scanty brain hath built the 


rhyme 
Elaborate and swelling : yet the heart 
Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing 


powers 

Task not now, my friend ! the aiding 
verse, 

Tedious to thes, and from thy anxious 
thought 

Of dissonant mood. 
know) 

From business wandering far and local 
cares, 

Thou ercepest round a dear-loved Sister's 
bed 

With noiseless step, and watchest the 
faint look, 

Soothing each pang with fond solicitude, 

And tenderest tones medicinal of love. 

1 too a Sister had, an only Sister— 

She loved me dearly, and I doted on 
her! 

To her I pour'd forth all my puny 
sorrows, 

(As sick Patient in his Nurse's arms) 

And of the heart those hidden maladies: 

That even from Friendship's eye will 
shrink ashamed. 

O1 Thave woke at midnight, and have 
‘wept, 

Because. she. was wot} 
Charles ! 

‘Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many 
a year: 

Such warm presagings feel I of high 
Hope. 

For not uninterested the dear Mald 

T've view'd—hee soul affectionate yet 
wise, 

Her polish'd wit ax mild as lambent 
glories 

‘That play around a sainted infant's head. 

He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees, 


In fancy (well I 


Cheerily, dear 























ry 
THE 

HIN TCEaIL= MR. ERSKINE 
Vy Gros Freedom for a happier 





eingn thar fluttered 





prea. 3 
= 
=r rose she heard, and 








sei ut See altar poor one creme divine 
eloquence. Thereiowe thy 




















n 
EURKE 





not sadder moans the 
nal gale— 





-\ireat Son of Genius! sweet to me thy 
name. 
Ere in an evil hour with altered voice 


PRIESTLEY—LA FAYETTE—KXOSKIUSKO 





‘Thou badst ‘Oppression’s hireling crew 


rejoice 
Blasting with witard spell my Jaurelled 
faite. 


“Vet never, Burxx! thou drank'st Cor- 
ruption’s bow! 
‘Thee stormy Pity and the cherish’d lure 


OF Pomp, and proud precipitance of | 
soal 


Wildered with metcor fires, Ab Spirit 
pare! 


“That error’s mist had left thy purged 


eye: 
So might 1 elasp thee with a Mother's 
joy!” December 5, 1754. 


uu 
PRIESTLEY 


Towctt roused by that dark Vizir Riot 
rude 


Have driven our Patestiuy o'er the 
ocean swell ; 

‘Though Superstition and her wolfish 
brood 


Bay his mild radiance, impotent and 
fell; 


Cains in his halls of Urightness he shall 
dwell ! 

For lo! Religion at his strony behest 

Staris with mild anger from the Papal 


spell, 
And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering 
vent, 


Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp 


ye 
And Justice wakes to bid th’ Oppres- 
soe wail 


Insulting ayc the wrongs of paticnt | 
ray, ; 


And from ber dark retreat by Wisdom 
won 


‘Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil 
To amile with fondness on her gasing 
wont Decewher 16, 170- 


| 
| iv 
LA FAYETTE 
As when far off the warbled strains are 
heard 
That soar on Morning's wing the 
vales among ; 
Within his cage the imprisoned matin 
bird 
| Swells the full chorus with a generous 
son) 


He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, 
No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he 
shares, 
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his 


sight— 
His fellows’ freedom soothes the cap- 
tive's cares ! 


Thou, FAYETTE | who didst wake with 
startling voice 
Life's better sun from that long wintry 
night, 
Thus in thy Country's triumphs shale 
rejoice 
And mock with _raptures 
dungeon’s might : 


high the 


For lo! the morning struggles into day, 
And Slavery's spectros shriek and vanish 
from the ray! 

*” The above beautiful sonnet was written 
| antecedently to the joyful account of the Patriot's 
‘eeape from the Tyrant's Dungeon. [Note in 
M. Ch December s$, 179% 


v 
KOSKIUSKO 


© wuar a loud and fearful shrick was 
there, 
As though a thousand souls one death: 
groan poured { 
Ah me! they viewed beneath an hire: 
ling’s sword 
Fallen Koskiusko t 
| thened air 





‘Through the bur 


(As pauses the tired Cossac’s barbarous 
yell 





40 


OF Triumph) on the chill and midnight 
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell 
The earns Hope! while 
Se ie desea 
As it tem ‘eldest time some Spirit 
splat ee in a mystic urn each tear 
ever on a Patriot’s furrowed 
cheek 
Fit en oy aad and she had drained 


the 
Tn the mere LF hie} and sick despair 
‘of soul ! Decewber 16,1794. 


VL 
pir 


Nor always should the tear’s ambrosial 
dew 
Roll its soft anguish down thy furrow'd 
cheek ! 
Not always heaven-breathed tones of 
suppliance meek 
Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Scowler 
view, 
Who with proud words of dear-loved 
Freedom came 
More blasting than the mildew from 
1 


the South 
And kiss'd his country with Iscariot 


mouth 
(Ab! foul apostate from his Father's 
fame !) © 


‘Then fix’d her on the cross of deep 
distress, 
And at rr distance marks the thirsty 
lance 
Plerce her big side! But Ot ifvome 
strange Lrance | 
‘The eye-lids of thy stern-brow'd Sister? 
press, 





1 Eel of Chatham, 4 Justice. 


PITI—TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES 


Seize, { thou more terrible the 


And hurl her thunderbolts with fercer 
hand! December 23, 1794 


vit 
TO THE REY. W. L. BOWLES? 
[FIRST VERSION, PRINTRD IN MORNING 
CHRONICLE, DECEMBER 26, 1794) 


Te al 
those 
That, pee ie still pa 


Diingly. 
Wak'd i" me Fancy, Love, and Sym- 
pathy ! 
For hence, not callous to a Brother's 
pains 


Thre? Youth's guy prime and! thoralet 


paths I 
And. hen. tha verhee ie) Ofte 


Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent, 
Each eee. me with dreamy joys 
And a gfe vain Reoxer her 


‘mysterious wings, 
Brooded the wins aint tumultuous wilnd, 


1 Author of Somnets and other Pven, 


is 
mated by the pleasure it affords to the ear—the 
car having been corrupted, and the 

seat of the perceptions : but of that : 
eods from the intellectual Helicon, that which 


ul 


‘tender simplicity ; road tena ean 
re compenitions of, ‘untivalled 
‘Yet while I am selecting these, } almost 
myself of causeless partiality; for surely 
was a writer so equal in excellence !—8, ‘Ty 


Wl 





MES. SIDDONS—TO WILLIAM GODWIN 





Like that great Spirit, who with plastic 
. 

Mov'd athe darkness of the formless 
Deep! 


[SECOND veRsiON, tN POEMS, 1796) 
‘My hearst has thank’d thee, Bowsss ! for 
those soft strani 


strains 
Whose sadness soothes me, like the 
murmuring 
Of wikl-bees in the sunny showers of 
: 


spting! 
For hence not callous to the mourner’s 
pains 
Throng ¥ Youth's ths ay prime and thorn- 
went : 


pet ene the darker day of life 





we, 
And I did roam, a thought-bewilderd 
man, 
‘Their mild and manliest melancholy tent 


A mingled charm, such as the pang 
vd 
To paar though the big tear it 
renew'd 5 
Bidding a strange mysterious Pies. 
suRK brood ‘s 
‘Over the wavy and tamultuous mind, 


As the great Srtarr erst with plastic 


sweep 
Movil on the darkmess of the unform'd 
deep 


vin 
MES. SIDDONS 
As when a child on some long winter's 
clinging to its Grandam’s 
With ea wond'ring and perturb’ 
Listens: ay tales of fearful dark 





aks to wretch by necromantic spell ; 
Coot ee hoes who at the atichtne: | | 


Of murky midnight ride the air 
sublime, 
And mingle foul embrace with fiends of 


Hell: 


Cold Horror drinks its blood ! 
the tear 
More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame 
Of pretty babes, that Joved cach other 


dear, 
Murder’ by cruel Uncle's mandate fell : 


Even such the shivering joys thy tones 
impart, 
Even so thou, StbDONS ! meltest my sad 


Decenber 29, 13946 


Ix 
TO WILLIAM GODWIN 
AUTHOR OF POLITICAL FUSTICK 


© Form’ ¢’ illume a suntess world for- 
orn, 
As o'er the chill and dusky brow of 
Night, 
In Finland's wintry skies the mimic 
morn? 
Electric pours a stream of rosy light, 


Pleased I have 
terror-pale, 
Since, thro’ the windings of her dark 
machine, 
Thy steady eye has shot its glances 
keen— 
And bade th’ all-lovely ‘scenes at dis- 
tance hail.” 


mark'd Oppression, 


Nor will T not thy holy guidance bless, 
And hymn thee, Gowen ! with an 
ardent lay 
For that thy voice, in Passion’s stormy 


day, 

When wild I roam’d the bleak Heath of 
Distress, 

Bade the bright form of Justice mect my 


way— 
| And told me that her name was Happi- 


ness, Jouwary We 1795 
1 Aurora Dorealis, 





42 


TO ROBERT SOUTHEY—TO LORD STANHOPE 





x 
TO ROBERT SOUTHEY 
OF RALIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AUTHOR 


OF THE ‘ RETROSPECT,’ AND OTHER 
POEMS 


Soutuey ! thy melodies steal o’er mine 
ear 


Like far-off joyance, or the murmuring : 


Of wild bees in the sunny showers of 
Spring— 

Sounds of such mingled import as may 
cheer 


The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful , 


tear: 


Waked by the Song doth Hope-born j 


Fancy fling 
Rich showers of dewy fragrance from 
her wing, 
Till sickly Passion’s drooping Myrtles 
sear 


Blossom anew ! 
prize 

Thy sadder _ strains, 

Memory's Dream 

The faded forms of past Delight arise 5 


But O! more thrill’d, 


that bid in 


Then soft, on Love's pale cheek, the | 


tearful gleam 

Of Pleasure smiles—as faint yet beaute- 
ous lies 

The imaged Rainbow on a willowy 
stream. January v4, 1795. 


XI 
‘TO RICHARD BRINSLEY 
SHERIDAN, Eso. 


Tr was some Spirit, SHERIDAN ! that 
breathed 
O’er thy young mind such wildly- 
various power ! 
My soul hath marked thee in her 
shaping hour, 
‘Thy temples with Hymettian! flow'rets 
wreathed : 
1 Hymettus, a mountain of Attica famous for 
honey. 


And sweet thy voice, as when o'er 
‘Laura's bier 
Sad music trembled thro’ Vauclusa’s 
glade; 
Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn 
serenade 
| That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's 
i listening ear. 


Now patriot Rage and Indignation high 
‘Swell the full tones! And now thine 
cye-beams dance 
Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint 
| revelry ! 
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing 
glance 


ihe Apostate by the brainless rout 
adored, 
As erst that elder Fiend beneath great 
Michael's sword. 
January 29, 1195 


TO LORD STANHOPE 





ON READE 
ay 





i HIS LATE PROTEST 1N 
¢ HOUSE UF LORDS 





| [MORNING CHRONICLE, JAN. 31, 1795] 





| STANHOPE! I hail, with ardent Hymn, 
| thy name! 
‘Thou shalt be bless'd and lov'd, when 
in the dust 
Thy corse shall moulder—Patriot pure= 
and just ! 
And o'er thy tomb the grateful hand o 
FAME 


Shall grave :—‘ Here sleeps the Friemed 
of Humankind !’ 
For thou, untainted by CoRRUPTION “S 
wi, 


Or foul Axprrion, with undaunted 
soul 

Hast spoke the language of a Free-bom 
mind 


! Pleading the cause of Nature! Still 


pursue 


TO EARL STANHOPE-—LINES IN ANSWER, 


ETC. 





‘The path tf Honour}—To thy Country | 
ime, 
Still watch th’ expiring flame of Liberty! 
© Patriot! still pursue thy virtuous 


wey, 
As a his coarse the splendid Orb 


of Day, 
Or thro’ the stormy or the tranquil sky ! 
ONe OF THE PEOPLE. 

[Although the above Scanet was not printed 35 | 
soe of the series of *Soanets on Eminent Char- 
acters,” I think there can be litte doubt that it 
ia by Coleridge, and was the original of the one 
to Stanhope printed iu the Poewes in s7y and 
slop OF the latter, which follows, 1 can find 
wo tence io the Morning Cirensele.— 2] 


‘TO EARL STANHOPE 
Nor, Sranuore! with the Patriot's 


name 
T amok hy worth—Frienit of the 
Heman Race ! 
Since “seat Faction's low and par- 
evan eriet is thy stately pace, 
‘Thyself redeeming from that leprous 
stain, 


Nobility : and aye unterrify’d 
Pourest thine Abdiel warnings on the 


train 
That sit complotting with rebellious 
pride 


“Gainst Her* who from the Almighty’s 
‘bosom leapt 
Loe ne arm, fierce Minister 
west “4 Vittue o'er thy tomb 
hath wept, 
Angels shall lead thee to the Throne 
above: 


‘And thou from forth its clouily shalt hear 
the voice, 
Champion of Freedom and her God ! 
rejpice | 
§ Gallic Liberty. 





LINES 


TO A PRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELAN- 


CHOLY LerrE® 


Away, ae cloudy looks, that labouring 


The ai offspring of a sickly hour ! 
| Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's 


power, 
When the blind Gamester throws a luck. 
less die. 


Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam 

Behind those broken clouds, his stormy 
train : 

To-morrow shall the many-coloured 
main 

In brightness roll beneath his orient 
bea 


mt 


Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of 
Time 
Flies o'er his mystle lyre: in shadowy 


dane 

‘The alternate groups of Joy and Grief 
advance 

Responsive to his varying strains sublime ! 


Bears on its wing each hour a load of 
Fate; 

The swain, who, latled by Seine's mild 
murmurs, Jed 

His weary oxen to their nightly shed, 

To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State, 


Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful 
smile 

Survey the sanguinary despot’s might, 

And haply hurl the pageant from his 
height 

Unwept to wander in some savage isle, 


‘There shiviring sad beneath the tempest's 
frown 

Round bis tired limbs to wrap the purple 
vest; 

And mixed with pails and beads, an equal 
Jest ! 

Barter for food, the jewels of his crown. 

teas 





CHARITY—TO THE NIGHTINGALE 45 





© skill’ with magic spell to roll 
‘The thrilling tones, er coeatate the 


soul t 
Breathe thro’ thy Sute those tender notes 


While near thee sits the chaste-eyed 
Maiden mild ; 
And bid her rise the Poet's kindred 


strain 
Jn soft impassion’d voice, correctly wild. 
ite M- om 


) In Freedom's uNDIvipED el 
Health with mel 


Far from folly, far ‘from men, 

In the rade romantic 

Tide the elif, and thro’ the glade, 
with the dear-loved maid, 

ee rapes Histen to the lay, 


‘on thee far awa 
suit, aie Cn ath {heiling. notes 
(tiacag ay ‘my fond attuned heart her 
Thy honest form, my Friend ! shall re- 

wi us 
And Iwill thank thee with a raptured 


tear. Tipo 


CHARITY 
Sweer ere how my very heart has 
To see thee, 
Hom exe the snowy blast: while no 
(Ome cares. 
To clothe shriveled fimbs and 
My 1 throw away this tattered 
vest 
That mocks thy shivering! take my 
garment—use 
4 man's arm! I melt these 
‘That beng from thy white beard and 
¥ mi white and 





Old Mant and thy | 


My Sara too shall tend thee, likea child : 
And thou shalt talk, in our fireside’s 


recess, 
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretched 
ness, — 

He did not s0, the Galilean mild, 

Who met the Lozars turned from vich 
man's doors 

And called them Friends, and healed 
their noisome sores! —— ty995 


TO THE NIGHTINGALE 


StsTex of love-lorn Poets, Philomel ! 

How many Bards in city garret pent, 

While at their window they with down. 
ward eye 

Mark the faint lamp-beam on the ken 
nell'd mud, 

And listen to the drowsy ery of Watch 


men 

(Those hoarse unfeather'd Nightingales 
of Time !), 

How many wretched Bards address thy 
name, 

And hers, the full-orb’d Queen that 
shines above. 

But I do hear thee, and the high bough 

mark, 

whose 

foliage hid 

Thou warblest sad 
strains. 

Of Lhave listen’d, til] my working soul, 

Waked by those strains to thousand 
phantasies, 

Absorb'd hath ceased to listen t 
fore oft, 

T hymn thy name: 
delight 

Oft will T tell thee, Minstrel of the 
Moon | 

* Most musical, most_melancholy” Bird ! 

That all thy soft diversities of tone, 

Tho’ sweeter far than the delicions airs 

That vibrate from a white-arm'd Lady's 


Within mild moon -mellow'd 


thy pity-pleading 


There- 


and with a proud 


arp, 
What time the Ianguishment of lonely 
love 





# ON BROCKLEY COOMB—LINES IN MANNER OF SPENSER 


‘Melts in her and heaves her breast ee of thy dowe 
eo epee 


‘Are not so sweet as is the voice of 
‘Sara—best beloved of ‘Soren kind? 
eating Ge pure ord. nf Mewes, 


She cl me wth, the Husband's pro- 
fey98 


LINES 
COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT 
ASCENT OP BROCKLEY COOMB, 
SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY 1795 


Wirit many a pause and oft reverted eye 
Tclimb the Coomb’s ascent : sweet song- 


asters near 
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody: 
Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes 


my ear. 

Up scour the startling stragglers of the 
flock 

‘That on green plots o'er precipices 

From the forced fissures of the naked 
rock, 

The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark 

(Mid wich the May-thorn blends its 
‘blossoms white) 

Where broad smooth stones jut out in 
mossy seats, 

Trest sand now have gained the top: 
most site, 


‘Ale! what a luxury of landsea 
My gare ! iad towers 


dear to 
Ehn- shadow el and 

bounding aon 
Deep see =f tery heart : I drop the 


meets 
eots more 


Tiheating pot wore my Sara here || 


LINES IN THE MANNER OF 
SPENSER 


© Peace, that on a lilied bank dost love 
‘To rest thine head beneath an olive-tree, 





be : 
fee 01 T wish ay Sal OE 
And fain to her some soothing song: 


Lest she resent my rude 


‘Who vowed <i eet hes etre 
Bat ky lighted word—ah {fle 
and recreant wight 1 


co pn bag ira bhi 
a, ed 


As si-chotd Gomel the 
ion ca 
faid survey,’ 





THE HOUR WHEN WE, ETC—LINES AT SHURTON BARS 


a7 





Was cht peiad magic in the Elfin's 
Or did Se ike my euch with wird 


For Peery . Gira Form did upwards 
start 

(No fairer decked the bowers of old 
Romance) 


) 
‘That Sleep enamoured grew, nor moved 
from his sweet trance ! 


My Sara came, with gentlest look divi 
Beight = her eye, yet tender wa! 


BES ti tp ts ice! 
‘Whispering we went, and Love was all 


our theme— 

Las pee aod spotless, ast fst, 1 deem, 

pel Heaven! Such joys 
did "bide, 

Tatton Image of my Dream | 

Feadls forgot. Too late T woke, and 


+o) 
10\ bow shall T behold my Love at 
eventide |" ters 


THE HOUR 
WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN | 


[Composeal daring Jifmess, and in 
Absence) 
Dot Hoar! that skeep'st on pillowing 


douds 
Otis aod yoke the Turtles to thy car ! 
Wer the traces, blame each linger: 





fa gene to the om f my Lave | 
iis teen tad cats = 
Seta np om Br | 
Tia Git Sond woe, and medicine me 
ae thing float her kisses 


Vikemated 1 ray oer spinors cheek.) 
Ean Erbach, the drooping 


Mourns the long absence of the lovely 
Day; 

Young Day returning at her promised 
ly 


our 

Weeps o'er the sorrows of her favourite 
Flower ; 

Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she 


sighs, 
And darts a trembling lustre from her 


eyes. 

New life and joy th’ expanding flaw'ret 
feels: 

His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourn- 
ing heals ! 196 


LINES 


WRITTEN AT SHURTON MANS, NEAR 
WRIDGEWATER, SEPTEMBER 1795, IN 
ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL 


Good verse mrt geod, and bad verse then seems: 
er 
Received from absent frlend by way of Letter, 
For what so sweet can laboured Lays impart 
As one rude rhyme warm from « friendly heart? 
‘AKON 
Nox travels my meandering eye 
The starry wilderness on high ; 
Nor now with curious sight 
T mark the glow-worm, as 1 pass, 
Move with § grea radiance’? through 
the ger 
‘An emerald of light: 


O ever present to my view t 


| My wafted spirit is with you, 


‘And soothes your boding fears : 

1 sce you all oppressed with gloom 

Sit lonely in that cheerless room — 
Ah me! You are in tears! 


Beloved Woman ! did you fly 
Chilled Friendship's dark disliking eye, 


1 ‘The expression ‘green radiance’ is borrowed 
from Mr, Wordsworth [Am Evening Walk 793) 
2 Post whose versification ie occasionally hare 

and kis diction too frequently obscure : jeer 
Ideem unrivalled among the writers of the present 
day in manly seatiment, novel imagery, and 
vivid colouring. [Note by S. T. C. in the eds 
tions of s7yo97- i 





8 


LINES AT SHURTON BARS 





Or Mirth's wntimely din? 
Wath creel weight these trifles press 
A temper sore with tenderness, 

When aches the void within. 


Bat why with sable wand unblessed 
Should Fancy rouse within my breast os 
Disr-visaged shapes of Dread ? 
Untenanting its betuteous clay 
My Sara's soul has winged its way, 
‘And hovers round my head ! 


1 ft it prompt the tender dream, 

When slowly sank the day’s last gleam ; 
‘You roused ench gentler sense, 

As sighing o'er the blossom’s bloom 

Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume 
With viewless influence. = 


‘And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze 
moans 
‘Through yon reft house! O’er rolling 
stones 
In bold ambitious sweep 
‘The onward-surging tides supply 
The ailence of the cloudless sky 
With mimic thunders deep. 


Dark reddening from the channell'd Isle? 
(Where stands one solitary pile 

Unslated by the blast) 
The Watchfire, like a sullen star 
Twinkles to many a dozing 

Rade cradled on the mast, 


Even there—beneath that light-house 
tower— 
In the tumultuous evil hour 
Bre Peace with Sara came, 
Time was, I should have thought it sweet 
To count the echoings of my feet, 
And watch the storm-vexed flame, 


‘And there in black soul-jaundiced fit 
‘aad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit, 
‘And listen to the roar : 
When mountain surges bellowing deep 
With an uncouth monster-leap 
Planged foaming on the shore. 
¥ The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel 


| Then by the lightning’s blaze to mark 


Some toiling tempest-shatteted bark ; 
Her vain distress-guns hear ; 

And when a second sheet of light 

Flashed o'et the blackness of the night— 
To sce ne vessel there ! © 


But Fancy now inore gaily sin 
| Or if awhile she droop her wings, 
As skylarks ‘mid the carn, 
‘On summer fields she grounds her breast : 
The oblivious poppy o'er her nest 
Nods, till returning mom, 


© mark those smiling tears, that swell 
The open’d rose! From heaven they 
| fell, 
And with the sun-beam blend, 
Blest visitations from above, 
Such are the tender woes of Love 
Fostering the heart they bend { 


When stormy Midnight howling round 
Beats on our roof with clattering sound, 
| ‘To me your arms you'll stretch = 
Great God 1 you'll siy—To us 80 kind, 
shelter from this loud bleak wind 
The houseless, (riendless wretch ! 


18 that tremble down your check, 
he my kisses chaste and meek 
In Pity's dew divine ; or 
| And from your heart the sighs that steal 
Shall make your rising bosom feel 
‘The answering swell of mine t 





How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet 
| T paint the moment, we shall mect ! 
With eager speed I dart— 
I seize you in the vacant air, 
And fancy, with a husband's care 
T press you to my heart ! 


‘Tis said, in Summer's evening hour 
Flashes the golden-coloured flower 
A hair electric flame: 
And so shall flash my love-charged eye 
When all the heart’s big ecstasy 
Shoots rapid through the frame t 





THE EOLIAN HARP 


49 





THE BOLIAN HARP 


COMPOSED AT CLEVEDON, SOMERSET: 
UKE 


My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek re- 
clined 

Cpr aad arm, mast soothing swect 
it 


To sit beside our cot, our cot o’ergrown 
With white-flowered Jasmin, and the 


broad-leaved Myrtle, 
(Dfeet enblens they of Innocence and 


Matacic conde, that late were 
Hight, 


of eve 
Serenely rt (sch should wisdom 
Shine opposite! 
scents: 
Seatched from yon bean-field ! and the 
hushed 


How ‘exquisite the 


And that simplest lute, 
Placed length-ways in the clasping case- 
“= ey hark! 
Like some coy maid aif ailiice to to her 


fy pours such sweet upbraiding, as must 
Sim taipaat Nhe wrong | And now, 
oye ee notes 


q 
! 
wes and abroad, 
motion and becomes its 





A light in sound, a sound-like power in 
figh 


ht 

Rhythm in all thought, and  joyance 
every where— 

Methinks, it should have been impos- 
sible ~ 

Not to love all things in a world so 
filled 5 

Where the breeze warbles, and the mute 
still air 

Is Music slumbering on her instrument. 


And thus, my love! as on the mid- 
way slope 
OF yonder, Balt nace oy Rake 


Whilst through my half-closed eyelids T 
hold 

‘The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on 
the main, 

And tranquil muse upon tranquillity ; 

Full many a thought uncalled and un- 
detained, 

And many idle flitting phantasies, 40 

‘Traverse my indolent and passive brain, 

As wild and various as the random gales 

‘That swell and flutter on this subject 
lute! 


And what if all of animated nature 

Be but organic harps diversely frained, 

‘That tremble into thought, as o'er them 
sweeps 

Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, 

At once the Soul of each, and God of 
all? 


But thy more serious eyea mild reproof 
Darts, O beloved woman! nor such 

thoughts se 
Dim a | satallowed) doting ent 


‘And biddest’ me walk humbly with my 
God. 

Meek daughter in the family of Christ ! 

Well hast thou said and holily dispraised 

‘These shapings of the unregenerate 


mind 5 

Bubbles thot glitter as they rise and bresk 

‘On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring- 
rE 





= 


10 JOSEPH COTTLE 





For never guiltless may I speak of him, 
The Tnconspecbensibe ! save wher with | 


I pein Bs "him, and with Faith that inly 


Who win his saving mercies healed oF 
A sinful and most miserable man, 
‘Wildered and dark, and gave me to 


possess 
Peace, and this an and thee, dear hon- 
oured Mi 1795 


TO THE AUTHOR OF POEMS 
[Josern Corrie] 
PUBLISHED ANONYMOUSLY AT BRISTOIL 
IN SEPTEMBER 1795 


Uswoasrrir Baro! whose verse con- 
cise yet clear 
Tunes to smooth melody snconquer’d 


sense, 

May ress fame fadeless live, as *never- 

She Ivy wresihes yon Oak, whose road 
defence 


Exabowers me from Noon's sultry influ- 
ence ! 
For, like that nameless Rivulet steating 


Your modest verse to musing Quiet dear 

Ex rich with tints heaven-borrow'd : the 
charm’d eye 

Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the 
soften’d sky. 


Cireling the base of the Poetic mount e> 
A stream there is, which rolls in lary 


Its coal-black waters from Oblivion’s 
fount = 

The vapour-poison’d Birds, that fly too | 
tow, 

Fall with dead swoop, and to the bottom 


go. 

Escaped that heavy stream on pinion 
fleet 

Beneath the Mountain's lofty-frowning 
brow, 


| rilows ascent you meet, 
dh enatl ols iseat euara aera a) 
labouring (eet. 
Not there the eloud-climb’d rock, stb: 
| lime and vast, 
| That ke some gia King, eralooms 
the bill 
Nor there the Pinegrove to the ai 
night bilsst 
Makes plea wake BOLL Reet 
To the sot Wren or Lark's descending 
trill 
Munours sweet undersong ‘mid jasmin 
bowers. [will 
In this same pleasant meadow, at your 
I ween, you wander'd—there collecting 


flowers 

Of sober tint, and herbs of med’einable 
powers 

| ‘There for the monarch-murder’d Soldier's 

temb 

‘You wove th’ unfinish’d wreath of sad- 
dest hu 

Ando that holier? chaplet added blocen 96 

Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing 


dews. 
But lo yon Henderson ® awakes the 


His spint be Veckon'd from the mountain's 
height 1 

You left the plain and soar’d maid reer 
views ! 

So Nature mourn’d when sunk the First 
Day’s light, 

| With stars, unseen before, spangling ber 

robe of night 1 


Still soar, my Friend, those richer views 
ame, 

| Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy's 
beans ! 

Virtue and Treth shall love your gentler 


song 5 

But Poesy demands th’ eo! 
theme : 

Waked by Heaven's silent dews at Eve's 
mild glean, 


1 War a Fi te 2 Jobo Hopelst,“ porn 
*F SlcaSy on Joka Mendes 





THE SILVER THIMBLE 





What balmy sweets Pomona breathes 
aroend ! 


But if the vext air rush 2 stormy stream 
Or Autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive 


sound, 
With fruits and flowers she loads the 
tempest-honor'd ground. 


THE SILVER THIMBLE 


THE PRODUCTION OF A YOUNG LADY, 
ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR or THE 
FORMS ALLUDED TO IN THE KK 
CRDING ErisTLE 


eye with careless glance 
thro’ some old romance, 
Birds and Steeds with 


ed Dwarfs, and Fiends and 


: 
with more attentive care 
read of elfin- favoured 


for aught beneath the 

‘on viewless pinions acry 
Tt laid itself olsequions at her fect: 10 
T thought, one might not 

hope to mest 
jous land of Faery ! 
T know it well) 

peril in free wish- 


ae Boensed spel, 
And yew, sear Sir! the Arch-magician, 


You much perplex'd me by the various 
sets 


were indeed an elegant quartette ! 
Reg laet tr Wold fy end waver 


An! 3 ee ‘Samuel think: 
‘Mength Ps ( did 





That, around whose azure rim 

Silver figures seem to swim, 

Like fleece-white clouds, that on the 
skiey Blue, 

Waked by no breeze, the self-same shapes 
retain 5 

Or ocean-Nymphs with limbs of snowy 
h 


we 
Slow- floating o'er the calm cerulean 
plain. 


Just such a one, mon cher anti, 
(The finger shield of industry) 
Th’ inventive Gods, I deem, to Pallas 


ave 

‘What time the vain Arachne, madly 
brave, » 

Challenged the blue-eyed Virgin of the 
sky 


A duel in embroider'd work to try. 

And hence the thimbled Finger of grave 
Pallas 

To th’ ering Needle's point was more 
than callous, 

But ah the poor Arachne! She unarm’d 

Blundering thro’ hasty eagerness, alarm’d 

With all a Avewl’s hopes, a Mortal's 
fears, 

Still miss’d the stitch, and stain’d the 
web with tears. 

Unnumber'a punctures small yet sore 

Full fretfally the maiden bore, ~ 

Till she her lily finger found 

Crimson’d with many a tiny wound ; 

And to her eyes, suffused with watery 
woe, 

Her flower-embroider'd web danced dim, 


T wist, 
Like blossom'd shrubs in a quick-moving 


mist : 
Till vanquish'd the despairing Maid sunk 
Tow. 


© Bard! whom sure no common Muse 
inspires, 

I heard your Verse that glows with 
vestal fires ! 

And [ from unwatch'd needle's erring 


point 
Had surely suffer'd on each finger joint 50 











Kants be Preah 


Eile FR Ae berms to venrene fay 


1 ie 


EB alee ind 


a nae vaige , 


Len 





shoreless Ocean— 
It seem’d like Ominipresence! God, me- 


thoweht, 
Had built him Albee a Temple: the 
whole W 


etnies a its vast circumference : 
No_ wish profaned my overwhelmed 
Beart, 


# 
Best hour! It wasa luxury,—to be t 
AB! quiet dell dear cot, and mount 
ibiime 


su 
I was constrained to quit you. Was it 


right, 

White 45 unnumbered brethren toiled 
and bled, 

That I shoald dream away the entrusted 
hours 

On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward 
heast 


With feelings all too delicate for use? 
‘Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's 


Bipops on he chock of coo ho lifts. from 
earth: é 

And he that works me good with un- 
moved face, 

Does it bat half: he chills me while he 
aids, 

My benefactor, not my brother man ! 

‘Vet even this, this cold beneficence 

Praise, praise it, O my Soul! oft as thou 
seanm'st 


‘The slaggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe ! 
Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the 


wretched, 
Nursing in some delicious solitude 
‘Their slothful loves and dainty sym- 


parte ! 
i sepeanatge nests ‘ear and 
© 
Active and firm, to fight the bloodless 
it 
(Of science, freedom, and the truth in 
Christ. 


‘Yet oft when after honourable toil 
Rests the tired mind, and waking loves 
to dream, 


| Te might be so—Dut the 





My spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot t 
‘Thy jasmin and thy window-peeping 


row, 

‘And myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air, 

And I shall sigh fond wishes—sweet 
bode ! 


a 
Ah !—had none greater! And that all 
had such ! 


is not yet. 70 
Let thy Kingdom 
‘1795- 


peed it, O Father ! 


come ! 


RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 


A DESULTORY POEM, WRITTEN ON ‘THE 
CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1705 


‘Tus is the time, when most divine to 
hear, 

The voice of Adoration rouses me, 

As with a Cherub’s trump : and high up: 


borne, 

Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to 
view 

The vision of the heavenly multitude, 

Who hymned the song of Peace o'er 
Bethlchem's fields ! 

Yet thou more bright than all the Angel» 


‘That harbingered thy birth, Thou Man of 
Woes 


Despised Galilean | For the Great 
Invisible (by symbols only seen) 1 
With a peculiar and surpassing light 
Shines from the visage of the oppressed 


good man, 

When heedless of himself the scourged 
saint 

Mourns for the oppressor, 
vernal mead, 

Fair the high grove, the sea, the sun, the 
stars 

‘True impress each of their creating Sive ! 

Yet nor high grove, nor many-colour’d 


Fait the 


mead, 

Nor the green ocean with his thousand 
isles, 

Nor the starred azure, nor the sovean sun, 

Ever with such majesty of porteaiture 20 








VI fo eam 


RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 
st 
As seeps, that upward to their Father's 
chrome 
Lak qmdeel—eee nor giotified nor 
as 


im - Alike from all educing perfect gond. 
+ Theirs. too celestial’ courage, inly 





ae és 
‘ “Om their great Father, tb 
~ ee ee OF homer pet beahaet 


compare 

— Ame ranching onwards view high er 

te el “heir heads 
mace, tte waving tanners of Omnipotence. 

Sk nce 












~- Who che Creator love, created Mi 
wee eLatss  Deemi aut: within their tents neo terrors 
Gicmmpeaas, oe walk, 
Ae, ages Foe chey are holy things betore <i 
sen we Leni 


> amet Wye cnpewaned, though Earth suai: 
Si res “eegue with [Hell : 






eared, pale. ere-starume 


Sears has hot sursaime 


$2 4B ciems 


Naame oa has eve— ins smummume ove ir. 
Li a cid ate 


fitters mone 





Ss » Ma che sesigaroi citir : urentees 
% Slo tae 


RELIGIOUS MUSINGS ss 





A solemn hush of soul, =a] 


A agar rrible 
ter seeming : yea, 
sansoved 
‘Views e’en the immitigable ministers 
Eaoieee 


man pou 
MMesidone’ despolled  tenvelier's 
wounds ! 


_ ‘Thus from the Elect, regenerate through 


; Pass the dark passions and what thingy 


‘Drink up aie iat and the dim regards 
Lo they vanish ! or acquire 
names, new features—by supemal 


| Into 





- Darkling he fixes oa the immediate road 
His downward eye: all else of fairest 
kind 


‘Hid or deformed, Bat to! the bursting 
“Touched by the enchantment of that 
Beeeesades teen 

eee cere cee e in 


Fay iter gem ach pata | 


Ieetprery lest) a emcy ade i hanes 
ec glad the new-born intermingling 





Omnific., His most holy name is Love. 

Truth of subliming import! with the 
which 

Who feeds and saturates his constant 
soul, 

He from his small particular orbit flies 

With blest outstarting ! From himself 
he flies, 110 

Stands in the sun, and with no partial 


gaze 

Views all creation ; and he loves it all, 

And blesses it, and calls it very good ! 

‘This is indeed to dwell with the Most 
High ! 

Chernbs and rapture-trembling Seraphim 

Can press no nearer to the Almighty’s 
throne, 

But that we roam unconscious, or with 
hearts 

Unfecling of our universal Sire, 

And that in His vast family no Cain 

Injures uninjured (in her best «aimed 
blow 130 

Victorious Murder a blind Suicide) 

Haply for this some younger Angel now 

Looks down on Human Natore; and, 
behold f 

A sea of blood bestrewed with wrecks, 
where mad 

Embattling Interests on each other rash 

With unhelmed rage ! 


'Tis the sublime of man, 
Our noontisde Majesty, to know ourselves 
Parts and proportions of one wonderous 
whole 
‘This fraternises man, this constitutes 
Our charities and bearings. But me 
God 


Diffused through all, that doth make ail 
one whole 5 

‘This the worst superstition, him except 

Anght to desire, Supreme Reality! 

‘The plenitude and permanence of bliss ! 

O Fiends of Superstition! not that oft 

‘The erring priest hath stained with 
brother's blood 

Your grisly idols, not for this may wrath 

Thunder gains you from the Holy 
One 





s 


RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 


Paden ie Romewhe Nn eee 


Prog gh Dah or mre mace | Thee wend eck Gsm! Thee 


Row: 


patheee es serine ye Fiend ! 
| Gare Yeas: qacily cite: flim ube ayer 


Hildinge,jasecan, Goad: whose presence: 
aR. eae become 
—_ 

Sone! 


Nibl counilee becthren with a loncig heart 
Through cousts amd cities the smooth 


pt ain 9 


‘savage roams Dad 

Feeling hisnseif, his, own low self the 
whole : 

When be yy sacred malce 


sympathy might 
Vhe ubole owe Self t Seif, that no alien 
amon! 


Sah a difioad na Fincy's wing an 

Ss wectng 

Xetallof all pomenting ! ‘This is Faith t 

Whis the Messish’s distimed victory 

But first offences needs must come! 
Even now! 


A Jammary s18t, trom, in the debate on the 
Aciivens to his Majesty, en the speech from the 
Paras, the Eart of Gaillfort mend an amen: 
smront to the following <ffece :—* That the Hower 


Oblivioss. of its 


est, who ‘considered the war to be merely 
frompded ot ove principle—the preervaticn of 
the Ceriscian Religion.” May pth, 134, the 
Deke of Betford recred » number of sesclutions, 
with a view vo the extabistonent of « peace with 
Besa. Be woe ovone omong ech by Lart 
“Abington in thee remarkable wonts, 

Pete Pace wy Lords, b Wa al Wt 


Dee oo ne te macner in which we ae | 


entght to worship onr Creator, eamely, 
Peet wat has an cor minder ed ohh lt 
gr Beart, are! with alll our strengyh’ 


And thy mild laws of Love wnatter- 

Misrest and enmity have burst the 
bends 

Of social peace : and listening Treachery 
darks = 

‘With pier Gamd to snare a brother's 
cade 

Send chilies willows o'er the groaning 
lami 

‘Wail numberios ; amd orphans weep fer 
rman 

‘Thee to defend, dese Ssviour of Man- 
kind 

‘Thee, Lamb of God! Thee, blameless 
Prince of Peace t 

ee 
Was !— 

Austria, and Gut fool Woumu of the 
Nath, 

‘The lactful murderess of her wedded 
font! 

Aod he, connaterai Mind! whom (in 
their soagy 

So bards of clider time bad haply 
Signed) c 

Sowe Fury fomélnd ix her hate to man, 


her serpent hair in 
young face, and at eal 


prefers 
| The prayer of hate, and tellows to the 


‘That Deity, 
[inthe ele ote 





RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 


s7 





Wilt go forth with oor-armies end. our | 
flects 


‘To scatter the red rnin on their foes ! 150 
© blasphemy! to mingle fiendish deeds 
With Blessedness ! 


ing Love,? 
We shall not 


Lord of 

From evertasting Thou ! 
die. 

These, even these, in mercy didst thou 
form, 

Teachers of Good through Evil, by brief 
wrong: 

Making Truth lovely, and her fature 

ie 
Magnetico'erthe fixed untrembling heart. 


In the primeval age a dateless while 

The vacant Shepherd wanderd with his 
flock, 

lama 


conjured 
An ray of new desires ; with busy aim, 
Each for himself, Earth's eager children 


Property began, reaming fount, 
eens aa vine flow, honey and 


Ree re cai, sal many-coloured 
The timbeel, and arched dome and costly 
With all the inventive arts, that nursed 
Serrears: 


210 


7 Peeee eseepel tie preesneet of the end, 
Best with its own activity. 
And withers man- 


The Enyy, spirit -quenching 
Warriors a0 Lords, and Priests—all 
the sore fils 


4 Ast thow sot from everlauing, O Lord, iy 
Set, le Fity ‘Que? We shall not die. O 
Lent, thea hast ee tO Patgnenr, 
Habakkuk i rx. 





t 


‘That vex and desolate our mortal life. 

Wide-wnsting ills! yet each the immedi- 
ate source 

Of mightier good. ‘Their keen necessities 

To ceaseless action goading human 
thought 

Have made Earth's reasoning animal her 


' 70 
And the pale-featured Sage’s trembling 
hand 
Strong as an host of armed Deities, 
Such as the blind Ionian fabled erst, 


From Avarice thus, from Laxury and War 

Sprang heavenly Science; and from 
Science Freedom. 

Over waken’d realms Philosophers and 
Bards 

Spread in concentric circles : they whose 
souls, 

Conscious of their high dignities from 
God, 

Brook not wealth's rivalry and they, 
who long 

Enamoured with the charms of lea 
hate 

"Thestscemly disproportion» and whoe'er 

Turn with mild sorrow from the victor’s 
car 

And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse 

On that blest triumph, when the Patriot 


Sage 

Called the red lightnings from the o'er- 
rushing cloud 

And dashed the beauteous terrors on the 
earth 

Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne'er 

Measured firm paces to the calming sound 

Of Spartan flute! These om the fated 
day, 

When, stung to rage by pity, Seas 
men 

Have roused with \pealing voice the un. 
numbered tribes 

That toil and groan and bleed, hungry 
and blind— 

These, hush'd awhile with patient eye 


serene, 
Shall watch the mad careering of the 
storm 5 





—— 
ys Aine thre * 
f qt {107 
Ther over the end wavy chaos rush 
Aad tame fig mass, with 
Moulding tes to such perfect 
As erst were wont,—bright visions of the 
day !— 
To float before them, when, the summer 
NOO, 
Beneath some arched romantic rock re: 
clined 330 
‘They felt the sea-breeze lift their youthful 


And many-tinted streams and setti 
With all his gorgeous company of 
Eestatic gazed | then Samual ay they 
Cast the sad eye to earth, and inly mused 
Why there was misery in a world s0 fair, 


Aht gees agama gin 

From alld that softens or ennobles Man 

‘The wretched Many! Bent beneath 
their loads 

‘They mine 3 pageant Power, nor recog- 

‘Their cots’ transmuted plunder t 


the tree 
of OF Knowledge, ‘ere the vernal sap had 


Radely disbranched! Blessed Society | 


Fitliest ‘Seplcsred ‘by some sun-scorchet | 
Where oft Creujeds through the tainted 
‘The Simoom sails, before whose purple 
Who falls not prostrate dies! aes 
Fast vy peso fountain on ned 
‘The Hon bes ‘or byxena dips 

Deep in the lucid stream his bloody. jaws j 


Or serpent plants his vast moon-glittering: 
bulk, 


From | 





RELIGIOUS MUSINGS 


(eee san ee re 
pe le 

Oyo numberless, 
Who foul rea O ? 
Diese eee THE em feast ! 
Who mt te and made wi 


‘by want 
Roane Ee pee unnatural hand 
Dast lift to deeds of ! (Orme 


| ie na stim dome ohne 
Who in sted ST aie Ceara 


Must ety "sang while thy remembered 


mardert 
© loathly suppliants ! rth reid 
“broken from 


‘Totter be 
oe 


Bleed with new wounds au 
‘vulture’s beak 
IE ed who in dreams dost 
Thy hosband's mangled corse, and from, 
short dome - a 
Start’st with a shriek ¢ or in thy hale 
thatehed cot or 


ofthe fal Tes totes on ee 
Sick with senses) iy 
Forced or ensnared, 


cold 
Cowra eer thy screaming Wat? Le 


awhile 
‘Children of wretchedness ? 


More gros 








VERSES TO J. HORNE TOOKE 65 





ADDRESSED TO J. HORNE TOOKE AND 
THE COMPANY WHO MET ON JUNE 
2SYH, 1796, TO CELEBRATE HIS POLL 
AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION 


Burrows ! when last ye met, with distant 
So faintly the pale Dawn to 


So dim wai he prec of the Si 
Een Esjectation gata with dowel 


a the pas of the 
Lend t) 
jsoon shall wak'ning Britain 
rath and Freedom bail thy wish'd 
smicoess. 
Yes Tooke! tho’ foal Corruption's wolfish 
Outmalice Calemny's — impesthum'd 





Or wither with the lightning's flash of 
Wit; 
Or with sublimer mien and tones more 


deep, 

Charm sworded Justice from mysterious 
Sleey 

«By violated Freedom's loud Lament, 

Her Lamps extinguish'd and hee Temple 
rent ; 

By the fora tears her captive Martyrs 


By exch Pale Orphan’s feeble ery ie 
bread 


By ravag’d’ Belglum's corse-tmpeded 


lood, 
And Vendee steaming still with brothers’ 
blood 1” 


And if amid the strong impassion’d Tale, 

Thy Tongue should falter and thy Lips 
turn pale ; 

If transient Darkness film thy awefal 
Eye, 

‘Ad thy Ur Bosom stage with a sighs 

Science me Freedom shall demand to. 


iiss penitie a on w Lite ol tioubly ear} 
Infus'd the unwholesome anguish drop 


by drop, 
Pois'ning the sacred stream they could 
not stop ! 40 
Shall id thee with recover strength 


relat 
haerdak ara deadly is a Coward's 
Hate: 
‘What seeds of death by wan Confinerent 
sown, 


‘When Prison-echoes mock'd. ‘Discane's 
groan ! 
Shall bid th’ indignant Father flash 


ismay, 

And drag the unnatural Villain into Day 

Who! to the sports of his flesh’ Ruffians 
Teft 

‘Two lovely Mourners of thelr Sire bereft! 

*Twas wrong, like this, which Rome’s 
first Consul bore, 

2 “Dundas left thief-takers ia Horne Tooke’s 

House for three days, with his two Daughters 
for Home Tooke keeps no servant.'— 
To Estun. 


i 





70 A YOUNG FRIEND ON HIS PROPOSING, ETC. & 





TO A YOUNG FRIEND 
[Cuamres Lrovn] 


ON IIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE 
wit Tie auTnoR 


Composed in 4795 
A MounT, not wearisome and bare and 


Bat a green mountain variously up- 


start 
And, ra the acne torrent’: gentle 
Dehn th i hate of he 
jeans ‘by those still 
sounds beguiled, 
Calm Peasivencas might muse herself to 
Eee y startled by some Aeecy 
The on the lift above 
Somat ice 
Leesa enquiry for her wandering 
ech = green mountain ‘twere most 
sweet to climb, 
Ben while the bosom ached with loneli- 
1 
How more than sweet, If some dear friend 
‘The adventurons toil, and up the path 
subline 
Now Sead, now follow: the glad land. 
scape round, 
Wide and more wide, increasing without 
bound 1 
© then “twere loveliest sympathy, to 
mark » 
‘The berries of the hal ted ash 


Dripping pi aaa brights fast the torrent’s 





Beneath the cypres, or the yew more 
lark, 


Seated r fase, on some smooth mossy 
rock 5 

In social silence now, and now to 
unlock 

‘The treasured heart ¢ 
friendly arm, 

Save if the one, his muse's witching 
charm 

Mattering Brows terity at unwatched dis- 
tance lag 

Till high o'er head his beckoning 

friend appears, 

And poh the forehead of the vat 


arm linked in 


Shouts € igiesentys for haply there ee 
That showing Pine its old romantic 


wi thieh I latest shall detainthe enamoured 
sight 

Seen from below, when eve the valley 
dims, 

pres alte with the rich departing 


And bed basoned in some unsunned 
cleft, 
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected 
tears, 
Sleeps sheltered there, scarce wrinkled 
by the gale! 
‘Together thus, the world’s vain turmoil 
left, 
Stretched on the crag, and shadowed us 
the pine, 
And benling en tin alee Senn 
fount, 
dearest youth! 
divine 
To cheat our 


Abt it were a lot 


noons in moralising 
mood, 

While west-winds fanned our temples 
toll-bedewed : 

Then downwards slope, oft pausing, 

from the mount, 

To some lone mansion, in some woody 
dale, 

Where smiling with blue eye, Domestic 
Bliss 





68 ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE—SONNET 


Gives ¢iis the Husband’s, that the 
Brother's kiss f 


Abela pa 
"eth e Rsonage Y cmel t 


erste yondtrone NI wlth tnseya cena 


And many a stream, whose warbling | To plundered 


‘waters pour 
To glad, and fertilise the subject 
3 
‘That hill with secret springs, and nooks 


untrod, 
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod 
Where Inspiration, his diviner strains 
Low-murmaring, Iay ; and starting from 
the rock’s 


Stiff evergreens, (whose spreading foliage 
en ee aa emo 


EBLE rt ve Sewing gn) fo 
O mock retiring spirit ! we will climb, 
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill 
sublime 5 
And from the stirring world up-lifted 
high ° . 
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind, 
‘To quict musings shall attune the mind, 
‘And oft the melancholy ¢hewe supply 
There, vale the prospect through th 


gazing 
Pours all its ‘Felt greenness on the 


soul, 
Sie iia sb esl medidas li 


at fame, 
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our jon 
the same, 


As neighbouring fountains image as 
the whole : 
Then whe ‘the ‘ind hath drunk its fill 


wer” eee the heart to pure | 


delight, 
Rekindling sober joy’s domestic flame. 
They whom I et shall love thee, 
‘honoured you 
my Wet reall this vision 
A 





ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN 
OF FORTUNE [C. Ltoyp] 
WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INy 
‘DOLENT AND CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY 


Hence that fantastic wastonness of 
0 Youth to fel Fortune vainly dea 
‘half-sheltered hovel 


dearer part 
‘Was Pore tn o'er his un- 
"The fieing Sesto Efrts ae ‘Then, 





TO A FRIEND—ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUPTURE 69 





If droops the soaring youth with slacken’d 


TO A FRIEND 
(Cranes Lame) 


WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION 
OF WRITING NO MORE POETRY 


sanbaptized hi 1s 
crits borides clsis 


Asd shall he dic unwept, and sink to 
‘Without meed of one melodious 
=? 


4 Vide Winds Obymp 1s 





Thy Burns, and Nature's own beloved 


Who to the ‘Illustrious! of his native 
Land 


So propery did look for patronage.” 
Ghost of Macenas hide thy blushing 
face 
They std bie it tha oti cee 
the plough— 
To gauge ale-firkins. 


Oh ! for shame return ! 
On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian 
mount, 
There stands # lone and melancholy tree, 
Whose aged branches to the midnight 
blast 


Make solemn music: pluck its darkest 
dou 


Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be 
exhaled, 


And weeping wreath it round thy Poet’s 
tomb, 
‘Then in the outskirts, where pollutions 


grow, 

Pick the rank henbane and the dusky 
flowers 

OF nightshade, or its red and tempting 
fruit, 

These with stopped nostil and glove 


Knit in nice eter 0 to twine, 
‘The illustrious brow of Scotch Nobility ! 


ON A LATE CONNUBIAL RUP- 
‘TURE IN HIGH LIFE 
[PRINCE AND PRINCESS OP WALES] 

T ston, fair injured stranger! for thy fates 

But vin esr; sighs avail thee? thy 
Mid al the the beets and circumstance’ of 


state, 
Shivers in nakedness, Unbidden, 
start 


1 Vertatim from Burny’s Dedication of his 
Poems to the Nobility and Gentry of the Cale 
donian Hunt, 





THE DESTINY OF NATIONS 


recollections of Hi sik 
‘That shaped & teen pidge pee] 
Its Paks ida nnepe as 
Deals iat aires 
‘To one soft accent of domestic 
Boraierm tia sical sat the 


Those lits that thy 
a ia tell thee— hy apathy, 
at ome! 


De eereener hie ees 
the guiltless. Drop the pearly 
On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown 
with dew, bends o'er its 
neighbouring bud. 

And ah! that Truth some hol; 
might lend Ae 
‘To lure thy wanderer from the syren's 


Then bit your souls nd 
‘Like two bright dew-drops meeting in 
a flower. per 


THE DESTINY OF NATIONS 
A VISION 
Ausricious Reverence! Hushallmeaner 


Ere we the deep preluding strain have 
only Rightfal King, | 5 


& Father, only 
‘ternal Father! King Omnipotent ! 
The Will, the Word, the Breath,—the 
Living God. 
‘Suchsymphony requires best instrument, 
‘Seize, then, re Bee Lae from Freedom’s 


‘The harp whieh an between 
mpena ae 
Of Brutus and Leonidas! With that 
Strong music, that soliciting spell, force 
ack 


Man's free and stirring spirit that lies 
‘entranced, a 





For what is freedom, but the unfettered 
OF at he powers which God fo se ad 
But chiefly this, him first, him last to 
let tough dos hat vei 
Hoel tbat masta, She, Rca aaa | 


Spatial, one mighty alphabet 
ic ntant ote j sod) we 


Placed without backs to bight | 
‘That we may learn with young | 7 


” 
‘The substance from its shadow, Infinite _ 


‘Whose Iatence is the plenitude of All, 
Thou Se retracted beams, and self- 


Vellng reves thtaw senate 


Dut some thet 5 92 


free 
When they within this gross and visible | 


y-OF 
‘Here we pause humbly. 
think 


xo | That as one body seems the 
Of atoms numberless, each 


So by a strange and dim similitude 





THE DESTINY OF NATIONS 7 





Tnfinite myriads of selfconscious minds 
Are one all-conscious Spirit, which in- 


forms 

With absolute ubiquity of thought 

(His one eternal self-affirming act !) 
his involved Monads, that yet seem 


With various province and apt agency 
Each to its ipitmicocastigs 


wild, 
With complex interests weaving human 


Date fro, slik obedient al, 
Evolve the process of eternal good. 


And what if some rebellious, o'er dark 
? yet these train up to 
bo 


Meas 
wen em 


or the mossy stone =p 
pper, while the snowy blast 
, ot eddies round his 


the poor babe at its mother's 





Scream in its scanty cradle: he the 
while 

Wins gentle solace as with upward eye 

He marks the streamy banners of the 


North, 
‘Thinking himself those happy spirits shall 


join 

‘Who there in floating robes of rosy light 

Dance sportively, For Fancy is the 
power 

‘That first unsensualizes the dark mind, to 

Giving it new delights; and bids it 
swell 

With wild activity ; and peopling air, 

By obscure fears of beings invisible, 

Emaneipates it from the grosser thrall 

Of the present impulse, teaching Self 
control, 

Till Superstition with unconscious hand 

Seat Reason on her throne, Wherefore 
‘hot vain, 

Nor yet without permitted power ime 


pressed, 
I deemed those legends terrible, with 
whicl 
‘The polar ancient thrills his uncouth 


throng: ~ 

Whether of pitying Spirits that make 
thelr moan 

Oer slaughter'd Infants, or that giant 


Vaokho, of whose rushing wings the 
noise 

Is tempest, when the unutterable Shape 

Speeds from the mother of Death, and 
utters once 

That shriek, which never murderer heard, 
and lived. 


Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange 
trance 
Plerees the untravelled realms of Ocean's 
bed 
(Where live the innocent as far from cares 
As from the storms and overwhelming 


wares 109 
Dark tumbling on the surface of the 


deep) 
Over the abysm, even to that uttermost 
cave 





72 


YHE DESTINY OF NATIONS 





By mis-shaped prodigies. beleaguered, 
such 


As earth ne'er bred, nor air, nor the 
upper sea, 

‘There dwells the Fury Form, whose un- 
h 


name 
With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended 
breath, 
And lips half-opening with the dread of 
sound, 


Unuleeping ‘Senee guards, wom out 
with 

Lest haply jah on some treacherous 
blast 


‘The fateful word let slip the Elements ro 

And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her, 

Arm'd with Torngarsuck's power, the 
Spirit of Good, 

Forces to unchain the foodfal progeny 

Of the Ocean's stream, — Wild phan- 
tasies ! yet wise, 

On the victorious goodness of high God 

‘Teaching reliance, and medicinal hope, 

‘Till from Bethabra northward, heavenly 
‘Truth 

With gradual steps, winning her difficalt 


way, 
‘Transfer their rude Faith perfected and 
pure. 


If there be Beings of higher class than 
Man, 0 

1 deem no nobler province they possess, 

‘Than by disposal of apt circumstance 

To rear up kingdoms: and the deeds 
they prompt, 

Distinguishing from’ mortal agency, 

‘They choose their human ministers from 
such states 

As still the Epic song half fears to 


name, 

Repelled from all the minstrelsies that 
strike 

‘The palace-roof and soothe the monarch's 
pride. 


And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if 
words 


Witnessed by answering deeds may clais 
our faith) 130 





Held commune with that warrior-maid 
of France 

Who scourged the Invader, From her 
infant days, 

With Wisdom, mother of retired 

Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick 
to mark 

The good and evil thing, is human fore 

Undisciplined. For lowly was her birth, 

And Heaven hed doom'd her early yeas 


That pe fom Tyran et ded be 
Valea iy fellow-natures, she might 
On ioe labouring man with kindly 


looks, 140 

And minister refreshment to the tired 

Way-wanderer, when along the rough- 
hewn bench 

‘The sweltry man had stretched him, and 


lo 
Vacantly watched the rudely- pictured 


board 

Which on the mulberry: -boagh with wel- 
come creak 

Swung to the pleasant breeze, Here, 
too, the Maid 

Leamt more than schools could teach: 
Man’s shifting mind, 

His vices and his sorrows t And full off 

At tales of cruel wrong and strange dis- 


Had “oe a shivered. To the ee 


Still “5 Be danger would she mm: she 


His coll “te at the sunny door, and 
loved 


To hear him story, in his amon sort, 
Of his eventful years, all come and 
gone. 
So twenty seasons past. The Virgin’s 
form, 
Active and tall, nor sloth nor luxury 
Had shrunk or paled. Her front sub- 


lime and 
Her flexile eye-brows ‘wildly haired and 





THE DESTINY OF NATIONS 73 





‘And her fall eye, now bright, now un- 

Spake than We hi hs 
more tl foman's thought; 
and all her face a 

That pity there had oft and strongly 
worked, 

And sometimes indignation. Bold her 

And lke an haughty huntress of the 
woods 

She moved: yet sure she was a gentle 
maid! 

a em aanocent 

Beamed forth so brightly, that who saw 
would 


Guilt was a 
Nor idly would 


In this bad World, as in a place of 


impossible in her ! 
re said—for she had 


tombs, 70 
‘And tosebed not the pollutions of the 
dead. 


"Twas the cold season when the rustic’s 
eve 
From the drear desolate whiteness of his 
fields 


Rolls for relief to watch the skiey tints 
And clouds slow-varying their huge 


When now, as she was wont, the health- 
fal Maid 


Had left ber pallet ere one beam of day 
Slanted the fog-smoke. She went forth 


With dim inexplicable sympathies 
Dining te est, saps oat M's 


Gpaittepeedestied. adventure. Now 
‘the ascent 

‘She climbs of that steep upland, on 
whose 








Shouts 7 pleat there first the Abbey- 


Seen in iS re vale; now slopes 
adown 

The winding sheep-track vale-ward: 
when, behold. 

In the first entrance of the level road 

An unattended team! The foremost 
horse bad 

Lay with stretched Hmbs; the others, 

yet alive 

But ait and cold, 
their manes 

Hoar with the 
Dismally 

The dark-red dawn now glimmered ; 
but its gleams 

Disclosed no face of man. 


stood motionless, 


frozen night-dews, 


‘The maiden 
paused, 

Then hailed who might be near, No 
voice replied. 

From the thwart wain at length there 
reached her ear 

A sound so feeble that it almost seemed 

Distant: and fecbly, with slow effort 
pushed, 

A miserable man crept forth : his limbs 

The silent frost had eat, scathing wis 
fire, 

Faint on the shafts he rested. She, 
meantime, 

Saw crowded close beneath the coverture 

A mother and her children—lifeless all, 

Yet lovely! not a Ineament was 


marred — 
Death had put on so slumber-like a 
form ! 


It was a piteous sight ; and one, a babe, 

The crisp milk frozen on its innocent 
Kips, 

Lay on the woman’s arm, its little hand 

Stretched on her bosom. 


Mutely questioning, 
The Meld A oes wildly at the living 


on 


He, wae ‘ feebly turning, on the 


Looked with a vacant stare, and his eye 
spoke 





4 


‘The drowsy calm that steals on worn- 
out anguish, 
She shuddered but, cach vainer pang 


ward. arrived, 
Anxiowsly tends him she with healing 
And ond prays—but the numb 
Netley Sie - 
Spreads o'er his limbs; and cre the 
noon-tide hour, 
‘The hovering spirits of his wife and 
Hail him immortal! Yet amid his 
pangs, 
With interruptions long from ghastly 
His voice had faltered out this simple 
tale, 


‘The village, where he dwelt an hus- 


bandman, 
By den | inroad had been seized and 
Late on ae yester-evening, With his. 
And tte —, he hurried his escape. 
neighbouri 


rete ring 


they heard 20 

Uproar and shrieks! and terror-struck 
drove on 

Through unfrequented roads, a weary 


‘way! 


But saw nor house nor cottage. All 
had quenched 


‘Thele evenfog heastlvfre for the alare 
had spread, 


The alr pte, the night was fanged 


And they provisiontest The weeping 


MW) hushed her children’s moans; and 
still they moaned, 

Till fright and cold and bunger drank 
their life. 








VHE DESTINY OF NATIONS 


Ah ! suffering to the height of what was: 
suffered, 
Stung ee keen a sympathy, the 
Brooded with moving mvute, slart- 
ful, dark ! sy 7 
Ant on ae eee 


okenagiciy as fires the a. 
Of misery ay eae and oe a 


Naked, "and wo and fed, and al 


The wage silence of confused thought 
And shapes fecings, For a ees 
Was sco upon her, till in the beat of 
To the high bill-top tracing back her 
Aside the en, up whose smoulderel 
Tote y eee oe 
Yea, swallow'd up in the ominous dream, 
Gaatly a8 bread-eyed Slumber dm 
come at pas look t and still with 
tty A flee, and still sub 
Felt an seechabie Presence near, 

‘Thus as she toiled Pen x) 


A horror of great 
round, 





THE DESTINY OF NATIONS 75 





And a voice uttered forth unearthly 
tomes, 
Calming ber soal,—© Thou of the 


? 
3 
a 
t 


the lasses of that hour 
Love rose glittering, and his 


iii 


wings 
fluttered with such glad 
after Jong and pestful 


& 


and miscreated life 
the vast Pacific, the fresh 


i 


J 


wave. 
she fled, and enter'd the 
“That mpeg downward windings to 


osama Talat Desert of Death 
ees tesa Gehenna’s massy 


TF a dateless age the Beldame 
many age 


‘Shaped es ac cloud marked with 
‘It roused the Hell-Hag ; she the dew- 
= damp wiped 





From off her brow, and through the 
uncouth maze 

Retraced her steps ; but ere she reached 
the mouth 

Of that drear labyrinth, shuddering she 


Nee idecod ao-patex) the Simin 


Gulph. 
‘As through the dark vaults of some 
mouldered tower 
(Which fearful to approach, the evening 
‘ind 


Circles Ms distance in his eens 


ay) 
‘Ti wines rentie helio cbt 
plaining groan 
Of prisoned spirits; with such fearful 


voice 

Night murmured, and the sound through 
Chaos went. 

Leaped at her call her hideousfonted 


brood ! 

Adark behest they heard, and rushed on 
earth 5 

Since that sad hour, in camps and courts 
adored, 

Rebels from God, and Monarchs o'er 
Mankind!" 


From his obscure haunt 
Shrick’d Fear, of Cruelty the ghastly 
di 


iam, 

Feverish yet freezing, cagerpaced yet 
slow, 

Ash that creeps ffom forth her rape 


Ague, "he ioe hag! when early 
Sprit 
Beams on the marsh-bred vapours. 


“Even s0 (the exalting Maiden said) 

‘The sainted heralds af Good Tidings fell, 

‘And thus they witnessed God | But now 
the clouds 

Teeading, and storms beneath thelnfet 

-y son 

Hightech heicaent se areal 

sing 








THE DESTINY OF NATIONS ” 





‘The Power of Justice lke a name all 
% 

Shone from thy brow; but all they, who 
thy they, 

Dwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happi- 


hes 
Abt jl uninjured and unprofited, 
= Sorel against their brethren 


shy ali aig slsry? 


of care, thy songs, O 
are sweet, 


Beneath the Chieftains’ standard !’ Thus 
the Maid. 


To ber the tutelary Spirit replied : 
SW hie iticary sek Low's. cxbansicd 


stores 
No more can rouse the appetites of 
IES S ied 
‘When the low flattery of their reptile 
Falls flat and heavy on the accustomed 
ears 
‘When exnuchs sing, and fools buffoonery 
And dancers writhe their harlot limbs in 
vain; 
‘Then War and all its dread vicissitudes 


edema ews 
its victories, its 





The congregated husbandmen lay waste: 

‘The vineyard and the harvest. 
along 

The Bothnle coast, or southward of the 


Line, 

Though hushed the winds and cloudless 
the high noon, 

Yet if Leviathan, weary of ease, 

In sports unwieldy toss his island-bulk, 

Ocean behind him billows, and before 

A storm of waves breaks’ foamy on the 


strand, 

And hence, for times and seasons bloody 
and dark, 

Short Peace shall skin the wounds ra 
causeless War, 

‘And Weary bie ota toate wait 


Sti vite the unfinished works of 


But vier Took ! for more demands thy 


view!" 
He sid: and straightway from the 
‘opposite Isle 
A. vapour salad, as when a cloud, 
7 


exhal 

From Egypt's ficlds that steam hot 
pestilence, 

Travels the sky for many a trackless 


league, 
Till o'er some death-doomed land, 
distant in vain, 
Tt broods incumbent. 
the plain, 
Facing the Isle, a brighter cloud arose, 
‘And steered its course which way the 
vapour went. ar 


‘The Maiden paused, musing what this 
might mean, 
But long time passed not, ere that 
brighter cloud 
Returned more bright; along the plain 


it swept; 

And soon from forth its bursting sides 
‘emerged 

A dazzling form, broad-bosomed, bold of 


Forthwith from 


eye 
And wild her hair, save where with 
Inurels bound, 





ies ea rkc onic bax to meet the 
mom : 

The Sun that rose on Freedom, rose in 
Blood ! 


piste be helored, and Delegate of 
oh her the Naishery Spirit said) 
Seon shall the morning struggle into 


ce 

Rais cooraing lato clovdees noon. 

Mech hast thou seen, nor all canst 
‘understand — 

Bat this be thy best omen—Save thy 


‘Thus sying, da the answering aod 
Be passed, 

aS Firs disappeared! the Keaventy 

Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and 
Heaven! 

onscioms Presence of the Universe t 

vast ever-acting Energy! 


ane 





7 Pransi ten, tnd Back 
b ki ree he risa Aarts 


4 
hereon ees 
Glory to Thee, Father of Earth 

Heaven? 


And first a landscape rose 
More wild and waste and desolate than 


where 

‘The white bear, drifting on a fick! of 
kee, 

Howls to her sundered cubs with piteous 


mage 
And savage agony. cs 


ODE ON THE DEPARTING 
YEAR 
Ted ted, & & wand. 
Ye" ad pe Beare tpleparveian wiroe 
Sapebe raphe Gymnloe Moyne 


Tender Shee Kaede! dr rage wap 
olereipas épeie. 


ARGUMENT 


THE Ode commences with an address 
to the Divine Providence, that 
into one vast harmony all the ‘events of 


private joys and sorrows, and devote them 

papaverine er 

in general. 

the Empress of Russia, who died of an 

apoplexy on the 17th of November 17965 
subsidiary treaty 


having just concluded a 
frecfitabm 





ODE ON THE DEPARTING YEAR 


eee: w 


Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly 

My soul beheld thy vision! Where 
alone, 

Dickson noel Sern, atone Us ctowhy 


rane, 
Aye Memory sits : thy robe inscribed with 


With many an unimaginable groan 
‘Thou storied’st thy sad hours ! Silence 


ensued, 
Deep silence o’er the ethereal multi- 
tude, 
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths 
ah secerspes ) 
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, 
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence 
meet, 
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy 
seat, 
I. < 


‘Throughout the blissful throng, 
Hushed were harp and song : 
Till wheeling round the throne the Lam- 


fads seven, 
(The mystic \ Words of is of Heaven) 
Permissive sij 
The fervent Spirit hen ten spread 
his wings and 
«Thou in stormy aaa oe 
Love and uncreated Light, 
By the Earth's unsolaced groaning, 
‘Seize thy terrors, ‘Arm of might? 
By Peace with proffer’d insult scared, 
Masked hate and envying scorn ! 
By years of havoc yet unborn 1 
And pi ‘bosom to the frost-winds 


But chief by Afric’s wrongs, 
Strange, horrible, and foul ! 
By what deep guilt belongs 
To the d deaf Synod, ‘full of gifts snd 
lies 1" 
By Wealth’s insensate laugh ! by Torture’s 
howl! 


Avenger, rise t 





For ever shall the thankless Island 
Here full, and with anbroken 
Pektses Sas 
oman 
0 see ae ab ee 
The mat te thee, to thes Galata 
Ha how ye ee er 
Rise God of Nature! 
é, ia 


MA pete 2 
Yet still I gasped and reeled with dread. 
‘And ever, when the dream of night 
Renews the wpa fer 
Cold sweat: gather on 
My cars throb hot ; pele nl 
My brain with horrid pattie 


via 
Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile, 
O Albion! OQ my mother Isle! 
Thy vallies, fair as Eden's bowers, 





wn prey 
f 


TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE 


Hence for many a fearless age 
Has social Quiet loved thy shore ; 
Nor ever invailer’s rage 
Orsacked thy towers, or stained thy fields 
with gore. 


vit 
Abandon’d of Heaven ! mad Avarice thy 
guid 
At cowardly ditance, yet kindling with 
Mid thy bet Se ethey corssfaide wocass 
hast stood, 
And ion the wil yeling of Famine 
Thema co 
wondering 
Shall bear Destruction, like a vulture, 
scream ! 


40 

Strange-eyed Destruction ! who with 
many a dream 

Of central fires through nether seas up- 


‘They with eager 


Scothes her fierce solitude ; yet as she 
lies 
livid fount, or red volcanic stream, 


© Albion! thy predestined rui 
The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth 


sania pet triumph in her 


1x 


Away, my soul, away! 
In vain, in vain the birds of warming 


sing— 130 
And hark! I hear the femished brood of 
rey. 
Tie shake leak, Pennons on the groaning 
onl, away! 
Longa oe i i, 
With daily prayer and daily toil 
Soliciting for food my scanty soil, 
Have wailed my country with a loud 


Lament. 
Now I recentre my Immortal mind 





In the deep sabbath of meck self- 
content 5 
Cleansed from the vaporous passions that 


dedim bo 
God's Image, sister of the Seraphim. 


TO THE * 
REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE 
OF OTTERY ST. MARY, DEVON 


With some Poems 


‘Notus io fratees anim paterni. 
Hox. Cara. lib. 15 2. 


A BLESSED lot hath he, who having 
dl 

His youth and early manhood in the stir 

And turmoil of the world, retreats at 


length, 

With cares that move, not agitate the 
heart, 

To the same dwelling where his father 
dwelt 5 

And haply views his tottering fittle ones 

Embrace those aged knees and climb 
that Jap, 

On which first kneeling his own infancy 

Lisped its brief prayer. Such, O my 
carllest friend ! 

Thy lot, and such thy brothers too 


enjoy. 10 

At distance did ye clim) life's upland 
road, 

Yet cheered and cheering : now fraternal 


Be your 


love 
Hath drawn you to one centre, 
4 


ays 
Holy, and blest and blessing may ye 
live ! 


To me the Eternal Wisdom hath dis 


pensed 

A different fortune and more different 
mind— 

Me from the spot where first I sprang to 
light 

‘Teo soon transplanted, ere my soul had 
fixed 


c 





70 THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE 





Its first domestic loves; andhence through 
life 


; 
lane 
Tf the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze 
Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at 


once 

Dropped the collected shower; and 
some most false, 

False and fair-folinged as the Manchineel, 

Have tempted me to slumber in their 

Even mid the storm; then breathing 
subtlest damps, 

Mixed their own venom with the rain 
from Heaven, 

‘That I woke poisoned! But, all praise 
to Him a 


yielded me 
Permanent shelter; and beside one friend, 
Beneath the impervious covert of one oak, 
pidge a Rawr shed, and know the 


Of ftusband a and of Father} not unhearing 
Of that divine and nightly-whispering 


Which a, my childhood to maturer 


Speke io me of predestined wrest, 
Bright with no fading colours 


‘Yet at times 
My ant is = that I have pene 
life 


through 
Still Sry ‘stranger, most with naked 
At mine se fete and bitth-place : 
‘When im remember thes, my earliest 
‘Thee, who iat watch my boyhood and 
my youth ; 
Didst raed ie wanderings with a father's 


And boding evil ‘still hi 
Rebuked minpetipeslparit ine 





Somewel. aieinen He who counts 


A | he tnatng fh iy act 
‘That ce pemipmle ie 


nel ese ssa son revered to68 
Oh! *tis to me an ever new delight, 

To talks theta thine ; or when the 
or si sal winter, rattling our tude 
Ende th Sai cleanly hearth and social 
Gr whet aa ow, 2 we ieee 
‘We fn our sweet 

Sit on ie tee crotkell ee a 


‘That hang above us in an arborous roof, 
Stirred the faint gale of 


Seria thels loose  Bioesomns alanine 
our heads ! 
Nor dost not “how sometimes recall 
‘those hours, 
When with the joy of hope thou gayest 
thine car 
To my wild firstling-lays, Sinec then 
fas et ep ey 
———-beseem: | 


Or that sad wisdom folly leaves 
Or fc tunel tae toma 


Cope with the tempest swell 


‘These various 
Which T hove: ftanad' ts ete wea 


mood, 

Accept, my bes and Lesbos 
ind) 

Tf aught of error or intemy 

‘Should aa fire cu, 

a ay ant hy Hone 


Necvummn-Srowny, Sosmaser, 
May 36, t797- 





THE FOSTER-M¢ 


(OTHER'S TALE 





ON THE CHRISTENING OF A 
FRIEND'S CHILD 


Seon es eee? 
And fed with 
0 pith maternal te get 
Anna's dearest Anna ! 


re vin ons te, 


From mystic grove and living cell, 
Contents Fancy'scyes 


Content in homespun 
‘Trae Love; and Troe Love's Innocence, 
White Blossom of the Myrtle! 


Assoclates of thy name, sweet Child! 
‘These Virtees may’st thou win ; 
With face as eloquently mild 
To say, they lodge within, 
So, when ber tale of day all fown, 
‘Thy mother shall be miss’d here ; 
‘When Heaven at length shallclaim itsown 
their Sister ; 


‘Even thus a lovely rose I've view'd 


Dee a tie bod nh prden and rude 
Pepa at the rose's side 


Tt chane'd 1 pass'd again that way 
Tn Autuzan’s latest hour, 
And 


‘Ah fond deceit | Vc Sglag green bud 
Hadbloom'd where bloots'dits parentstod, 
‘Anotber and the same t tye 





‘TRANSLATION 
OF A LATIN INSCRIPTION HY THE Rity, 


W. 1, NOWLES IN NETHER-STOWKY 
CHURCH 


DEPART in joy from this world’s noise and 
strife 


To the deep quiet of celestial life 1 
Depart !—Affection’s self reproves the tear 
Which falls, O honour’d Parent ! on thy 


bier j— 
Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will 


swell, 
And the voicetremble with alast Farewell! 
3797 


(The Tablet ts erected to the Memory of 
Richard Camplin, who died Jan. 20, 
1792. 

‘Lactus abi! mundi strepitu curisque 

remotus 5 
Lietusabi! ciuli qui vocat alma Quies. 

Ipsa fides loquitur Incrymamque incusat 

inanem 


Quo cadit in vestros, care Pater, Cineres, 
Heu! tantum liceat meritos hos solvere 


Ritus, 
Nature et tremuli dicere Voce, Vale !’] 


THE FOSTER-MOTHER’S TALE 
& DRAMATIC FRAGMENT 


{From Osoris, Act IV, ‘The title and text are 
here printed from Lyrical Ballads, 17.) 


Foster-Mother, (never saw the man 
whom you describe, 
Maria, "Tis strange! he spake of you 
iliarly 


ly 

As mine and Albert's common Foster: 

sother. 
Foster: Mother, Now blessings on the 

man, whoe’er he be, 

‘That joined your names with mine! O 
my sweet Indy, 

As often as I think of those dear times 

When you two little ones would stand at 
eve, 





84 


THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE 


‘On each of my cand make me | With earth and water ‘the stumps of 


learn 
eres eerie cay a ew 
Bae Sen ths av oes 
"Ta mo ike heaven o come, than wht 
! 
Maria, Q my dear Mother! this 
strange man has left me 
‘Troubled with wilder fancies, than the 
moon 

facets a sae ec no 
at it, 

Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye, 


Cannoonehear? It 
saint 


Faster Mother.’ My busband’s father 
told it me, 
Poor old Leoni !—Angels rest his soul ! 
pate seo on could fell and 
With een vm Euay that lunge 
round 
Which props the hanging wall of the old 
? 
Beneath that tree, while yet it was a 
tree, 
He found a baby wrapt in mosses, 
lined 
With ee and such small locks 
As arab, ‘Well, he it 
hang cana |, he brought 
Ad rece him the then Lat Vee’ 


ined tua babe'crieriop's pen + boy, 
A pretty boy, but most neste 


‘And never learnt a prayer, nor told a 


bead, *° 

But knew the names of birds, and 
mocked their notes, 

And whistled, as he were a bind bin: 


rep ict eae ‘twas his only play 
To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to 
plant them 





trees. 
A Par who gathered snp, inthe 
A per tal man-—be loved ts ite 
The bey loved him—and, when the 
taught hi 
He soon could write with the pens and 
from that 
Lived chiefly at the Convent or the 


Til is Sain ao" ere his 
He naw tog ‘of many 
Ana thong pcre Daa 


With bol in place— 
But. yet co it yet a eae 


| The late 1otd Velen rer ee eee 
with him, 

And once, as by the north side of the 
They Cuetec chained in deep 
pte re i“! 

discourse, dl 
‘The earth esr vate aes a 
That the wall tottered, and Thad wells | 
Right cathe ea My Loot wa 
A fee set Him; and be made com 
“an 





THE DUNGEON—THE THREE GRAVES 85 


sweet it were on lake or wild 
savannah 
hunt for food, and be « naked man, 
‘ep and down at liberty. 
‘He always aaeavion’ te youth, and 


His re grew desperate; and defying 
Hie made that cunning entrance I de- 
scribed: 


He went on ship- 
board 
With those bold voyagers, who made 


Ofgolden nds 1 ‘Leoni’s youngerbrother 
‘Went likewise, and when he returned to 


He told that the poor mad youth, 
‘Soom after they char that new 
of his dissunsion, seized 2 boat, 
alone, set sail by silent moon- 
light, 





Ts this the only cure? Merciful God 1 
Bach se and natural outlet shrivell’d 


By ignorsace and parchiny rt 
His energies roll buck: upon hs bear, 
And stagnate and corrupt ; till changed 
to poison, 
‘They break out on him, like @ loath. 
Then re call fi Ces rd 
we call in our mounte- 
eal pampe 


And this is their best cure | uncomforted 
And friendless solitude, groaning and 


tears, 
And savage faces, at the clanking hour, 
Seen as the steams and vapours of 


By thea ps dismal twilight ! So he lies 

Circled with evil, till his very soul 

Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly de- 
formed 

By sights of ever more deformity ! 


‘With other ministrations thou, O nature! 

Healest ae wandering and distempered 
child: 

‘Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, 

‘Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breath- 


ing sweets, 
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and 


waters, 
Till he relent, and can no more endure 
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing 
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy 5 
But, beak ‘into tears, wins back his 


way 

‘His angry spirit healed and harmonized 

By the benignant touch of love and 
beauty. mM 


THE THREE GRAVES 
A FRAGMENT OF A SEXTON'S TALE 


[Parr I—From MS.] 


Beneate this thom when I was young, 
This thorn that blooms so sweet, 

We loved to stretch our lazy limbs 
To summer's noon-tide heat, 





THE THREE GRAVES 


And there a maid forlorn, 


‘The barren wife and maid forlorn 
Did love each other dear ; 

The ruthless mother wrought the woe, 
And cost them many a tear, 


Fair Ellea was of serious mind, 
Her temper mild and even, 

‘And Mary, graceful as the fir 
‘That points the spire to heaven, 


y 


eee to the mother went, 

To him the mother said : 

Tn truth you are a comely man ; 
‘You shall my daughter wed." 


Lad 
4[In Mary's joy fair Eleanor 
La pe rer 


* Uncertain whether this stanza is erased, or 
gory towed tee ae reo 





While she sate by his side, 


Alone they sate within the bower: 
‘The mother's colour fled, 

For Mary's foot was heard above— 
She decked the bridal bed. 


And when her foot was on the stairs 70. 
To mect her at the door, 

With steely sep ie ees 
And silent left the bower. 


She stood, her back against the door, 
And when her child drew near— 
“Away ! away !’ the mother cried, 
* Ye shall not enter here. 


‘Would ye come here, ye maiden vile, 
And rob me of my mate?” 

And on her child the mother scowled 
A deadly leer of hate. 


bic Niganirbde ps rl ic = 





THE THREE GRAVES 


87 





“As pale as any ghost of night 
Bier cenit acs wot 


"She did not groan, she did not fall, 
She did not shed a tear, 

ei Pasir) why 
‘May I not enter here 


ee oe es the ran, 9 
‘As if her sense was fled, 
‘Aad then her trembling limbs she threw 
Upon the bridal bed. 


‘The mother she to Edward went 
‘Where he sate in the bower, 
Aad mid, * That woman is not fit 


‘To be your paramour. 


WShe is my child—it makes my heart 
With grief and trouble swell ; 
rus the hour I gave her birth, 
For never worte befel. 


she is Gerce and she is id, 

ea reconvene oni a 
ord eo. 

* And if you go to church with her, 
poate he bitter smart 5 


she will wrong your marriage-bed, 
Seaaclbe wil teak y your heart, 


40h God, to think that Ihave shared +10 
Her deadly sin 90 long ; 

“She is my child, and therefore T 
— tongue. 


Hs ray cid Tve risked for her 


axes scatter gold about 


eee 10 


tone she said, 
hhim by the hand: 





«Sweet Edward, for one kiss of your's 
T'd give my house and land, 


«And if you'll go to church with me, 
And take me for your bride, 

Pl make you heir of all I have— 
Nothing shall be denied,? 


Then Edward started from his seat, 
And he laughed loud and long— 
“In truth, good mother, you are mad, 

Or drunk with liquor strong.” 


x0 


To him no word the mother said, 
But on her knee she fell, 
And fetched her breath while thrice your 
hand 
Might toll the passing-bell, 


| (‘Thou daughter now above my head, 


Whom in my womb I bore, 
May every drop of thy heart’s blood 140 
‘Be curst for ever more. 


* And cursed be the hour when first 
T heard thee wawl and cry 5 

And in the Church-yard cursed be 
The grave where thou shalt lie 1" 


And Mary on the bridal-bed 
Her mother's curse had heard 5 
And while the cruel mother spake 
The bed beneath her sticred. 


In wrath young Edward left the hall, 
And turning round he sees 

The mother looking up to God 
‘And still upon her knees. 


Young Edward he to Mary went 
‘When on the bed she lay + 

“Sweet love, this is a wicked house— 
Sweet love, we must away.” 


He raised her from the bridal-bed, 
Ail pale and wan with fear ; 

+ No Dog,’ quoth he, ‘if he were ming, 160 
No Dog would kennel here.” 


He led her from the bridal-bed, 


He led her from the stairs 





88 

The mother 
And with heart 

She remk ‘on her knees, 
Which never may depart. 

But when their steps were heard below 
‘On God she did not call; 

She did forget the God of Heaven, 
For they were in the hall, 


She started up—the servant maid 


470 


‘As Filward led his bride away: 
And hurried to the door, 

‘The ruthless mother springing forth 
Stopped midway on the floor. 


Nes Fie a a What did she 
the 
For witha smile she cried: 
“Unblest ye shall not pass my door, 


‘Be blithe as lambs in April are, 
As flies when fruits are red ; 

‘May God forbid that thought of me 
‘Should haunt your marriage-bed. 


“And let the night be given to bliss, 
ie day ent 
Tam a woman weak 

Rie Cosa atest me? 


“What can an aged mother do, 
And what have ye to dread ? 

A curse is wind, it hath no strength 
To haunt your marriage-bed.” 


When they were gone and out of sight 
She rent her hoary hair, 

And foamed like any Dog of June 
When sultry sunbeams glare. 

. . . . 

Now ask you why the barren wife, 
And why the maid forlorn, 

And why the ruthless mother lies 
Beneath the flowering thorn? 


00 





THE THREE GRAVES 


‘Three times, three times this spade of 


In spite of bolt or bar, 
Did from beneath the 
‘When spirits 


belfry come, 
are, 


And when the mother’s soul to Hell 
By howling fiends was borne, 
‘This spud aos ip techie areas 


intna ate ae at the door 
Called home the maid forlorn, 

‘This spade was seen to mark her grave 
Beneath the flowery thorn. 


ghosts that round it meet, 
'Tis they that cut the rind at sight, 
‘Yet still it blossoms sweet, 
. . . 
(ied of MS) 
Paxr Ii 


‘The grapes upon the Vicar’s wall 
Were ripe as ripe coulil be 3 
‘And yolow leva {5 akan ata 

‘Were falling from the tree. 


bape ie he 
Still swang the spikes 

Dear Lord ! it mom bub poten 
Young Edward’s marriage-morn. 

Upthrough that wood behind the: 
‘There leads from Edward's door 

A mossy track, all over boughed, 939 
For balla sile or ores 

And from er ooee se ee 
‘The bride and 

‘Sweet Mary, hgh she we ot By 
Seemed cheerful and content. 


fag ei they to the church-yard came, 


Her heart it died away. 


And when the Vicar join'd their hands, 20 
Her limbs did creep and freeze 

Butwhen they prayed abe thought Shas 
Her mother on her knees 


| 





THE THREE GRAVES 89 





And oer the church-path they returned — 
I saw poor Mary's back, 
jest as she beneath the boughs 
: ‘Toto the cessive 


Hex feet upon the mossy track 
‘The married maiden set : 

‘That moment—I have heard her say— 
‘She wished she could forget. oo 


The shade o’er-flushed her limbs with 
heat 


‘Then came a chill like death : 
And when the merry bells rang out, 
‘They seemed to stop her breath. 


Beneath the fowlest mother's curse 


“Tm dull and sad! indeed, indeed 
I know I have no reason ! 
Tam not well ia health, 
‘tks a gloomy season.’ 


"Twas a drizzly time—no ice, no snow ! 
And on the few fine 
might meet 





And now Ash- Wednesday came—that 
a: 


ay 
But few to church repair : 
For on that day you know we read 
The Commination prayer. 


Our late old Viear, # kind man, 
Once, Sir, he said to me, 

He wished that service was clean out 
Of our good Liturgy. 


The mother walked into the ehurch— 
To Ellen's seat she went : 

Though Etlen always kept her church 
All eburch-days during Lent, 


And gentle Ellen welcomed her 
With courteous looks and mild : 
Thought she, What if her heart should 
melt, seo 
And all be reconetled {* 


The day was scarcely like a day— 
The clouds were black outright : 
And many a night, with half moon, 
Tve seen the church more light. 


299 


‘The wind was wild ; against the glass 
‘The rain did beat and bicker; 

The church-tower swinging over head, 
You scarce could hear the Vicar t 


‘And then and there the mother knelt, 3r0 
And audibly she cried— 

“Oh ! may a clinging curse consume 
This woman by my side ! 


*O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven, 
Although you take my life— 

© curse this woman, at whose house 
Young Edward woo'd his wife. 


“By night and day, in bed and Lower, 
O let her cursed be f 11" 

So having prayed, steady and slow, 
She rose up from her knee ! 

And left the church, nor eer again 
The ehurch-door entered she. 


390, 


I saw poor Ellen kneeling still, 
So pale ! I guessed not why : 
When she stood up, there plainly was 
A trouble in her eye. 





90 


THE THREE GRAVES 


And when the prayers were done, we all | And Ellen's name and Mary's name 570 
Came round and asked her why + ‘ast-linked 

Giddy she seemed, and sure, there was 

A trouble in her eye. 


at 


‘Bat ere she from the church~door stepped 
She smiled and told us why = 

“Tt was a wicked woman's curse,” 
‘Quoth she, ‘and what care I?” 


She smiled, and smiled, and passed it off 
Ere from the door she stept— 


‘And if her heart was not at ease, 
This was her constant cry— 
“Tt was a wicked woman's curse— 
God's good, and what care 1?" 


‘There was a hurry in her looks, 
Her she redoubled: 

“Tt was a woman's curse, 
And why should I be troubled ?" 


These tears will come—I dandled her 
‘When ‘twas the merest fairy— 

Good creature ! and she hid it all: 
‘She told it not to Mary. 


But Mary heard the tale: her arms 
Round Ellen’s neck she threw ; 

*O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me, 
And now she hath cursed you !* 


T saw young Edward by himself 
Stalk fast adown the Tee, 


w 


He snapped them still with hand or knee, 
And then away flew! yor 
As if with his uneasy limbs 
He knew not what to do! 


You see, sir! that single hill? 

His ate underneath : 

He heard it there, he heard it all, 
And only gnashed his teeth. 


Now Ellen was a darling love 
In all his joys and cares ; 


Fi they both 


‘He reach'd his home, and by his looks 
‘They saw his inward strife = 





| Except that grave, scaree see one 
"Tent Was ok So By ai 
Td rather dance upon ‘em all 

‘Than tread upon these three ? 


Aye, Sexton! "tis a touching tale.” 
You, Sir! are but a lad 5 

This month I'm in my seventicth year, 
‘And still t makes oe sad 


And Mary's sister told it me, 


For three ours amd more ; 
| Though I had heard it, fs the main, 
From Edward’s self, before, 





i 


E 


z 
Pee 


Ez 


E 
La 


fy 
i 


E 
r 


i 


THE THREE GRAVES 





1 the gentle Ellen 





And Mary's melancholy ways 40 
Drove Edward wild and weary. 


Lingering he mised his Iatch at eve, 
tired in heart and Hisib: 
He loved no other place, and yet 
Home was no home to him, 


One evening he took up a book, 
And nothing fn it read ; 

Then flung it down, and groaning cried, 
*O! Heaven ! that I were dead.’ 


Mary looked up into his face, 4 
And nothing to him sald ; 

She tried to smile, and on his arm 
Mournfully leaned her head. 


And he burst into tears, and fell 
Upon his knees in prayer = 
“Her heart is broke! © 


gril 
It is too great to bear t* 


"Twas such a foggy time as makes 
Old sextons, Sir! like me, 
Rest on their spades to cough; the 
spring 470 
‘Was late uncommonly. 


‘And then the hot days, all at onee, 
‘They came, we knew not how ; 

You looked about for shade, when scarce 
A leaf was on a bough. 


It happened then (‘twas in the bower, 
A furlong up the wood : 

Perhaps yon know the place, and yet 
T scarce know how you should,) 


No path feads thither, ‘tis not nigh 4% 
‘To any pasture-plot 5 

But clistered near the chattering brook, 
Lone hollies marked the spot. 


‘Those hollies of themselves 2 shape 
As of an arbour took, 

A close, round arbour ;' and it stands 
Not three strides from a brook. 


Within this arbour, which was still 
With scarlet berries hung, 





a fh 
Ei aialy s 


IME-TREE BOWER MY PRISON 


Jost as tee fret bell rong, 


‘Tis sweet to hear a brook, ‘tis sweet 
‘To hear the the Sabbath-bell, 

'Tis sweet to hear them both at once, 
Deep in a woody dell. 


EE elgg 


wit Satie sy aed: 
Pi oes oe 
Might chatter one to sleep, 


‘The Sun peeps through the close thick 
leaves, 


See, dearest Ellen ! sce ! 
"Tis in the leaves, a little sun, 
No bigger than your ee 5 
ES ood Ug 
‘A perfect glory 
Ten Lieeweed grader ‘and hairs of light, 
porch nero ees Lane 
Round thar small orb, so blue.” 


‘And then they argued of those mays, 
‘What colour they might be ; 
Says this, ‘They're mostly green’; 
amber-like to me." 
So they sat chattin, oe bad 
Were troubling Edward's =e 


But soon they heard his hard quick pants, 
‘And the thumping in his breast. ser 


“A mother too I” these self-same words 
Did Edward mutter plain ; 

His face was drawn back on itself, 
With horror and huge pain. 


Both groan’d at once, for both knew well 
‘What thoughts were in his mind 
igen ego a and stared like one 

“That hath been just struck blind, 





INDIA HOUSE, 
In the June of 1797 some long-expected 


meld vie 2 the eee eaee ieee 
met 
‘hich disabled him from 


To that still dell, of whie 
ae hat ae 
‘And only speckled by the 

Wher i cto 





(logs | Lone ace 
Tmt fe 


THIS LIME-TREE BOWER MY, in ts, ae 93 





Flings ‘like a bridge ;—that 
» whase few poor 
yellow Te: 
Ne’er eo in the gale, yet tremble 
Se eee wed there may 
Behold the dark green file of long lank 
weeds, 


‘That all at once (a most fantastic sight !) 
‘Still nod and drip beneath the dripping 


OF tie ee cajetooe, 


Now, my friends emerge 
Beneath tht) wide wide earen—and 


thy way 

‘And strange calamity t Ab! slow! ak 

eels oreties ter, thou waius 

‘Shine im the slant beams of the sinking 

Ye purple heath-fowers bum, 
fe prple athe fowers 1 richlier 

Hight, ye distant 

thou blue Oceant So my 

eee 7 mer wid oT 


tee 





es 
walrf, 


On the wide landscape, gaze till all aa 
seem 

Town goes thas bodily amd of wuch Bes 

As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet 
he makes 

Spirits perceive his presence, 

A delight 

Comes sudden on my heart, and I am 
glad 

As I myself were there! Nor in this 
bower, 

‘This little lime-tree bower, have I sot 
marked 

Much that has soothed me, Pale beneath 
the blaze 

Hung the transparent foliage; and I 
watched 

Some broad and sunny teaf, and loved to 


see 

The shadow of the leaf and stem above, 

Dappling its sunshine! And that val 
nut-tree 

Was ny tinged, and a deep redidace 


Full on wt, ancient ivy, which usurps 

Those fronting elms, and now, with 
blackest mass 

Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter 
h 


ue 

Through the late twilight: and though 
now the bat 

Wheels silent by, and not «swallow 


Vet sail ices lita 
Sings in the bean-flower ! 
shall know 
‘That Nature ne’er deserts the wise and 


humble-bee 
Henceforth I 


peer = 
No plot #6 narrow, be but Nature there, 
No waste so vacant, but may well 


‘employ 

Each faculty of sense, and keep the 
heart 

Awake to Lave and Beauty end some 


Tis well to be bereft of promised good, 
‘That we may lift the soul, and contem- 


plate 
With lively joy the joys we cannot 
share, 


mad dv, 


Al . 


es 


hay 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 
IN SEVEN PARTS 


Facile credo, plures esse Naturas iavisibiles quam visiblles in rerum universitate. Sed horum 
‘censistn familia quis nobis enarrabit? et gradus et cognationes ot discrimina et singulorum munera? 
Quid aguea? que toca habitant? Harum rerum sotitiam semper ambivit Ingenium bumanum, 
wencquem attigit. Jurst, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabulf, majoris et 
realloris mandi imagine contemplari ! ne mens assuefacta bodiernie vite minutiis se contrabat nimis, 
¢ tota subsist in punillas cogitationes. Sod veritati interea invigilandum ext, modusque servandus, 
tut carta ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus.—T. Buxner, Archaeol. Phil. p. 68. 


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. [1798.] 


Pant I 


Ir is an ancient Mariner, 

And he stoppeth one of three. 

“By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, 
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? 


‘The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
ioe Tam next of kin; 

its are met, the feast i is set: 
ine hear the merry din,’ 


He holds him with his skinny hand, 
«There was a quoth he, 


*Hold off uphand me, grey-beard loon !° 
Ethoons bis haed dropt he. 


He holds his with his glittering eye— 
The Wedding-Guest stood still, 
And listens like a three years' child : 
The Mariner hath his will. 


‘The Wedding-Guest sat on 
He cannot choose but hear 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner, 


*The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, 
Merrily did we drop 

Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the lighthouse top. 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





‘The sun came up upon the left, 
‘iaile! Que of the sea came he t 
food vind aad fair And he shone bight, and on the right 


‘wesaber, till ie Went down into the sea. 
reached ‘the fine, 


Higher and-higher every day, 

Till over the mast at noon— 

‘The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, 
For he heard the loud bassoon. 


‘The Wedding-Guest The bride hath paced into the hall, 
heareth the bridal “Red as a rose is she; 
Mariner cont Nodding their heads before her goes 


his ule. ‘The merry minstrelsy, 


The Wedding-Cuest he beat his breast, 
Yet he cannot choose but hear 5 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
‘The bright-eyed Mariner, 


* And now the Storm-blast came, and he S13 > 
Was tyrannous and strong: pea 

He struck with his o'ertaking wings, 

And chased us south along, 


With sloping masts and dipping prow, 

As who pursued with yell and blow. 

Still treads the shadow of his foe, 

‘And forward bends his head, 

‘The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 
And southward aye we fled. 


And now there came both mist and snow, 
And it grew wondrous cold : 

And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 

As green as emerald, . 


‘The land of ice, and And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Sie Rees pigg Did send a dismal sheen : 
Wastobe sone Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— 


‘The ice was all between. 


The ice was here, the ice was there, 
The ice was all around : oo 
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
Like noises in a swound ! wf 
P i, a 
ee re aim At length did cross an Albatross, 
came through the” ‘Thorough the fog it came 3 ‘ H eine 
Feccivel‘with peat 43-if it had been a Christian soul, Au aw 


joy and borplainy. We hailed it in God's name. 





Te ate the food it ne'er had eat, 

And round and round it flew. 

‘The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 

‘The helmsman steered us through ! 

‘And a good south wind sprung up behind; 
cede St 


In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
for nine ; 
les all the night, through fog-smoke white, 
Glimmered the white moon-shine." 


save thee, ancient Mariner! 


fiends, that pl ve thee thus !— 
thou so ?'—With my cross-bow 


Parr IL 
the right : 1S 
me he, 1 
and on the left 
the sea. 


‘The 
Our 
‘Sull 


i 


south wind still blew behind, 
bird did follow, 
for food or play 
mariners’ hollo ! 
had done a hellish thing, 
work "em woe: 
all averred, I had killed the bint 
the breere to blow. * Ld 
said they, the bird to slay, ) a 
‘breeze to blow! a 


a2E 


# PEPSEE 
ae 
z Fa 


like God's own head, 


? 
fi 
be 


fog and mist. 
they, such birds to slay, 
and mist. 


lew, the white foam flew, 


E 
¢ 
z 


ree 
u 





98 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





‘The ship hath been 
suddenly becalmed. 


‘And the Albatross 
Legins to be avenged 


A Spirit had followed them; one 
of the invisible i 


sible inhabltants of this 






Engels; “concerning whom” the 
learned Jew, Josephus, and the 
Platonic nstantinopolitan, 





ited. ‘They are very numerous, 
and there is no climate or element 
‘without one or more. 


The shipmates, in their sore dis- 
tress, would fain throw the whole 
‘guilt on the ancient Mariner : in 
sign whereof they hang the dead 
sea-bird round his neck. 


fou 


Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 

"Twas sad as sad could be 5 

And we did speak only to break 

The silence of the sea ! no 


All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody Sun, at noon, 

Right up above the mast did stand, 
No bigger than the Moon. 


Day after day, day after day, 

‘We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 

Upon a painted ocean, 


Water, water, every where, 
And all the boards did shrink ; 
Water, water, every where 


10 
Nor any drop to drink. nest { 
The very deep did rot: O Christ ! 4 

That ever this should be! 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 

Upon the slimy sea. 


About, about, in reel and rout 

‘The death-fires danced at night ; 

The water, like a witch's oils, 

Burnt green, and blue and white. 1p 


And some in dreams assured were 
Of the Spirit that plagued us so 

Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow. 


And every tongue, through utter drought, 
Was withered at the root; 

We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 


‘Ah! well a-day ! what evil looks 

Had I from old and young ! 1° 
Instead of the cross, the Albatross 

‘About my neck was hung. 


Part III 


There passed a weary time. Each throat 
Was parched, and glazed each eye. 
A weary time! a weary time ! 


THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 


How glazed each weary eye, 
‘The ancient Marier = When looking westward, I beheld 
beheideth » sien It A sounething in the sky. 
At first it seemed a little speck, 
And then it seemed a mist ; 


Tt moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist 





A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it neared and neared 
As if it dodged a water-sprite, 
It plunged and tacked and veered. 


\ticgsearersp, With thronts unslaked, with tack lips baked, »(,. whds boa 
resch,igeeemethbies We could nor laugh nor wail ; dunt Hoy 
foiea sp Sauk ‘Through utter drought all dumb we stood!” { Lt 
Megpeechfes Qe [bit my arm, Lsucked the blood, up 16 

oC chit. And cried, A’sail! a sail 1 Me: 


‘With throats unslaked, with black lips laked, 
Agspe they heard me call : 

Gramercy { they for joy did grin, 

And all at once their breath drew in, 

As they were drinking all. 


See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! / si ' 
i Seer Pere 
iWidibaka tuscan, witout « ide, C63 herb OG 
She steadies with upright keel ! a 


The western wave was all a-flame. 

The day was well nigh done ! 

Almost upon the western wave 

Rested the broad bright Sun ; 

When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 


And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, 
{Heaven's Mother send ux grace !} 

AAs if through a dungeon-grate he peered 
With broad and burning face. 


‘Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
Tow fast she nears and nears! 

Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? 


Jos 
yh fy 

IAse those ber ribs through which the Sun, (1\P 

Dil peer, as through a grate? i 

‘And is that Woman all her crew ? | 

Ts that a Death? and are there two? 

Ts Death that woman's mate? 


on oaths 
Mite 
~ Rac brnrent + FE 89 

. bey? 


“4 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





I fear thee and thy glittering eye, 

And thy skinny hand, so brown.’ — 

Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest 1 270 

This body dropt not down. : 
ba 


Alone, alone, all, all atone, ’ 
‘Alone on a wide wide sea ! Cu Chnat ve 
Aid never a saint took pity on) Mp, \y 

My soul in agony. 


‘The many men, so beautiful ! 
And they all dead did lie: 

And a thousand thousand slimy things 
Lived on; and so did I. 


T looked upon the rotting sea, we 
And drew my eyes away ; 

T looked upon the rotting deck, edolei teh 
And there the dead men lay. 


T looked to heaven, and tried to pray; 
But or ever a peayer hail gusht, 

A wicked whisper came, and made 
‘My heart as dry as dust. 


I closed my lids, and kept them close, 

And the balls like pulses beat 

For the sky and the sea, and the sea andthe sky a0 
Lay like x load on my weary eye, 

And the dead were at my feet. 


‘The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 
Nor rot nor reek did they : 

‘The look with which they looked on me 
Had never pasved away. 

An orphan's curse would drag to hell 

‘A spirit from on high ; 

Bat oh! more horrible than that 

Ts w curse in a dead man's eye! 

‘Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
And yet I could not die, 


i 


‘The moving Moon went up the sky, 
And no where did abide : 

Softly she was going up, 

And a star or two beside— 

Heg beams bemocked the sultry mais, ae 
Like April hosr-frost spread ; peers f 

But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 

‘The charmed water burnt alway = 
A still and awful red. 


aherin, XxVT, 4-F 
fy el’ grmire Mere, 
Cetra pu Arovinte 


eye) / peat» Me [Kam 


Fu 
itd 


Rh 





102 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





By the fight of the Beyond the shadow of the ship, 

Moon he teholdeth I watched the watersnakes : 

great calm, They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they reared, the elfish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes. 


Within the shadow of the ship 

I watched their rich attire : 

Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
They coiled and swam 5 and every track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 


“Their beauty and © happy living things 1 no tongue 
their happiness. ‘Their beauty might declare + 
A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
He bleweth them in And I blessed them unaware : 
hhis heart. Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
And I blessed them unaware, 


The spell begins to The selfsame moment I could pray; 
brea And from my neck so free 
The Albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 


Part V 


Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 

To Mary Queen the praise be given t 
She sent the. gentle sleep from Heaven, 
That slid into my soul. 


By grace ofthe holy The silly buckets on the deck, 
ot 


Rother, the sncicat That had so long remained, 


with rain. I dreamt that they were filled with dew ; 
And when I awoke, it rained. 


My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
My garments all were dank 

Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 


T moved, and could not feel my limbs = 
I was so light—almost 

I thought that T had died in sleep, 
And was a blessed ghost. 


He beareth sounds And soon T heard a roaring wind: = * 
snes ceante Tt did not come ancar 5 
fions in the sky and But with its sound it shook the sails, 


the element ‘That were so thin and sere, 





TEMG tom ee Phas 
Bat Bitpipe dtrer, Lok. a sfene / 
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 


And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 

To and fro they were hurried about ! 

And to and fro, and in and out, 

The wan stars danced between, — hi steac Jance 0m 


And the coming wind did roar more loud, 

And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 

And the rain poured down from one black cloud ; 
The Moon was at its edge. 


The thick black cloud was cleft, and still & 
foon was at its side: * 

Like waters shot from some high cmg, 

‘The lightning fell with never a jag, 

A river steep and wide. 


The loud wind never reached the ship, ) 
Yet now the ship moved on! f 
Beneath the lightning and the Moon 

The dead men gave a groan. 


‘They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 

It had been strange, even in a dream, 

To have seen those dead men rise, 


51 


‘The helmsman steered, the ship moved on ; 
Vet never a breeze up blew ; 

‘The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes, 
Where they were wont to do; 

‘They raised 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 pulled at one rope 
But he said nought to me. 


“1 fear thee, ancient Mariner !' ) 
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ! 4 
‘Dwas not those souls that fied in pain, / 
Which to their corses came again, } 
But a troop of spirits blest : 


panel 


Fer when it dawned—they dropped their arms, 
And clustered round the mast ; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through thelr mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 


Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
Then darted to the Sun ; 








toy THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





esas fit 


The lonesome Spirit 
from tha wouth-pole 
carries on the ship ax 
far us the Line, ln 





still requirerd venge 





of the element, 
partinhis wrong ; and 
two of them relate, 

‘one te the other, thax 


a 


Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mixed, now one by one. 


Sometimes a.dropping from the sky 

T heard the sky-lark sing; 

Sometimes all little birds that are, 

How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
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, 


It ceased 5 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 
Singeth a quiet tune, 


Till noon we quietly sailed on, dll, 
Yet never a breeze did breathe : 

Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 

Moved 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. 

The sails at noon left off thelr tune, 
And the ship stood still also. 


‘The Sun, right up above the mast, 
Had fixed her to the ocean + 

But in a minute she ‘gan stir, 

With a short uneasy motion— 
Backwards and forwards half her length 
With « short uneasy motion, 


Then like a pawing horse let py 
She made a sudden bound : 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound, 





How long in that same fit I lay, 
T have not to declare ; 

But ere my living life returned, 
T heard and in my son) discern 
‘Two voices in the air, 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





“Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man? 
By him who died on cress, 

With his cruel bow he laid full low 

The harmless Albatross. 


The spirit who bideth by himself 

Th the Jand of mist and snow, 

He loved the bird that loved the man 
‘Who shot him with his bow.” 


The other was a softer voice, 
As soft as honey-dew : 

‘Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done, 
And penance more will do,’ 


Part VI 
PIRST YOICE 


+ But tell me, tell me! speak again, 
‘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 ; 

His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Moon is cast— 


Ihe may know which way to go; 
For she guides him smooth or grim, 
See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.’ 


FIRST VOICE 


* But why drives on that ship vo fast, 
Without or wave or wind?" 


SRCOND VOICE 


* The air is eut away before, 
Ani closes from behind, 


Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high ! 
Or we shall be belated + 

For slow and slow that ship will go, 
When the Mariner's trance Js abated, 


I woke, and we were sailing on 
As ina gentle weather : 

“Twas night, calm night, the moon was high, 
The dead men stood together. 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





How loudly his sweet voice he rears! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 


He knecls at morn, and noon, and eve— 
He hath a cushion plump 

It is the moss that wholly hides 

The rotted old cak-stump. 


‘The skiff-boat neared; T heard them talk, 
“Why, this is strange, I tow! 

Where are those lights so many and fair, 
‘That signal made but now?” 


Approachaih ve ship‘ Strange, by my faith the Hermit said — 
with wonder. «And they answered not our cheer! 
The planks looked warped! and see those sails, 
How thin they are and sere! 
T never saw aught like to them, 
Unless perchance it were 


Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest-brook along; 


Whea the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
That eats the she-wolf's young.’ 


"Dear Loni! it hath « fiendish look— 
(The Pilot made reply) 

Lam a-feared'—* Push on, push on!” 
Said the Hermit cheerily. 


The boat came closer to the ship, 
But I nor spake nor stirred ; 

The boat came close beneath the ship, 
And straight a sound was heard. 


‘The ship mddenly Under the water it rumbled on, 
sa Still louder and more dread : 
It reached the ship, it split the bay; 
The ship went down like lead, 


The ancient Mariser Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 
= inthe Pikes’s Which sky and ocean sinote, 
: Like one that hath been seven days drowned. gif 
My body lay affoa 
But swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the Pilot's boat. 


Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
The boat span round and roend ; 

save that the Bill 
Was telling of the sound. 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit; 

The holy Hermit raised his eyes, 
And prayed where he did sit. 


I took the oars: the Pilot's bay, 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
His eyes went to and fro, 

‘Ha! ha!” quoth he, ‘full plain I see, 
The Devil knows how to row.” 


And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm land! 

‘The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 


*0 shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" 
The Hermit crossed his brow. 
“Say quick,’ quoth he, ‘I bid thee say— 43 
What manner of man art thou?” ree. 
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 
With a woful agony, 
Which forced me to begin my tale; ca 
And then it left me free, 

ad. & 


+ 
Since then, at an uncertain hour, thang 
That agony returns: 

And till my ghastly tale is told, 

This heart within me burns. 


1 pass, like night, from land to land; 
T have strange power of speech ; 
‘That moment that his face I see, 

1 know the man that mast hear me: 
To him my tale I teach, 


What loud uproar bursts from that door! 
The wedding-guests are there: 

Bat in the garden-bower the bride 

And bride-maids singing are: 

‘And hark the little vesper bell, 

Which biddeth me to prayer! 


© Wedding.Guest ! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide wide sea: 

So lonely “twas, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 





SONNETS OF NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTTOM 





O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
"Tis sweeter far to me, 

To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company !— 


To walk together to the kirk, 

And all together pray, 

While cach to his great Father bends, 
Old men, and babes, and loving friends 
And youths and maidens gay! 


And to teach, y-bia 
‘own example, love 
and reverence 10 all 


Farewell, fare’ 
‘To thee, thou W 


things that God made 
and Toveth, 


but this I tell 
dding-Guest! 
He prayeth well, who loveth well 
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. 


The Mariner, whose eye is bright, 
Whose beard with age Is hoar, 

Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest 
‘Turned from the bridegroom's door. 


: 
yrtel DiALaty 


He went like one that hath been stunned, 
And is of sense forlorn: 


A sadder and a wiser man, 


He rose the morrow morn. 


SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE 
MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY 
WRITERS 


[SGXED ‘NEHEMIAN MHIGGINROTTOM |] 


1 

Penstve at eve on the hard world I 
mus'd, 

And my poor heart was sad: so at the 
‘moon 

I gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd !—for, 
ah! how soon 

Eve darkens intonight, Mine eye perus’d 

With tearful vacancy the damfy grass 

Which wept and glitter'd in the paly 


ray; 
And I did pause me on my lonely way, 





s79P198- 


And mused me on those wretched ones 
who pass 
O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, 


alas ! 
Most of Myself I thought : when it -be- 
fell 


That the sooth Spirit of the breezy 
wood 

Breath’d in mine car—t All this is very 
well ; 

But much of one thing is for no thing 
good.” 

Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell ! 


TO SIMPLICITY 


©! Tdo love thee, meek Sinyplivity t 
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness 





chad 
tw od pv 


7 2 
FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER © “CTE. {ypa4 


Goes to my heart and soothes each small 


distress, 
Distress though small, yet haply great to | 
1 


me 
‘Tis tree oa Lady Fortune's gentlest pad 
T amble on; yet, though Riles not 


wi 
So sacl Tam !—but should a friend. and 1 
Grow cool and ariff, Of Lam rery sad t 
And then with sonnets and with sym- 


pathy 
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I yall ; 
Now of my false friend plaining plaint. 

ively, 
Now raving at mankind in general; 
Bat, whetherad or free, ‘ie dmple all, 
All very simple, meek Simplicity 1 

i 


ON A RUINED MOUSE IN A ROMANTIC 
COUNTRY 


Awp this reft house is that the which he 
And here his malt 


to wild, 
‘Sqweak, not anconscious of their father's 
Did ye pot sce ber gleaming thro’ the 
2 


Belike, she, the maiden all forlorn. 
What though she milk no cow with 


crumpled horn, 

Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst 
abe stray'd 

And aye beside her stalks her amorons 
‘| ! 

Suit om bis thighs theis wonted Lrogues 


are 

And thao) thon brogwes, still tatter'd 
Mi end nia soe 
‘As when thro’ broken clouds at night's 


Pe ti es forth thie full- 


ay 


FIRE, FAMINE, 
SLAUGHTER 

A WAR ECLOGUE 
The Scene a derolated Tract in La 
Vente, FAMINe is discovered lying 


on the ground ; 10 her enter FIRE and 
SLavcHTER. 


AND 


Fam, Susrens ! sisters! who vent you 


ere ? 
Slave, {to Firs], 1 will whisper it in 
her ear, 
Fire. Not no! 
Spirits hear what spirits tell: 
“Ewill make an holiday in Hell 
No! no! no! 
Myself, I named him once below, 
‘And all the souls, that damned be, 
Leaped up at once in anarchy, 
om (their ands and danced for 
i 
They no ong heeded me ; 
Bat laughed to hear Hell's burning 


Voigt re-echo laughter 


"Twill make an holic 
Fam, Whisper it, Frey oft 
In a dark hint, soft and slow. 
Slaw. Letters four do form his name— 
And who sent you? 
The same! the same ! 
He came by ‘stealth, and un- 
locked my den, 
And I have drank the blood since hey. 
Of thrice three hundred thousand men. 
Both, Who bade you do 't? 
“Shaw. ‘The same ! the same ! 
Letters four do form his name. 
He Jet me loose, and cried Halloo! 
To him alone the praise is due. 
Fam. Thanks, sister, thanks! the men 
have bled, 
Their wives and their children faint for 
bread. 
I stood in a swampy field of battle; 
| With bones and skulls I made a rattle, 





» 





uz 


THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN 





To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow 
And the homeless dog—bat they would 


not go, 
So off I few : for how could I bear 
To sce them gorge their dainty fare? 
I heard a groan and a peevish 
And through the chink of a cottage: 


Can sales = what I saw there? 
Both, Whisper it, sister! in our car. 
Fam. A baby beat its dying mother = 
T had starved the one and was starving 
the other f " 
Both. Who bade you do't? 
Fant, ‘The same! the same! 
Letters four do form his name. 
He let me loose, and cried, Halloo t 
To him alone the praise is due. 
Fire. Sisters! 1 from Ireland came! 
Hedge and corn-fields all on flame, 
1 triumph’d o'er the setting sun ! 
And all the while the work was done, 
On as I strode with my huge strides, 4 
T flung back my head and I held my sides, 
‘It was so rare a piece of fun 
To see the sweltered cattle run 
With uncouth gallop through the night, 
Scared by the red and noisy light ! 
By the light of his own blazing cot 
Was many a naked Rebel shot: 
The house-stream met the flame and 


hissed, 
While crash ! fell in the roof, I wist, 
‘On some of those old bed-rid nurses, 60 
That deal in discontent and curses, 
Both, Who bade you dot? 
Fire, The same! the same! 
Letters four do form his name. 
He let me loose, and cried Halloo! 
‘To him alone the praise is due, 
Al, He be us loose, and 
Halloo 
How shall we yield him honour due? 
Fam. Wisdom comes with lack of 
food. 
Til gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude, 
Till the cup of rage o'erbrim + 
‘They shall seize him and his brood— 
vos They shall tear him limb from 
limb ! 


cried 





Fire. © thankless beldames and un- 
true t 
‘And is this all that you can do 
Far him, who did so much for you? 
| Ninety months he, by my troth ! 
Hath richly catered for you both ; 
And in an hour would you repay 
‘An cight years’ work ?—Away ! away ! 
Lalone am faithfal! f 


Cling to him everlastingly. a797 


THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN = 
PREPATORY NOTE 


A prose composition, one not in metre at bo! 
seems prima facie to require 
apology. Ik was written in the year t798, near 
Nether Stowey, in , at which place 
CWoenctaen ef aeaabite momen! rich by so many 
asociations and recollections) the author had 
taken up his residence in onder to enjoy the 
society and close neighbourhood of a dear and 
honoured friend, 1, Poole, Esq. ‘The work was 
to have been written in concert with another 
{Wontsworth}, whose name ixtoo venerable within 
the precincts of genius to be unnecessarily brought 
into connection with atch a trifle, and who was 
then residing at small distance from Nether 
Stowey. The title and subject were suggested 
by myself, who likewise drew cut the scheme ” 
and the contents for each of she three books or 
santos, of which the work was to. consist, and 
which, the reader is to be informed, was to have 
been finished in one night! My partner under- 
took the first canto: 1 the secoad : and which 
ever had done frat, wns to set about the third. 
Almost thirty years hawe pasvot by; yet at this 
moment 1 cannot without something more than & 
sinile moot the question which of the two things 
vax the more impracticable, for a mind 50 
eminently original to compose another man's 
thoughts and fancies, or for a taste 50 
pure and simple to limitate the Death of Abel? 
Methinks 1 see bis grand and noble countenance 
aa at the moment when having despatehed my 
own portion of the task ak full fingerspeed, 1 
hastened (o him with my manuscript—ehat look 
of humourous despondency fixed on his almost 
blank sheet of paper, and then its silent mock: 
piteous admission of failure struggling with the 
sense of the exceeding ridiculeasness of the whole 
scheme—which broke up ia a laugh; and the 
Ancient Mariner was written Instead, 





THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN 





memory: and E can only offer the introductory 
stamms, which hed been committed to writing for 
the purpose of procuring a friend's judgment on 
the metre, as a specimen 


Excinctured with a twine of leaves, 


A bawe here given the bith, parentage, and 
Jrumative decease of the ‘Wanderings of Cain, 
iat Bowers iy Wenden.nct¥0 





‘THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN 
CANTO 11 


“A LITTLE further, O my father, yet a 
Title further, and we shall come into the 
open moonlight.’ Their road was 
through a forest of fir-trees; at its 
entrance the trees stood at distances 
from each other, and the path was 
broad, and the moonlight and the moon- 
light ‘shadows reposed upon it, and 
appeared quietly to inhabit that solitude, 
But soon the path winded and became 
narrow; the sun at high noon some- 
times speckled, but never illumined it, 
and now it was dark as a cavern. 


‘It is dark, O my father!" said 


Enos, ‘but the path under our feet is 

smooth and soft, and we shall soon come 

out into the open moonlight.’ 
‘Lead on, my child!’ 


said Cain; 
‘guide me, little child!’ And the 
innocent little child clasped a finger of 
the hand which had murdered the 
righteous Abel, and he guided his father, 
‘The fie branches drip upon thee, my 
son.’ ‘Yea, pleasantly, father, for I 
ran fast and eagerly to bring thee the 
pitcher and the cake, and my body is 
not yet cool. How happy the squirrels 
are that feed on these fir-trees! they 
leap from bough to bough, and the old 
squirrels play round their young ones in 
the nest. I clomb a tree yesterday at 
noon, O my father, that I. might play 
with them, but they leaped away fi 
the branches, even to the slender twigs 
did they Ieap, and in a moment I beheld 
them on another tree, Why, O my 
father, would they not play with me? 
I would be good to them as thou art 
good to me: and I groaned to them evea 
as thou groanest when thou givest me to 
eat, and when thou coverest me at even: 
ing, and as often as I stand at thy knee 
and thine eyes look at me?’ Then 
Cain stopped, and stifling his groans he 
sank to the earth, and the child Enos 
stood in the darkness beside him. 


I 





THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN 





‘Woe is me! 
never die again, and 
am perishing with thirst and 


as the reflection of the sheeted 

wy-sailing night- 

Cain; but the 

‘of the shaggy skin, 

raised his eyes to 

Bas whlene ty 
speak, 1 am sure, 

T beard that voice, 

we not J often said that I remembered 

sweet voice? O my father! this is 


Ae 


E 


gre 


FS 


ze 


like that of a feeble 


irs altogether, 
himself from weeping 
And, behold! Enos 


Fy 
Ht 


aa 


were those of his 
he had killed |!) And 
wl 


ho in his 
exceeding. terrible- 


eRe TS 
if 


pastures by the 
thou killedst 
jisery.’ Then 


hid them with 


tyne 
rif 
i 


§ 
F 


offering, wherefore hath he forsaken 
thee?’ Then the Shape shrieked o 
second time, and rent his garment, and 
his naked skin was like the white sands 
beneath their feet; and he shrieked yet 
@ third time, and threw himself on his 
face upon the sand that was black with 
the shadow of the rock, and Cain and 
Enos sate beside him; the child by 
his right hand, and Cain by his left. 
They were all three under the rock, and 
within the shadow, ‘The Shape that was 
like Abel raised! himself up, and spake to 
the child, ‘I know where the cold 
waters are, but I may not drink, where- 
fore didst thou then take away my 
pitcher?" But Cain said, ‘Didst thou 
‘not find favour in the sight of the Lord 
thy God?’ The Shape answered, 
«The Lord is God of the living only, 
the dead have another God.” Then 
the child Enos lifted up his eyes and 
prayed ; but Cain rejoiced secretly in his 
heart. * Wretched shall they be all 
the days of their mortal life,’ exclaimed 
the Shape, ‘who sacrifice worthy and 
acceptable sacrifices to the God of the 
dead ; but after death their toil ceaseth. 
Woe is me, for I was well beloved by 
the God of the living, and cruel wert 
thou, O my brother, who didst snatch 
me away from his power and his domin- 
fon.’ Having uttered these words, he 
rose suddenly, and fled over the sands : 
and Cain said in his heart, *The curse 
of the Lord is on me; but who is the 
God of the dead?’ and he ran after the 
Shape, and the Shape fled shrieking over 
the sands, and the sands rose like white 
mists behind the steps of Cain, but the 
feet of him that was like Abel disturbed 
not the sands. He greatly outrun Cain, 
and turning short, he wheeled round, 
and came again to the rock where they 
had been sitting, and where Enos still 


| stood ; and the child caught bold of his 


garment as he passed by, and he fell 
upon the ground, And Cain stopped, 
and beholding him not, sai he has 
| passed into the dark woods,” and he 











CHRISTABEL 


117 





‘That shadowy in the moonligh : 
‘The neck that made that white robe wan, 
Her stately neck, and arms were bare ; 
‘Her blue-veined feet unsandal’d were, 


Mary mother, save me now! 
(Said Christabel,) And who art thou? zo 


The made answer mect, 


Diabet oesec es ft “and sweet -— 


speak 
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear ! 
Said Chiristabel, How camest thou here ? 
And the lady, whave voice was faint and 


‘sweet, 
Did thus parsoe her answer meet -— 


‘My sire is of a noble line, 


‘sperred amain, their steeds were 
white : 
And once we crossed the shade of night. 
As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, 
Thave no thought what men they be; 9° 
Nor do I know how long it is 
(For 1 have lain entranced I wis) 
‘Since one, the tallest of the five, 
Took me from the palfrey’s back, 
A weary woman, scarce alive. 
‘mattered words his comrades 





Sounds as of a castle bell. 
‘Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she), 
And help a wretched maid to flee. 


‘Then Christabel stretched forth her hand, 
And comforted fair Geraldine : 
© well, bright dame! may you com: 


mani 
The service of Sir Leoline ; 

And gladly our stout chivalry 

Will he send forth and friends withal 
To guide and guard you safe and free 110 
Home to your noble father's hall. 


She rose; and forth with steps they 
passed 

‘That strove to be, and were not, fast. 
Her gracious stars the lady blest, 
And thus spake on sweet Christabel : 
All our household are at rest, 

‘The hall as silent as the cell ; 

‘Sir Leoline is weak in health, 

And may not well awakened be, 

But we will move as if in stealth, 
And I beseech your courtesy, 

‘This night, to share your couch with me. 


120 


They crossed the moat, and Christabel 

Took the key that fitted well ; 

A little door she opened straight, 

All in the middle of the gate ¢ 

The gate that was ironed within and 
without, 

Where an army in battle array had 
marched out. 

The Jady sank, belike through pain, 

And Christabel with might and main 30 

Lifted her up, a weary weight, 

Over the threshold of the gate : 

Then the lady rose again, 

And moved, as she were not in pain. 


So free from danger, free from fear, 

‘They crossed the court : right glad they 
were, 

And Christabel devoutly cried 

‘To the lady by her side, 

Praise we the Virgin all divine 

‘Who hath rescued thee from thy dis- 
‘tress | 40 





n8 


CHRISTABEL 


SS 
Alas, alas! said Geraldine, ‘The lamp with twofold silver chain 
fect. 


T cannot speak for weariness. 

So free from danger, free from fear, 

They crossed the court: right glad they 
were. 


Outside her kennel, the mastiff old 
Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. 
The mastiff old did not awake, 

Yet she an angry moan did make t 
‘And what can ail the mastif biteb ? 
Never till now she uttered yell 
Beneath the eye of Christabel. 
Perhaps it is the owlet’s scritch : 
For what can ail the mastiff bitch ? 


1» 


They passed the hall, that echoes still, 

Pass as lightly as you will ! 

‘The beands were flat, the brands were 
yi 


Amid their own white ashes lying 5 
But when the lady passed, there came 
A tongue of light, a fit of flame ; 
‘And Christabel saw the lady's eye, 
‘And nothing else saw she thereby, 
Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline 


ato 


tall, 

Which hung in a murky old niche in the 
wall, 

© softly tread, said Christabel, 

My father seldom sleepeth well. 


Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, 

And jealous of the listening air 

‘They steal their way from stair to stair, 

Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, 

‘And now they pass the Baron's room, 170 

As still as death, with stified breath ! 

And now have reached her chamber 
door 5 

And now doth Geraldine press down 

The rushes of the chamber floor. 


‘The moon shines dim in the open ait, 
And not a moonbeam enters here. 

Bat they without its light can see 

‘The chamber carved so curiously, 
Carved with figures strange and sweet, 
All made out of the carver's brain, 86, 
For a lady's chamber meet : 





Is fastened to an angel 


The silver lamp burns dead and dim 5 

But Christabel the lamp will trim. 

She trimmed the lamp, and made it 
bright, 

And left it swinging to and fro, 

While Geraldine, in wretched plight, 

Sank down upon the floor below. 


O weary Indy, Geraldine, = 
I pray you, drink this cordial wine ! 

It is a wine of virtuous powers ¢ 

My mother made it of wild flowers. 


And will your mother pit 

‘Who ata a thaiden sont boriata gd 
Christabel answered—Woe is met 

She died the hour that I was born. 

T have heard the grey-haired friar tell 
How on her death-bed she did say, 

That she should hear the castle-bell 200 
Strike twelve upon my wedding-day. 

© mother dear ! that thou wert here ! 

I would, said Geraldine, she were ! 


But soon with altered voice, said she— 
“Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 
I have power to bid thee flee.’ 

Alas! what ails poor Geraldine ? 

Why stares she with unsettled eye? 

Can she the bodiless dead espy ? 

And why with hollow voice cries she, 2x0 
“Off, woman, off! this hour is mine— 
‘Though thou her guardian spirit be, 

Off, woman, off { “tis given to me," 


‘Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, 
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue— 
‘Alas ! said she, this ghastly ride— 

Dear lady 1 it hath wildered yout 

The larly wiped her moist cold brow, 
Aad faintly said, "tis over now !? 


Again the wild-flower wine she drank : 
Her fair large eyes ‘gan glitter sigh 
And from the floor whereon she sank, 
The lofty lady stood upright : 

She was most beautiful to see, 

Like a lady of a far countrée, 





CHRISTABEL 





ea 


~ 
5 


i 


g 


agegee Fy 
ie 


i 
i 


ie 


ft 
i 
Ss 


Jord of thy utterance, Christa- 
belt 





Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know 
to-morrow, 
This mark of my shame, this seal of my 
sorrow j 970 
But ly thou warrest, 
For this is alone in 
Thy power to declare, 
That in the dim forest 
Thou heard'st a low moaning, 
And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly 
fair 5 
And didst bring her home with thee in 
love and in charity, 
To shield her and shelter her from the 
damp air.’ 


THE CONCLUSION 
TO PART THE FIRST 


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

Amid the jagged shadows 

Of mossy leafless boughs, 

Kneeling in the moonli 

To make her gentle vows ; 
Her slender palms together prest, 
Heaving sometimes on her breast ; 
Her face resigned to bliss or bale 
Her face, ob call it fair not pale, 
And both blue eyes more bright than 

clear, m0 

Each about to have a tear, 


With open eyes (ah woe is me f) 

Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, 
Fearfully dreaming, yet, 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, 
Scems to slumber still and mild, ye 
‘Asa mother with her child. 


A star hath set, a star hath risen, 
© Geraldine ! since arms of thine 

Have been the lovely Jady's prison 
Geraldine ! one hour was thin 
Thow'st had thy will! By tairn and rill, 








CHRISTABEL 


#87 


iY py 
HE 


Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, 
furmuring o'er the name again, 
Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? 


thorny 5 and youth is vain 
wroth with ome we love 


stood aloof, the scars remaining, 
whieh had been rent asunder ; 
flows between. 
‘nor frost, nor thunder, 
way, Tween, 
‘The marks of that which once hath been, 


a space, 
gating on the damsel's face 
‘And the youthfal Lord of Tryermaine 
spon his heart again, 





121 


‘That they, who thus had wronged the 
dame 

Were base as spotted infamy ! 

“And if they dare deny the same, 

My herald shall appoint a week, 

And let the recreant traitors seek = 440 

My tourney court—that there and then 

I may dislodge their reptile souls 

From the bodies and forms of men !” 

He spake + his eye in lightning rolls ! 

For the Indy was ruthlessly selzed ; and 
he kenned 

In the beautiful lady the child of his 
friend ! 


And now the tears were on his face, 

‘And fondly in his arms he took 

Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace, 

Prolonging it with joyous look. 40 

Which when she viewed, a vision fell 

Upon the soul of Christabel, 

‘The vision of fear, the touch and pain | 

She shrunk and shuddered, and saw 
again— 

(Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee, 

‘Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?) 


Again she saw that bosom old, 

Again she felt that bosom cold, 

And drew in her breath with a hissing 
soul 

Whereat 
round, 


nd: 
the Knight tumed wildly 
abo 
And nothing saw, but his own sweet 


maid 
With eyes upraised, as one that prayed. 


‘The touch, the sight had passed away, 
And in its stead that vision blest, 
Which comforted her after-rest, 
While in the Indy’s arms she lay, 
Had put a rapture in her breast, 
And on her lips and o'er her eyes 
Spread smiles like light! 

‘With new surprise, 
* What ails then my beloved child?’ 470 
‘The Baron said—His daughter mild 
‘Made answer, * All will yet be well !” 
I ween, she had no power to tell 
Aught else: so mighty was the spell. 








CHRISTABEL 


But though my shamber was gone by, 
‘This dream it would eer 
Tt seems to live upon my eye 

ep trese ty cored Va eeame day 
With music strong and saintly song 361 
‘To wander th the forest bare, 
‘Lest aught unboly loiter there.’ 


‘Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while, 
ling 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 beautcous 


With arms ‘more strong than harp or 


so 
sire and I will crush the snake!’ 
forehead 38 he spake, 
line in maiden wise 
down her large bright eyes, 
blushing cheek and courtesy fine 
terned her from Sir Leoline ; 


an 


her right arm fell again ; 
arms across her chest, 579 
her head upon her breast, 
looked askance at Christabel 
aria, shield her well ! 


I eye blinks dull and shy, 
's eyes they shrunk in her 


age 


tip to a serpent’s cye, 
somewhat of malice, and more 


‘At Chatistabel she Jook'sl askance !— 
One moment —and the sight was 


Bed! 
But Christabel in dizzy trance 
6 the ensteady ground — 90 
alond, with @ hissing sound ; 


And Geraldine again turne:! round, 
And like a thing, that sought rcliel, 
Biictwondes =~ fall of grief, 

rolled ‘right eyes divine 
‘Wildly on Sir Leotine. 


‘The maid, alas! her thoughts c, 
‘She nothing sees—no sight conga 


123 








The maid, devoid of guile and sin, 
T 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 t 

And passively did imitate 

That look of dull and treacherous hate t 
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, 
Still picturing that look askance 
With forced unconscious sympathy 
Full before her father’s view—— 
As far a5 such 2 look could be 

In eyes so innocent and blue ! 


00 


610 


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 J entreat 

That thou this woman send away !* 

She said: and more she could not 
sayt 

For what she knew she could not tell, 

O'er-mastered by the mighty spell. 620 


Why is thy check so wan and wild, 
Sir Leoline? Thy only child 
Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, 
So fair, so innocent, so mil 
The same, for whom thy indy 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 : 
ayed that the babe for wham she died, 
Might prove her dear lord's joy and 
ride ! 63 
That prayer her dently pangs beguiled, 
ir Leol 
ied wea ase rst ty Seay A 
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, Oe 
Dishonour'd thus in his old age ; 












notion 

ex all her hills 
naltered, sang 

ie tyrant-quelling 
‘and vain 

ial aim 

thy holy 

e 

of delivered 


though ye hid his 
soothe my soul, that 
led, 








‘Then I reproached my fears that would 
not flee ; 
*And soon,” I said, ‘shall Wisdom 
teacl lore 
In the Lio aes of them that toil and 
60 


And, conquering by her happiness alone, 
Shall ss eal the Bations to be 


Till Love and Joy look round, andl call 
the Earth their own,’ 


v 


Forgive me, Freedom! forgive those 
dreams ! 
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud 
Jament, 
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 esting wounds ; forgive = 
that I cherished 
One thought that ever blessed your end 
foes 


To scatter mge and traitorous 
Where Peace her jealous home 
‘A patriot-race to disigherit 

Of all that made their stormy wilds so 


built 


dear ; 
And with inexpiable 


To taint the bloodless lom of the 
mountaineer— 

© France, that mockest Heaven, addul 
terous, blind, 


And patriot only in pernicious toils ! 

Are these thy boasts, Champion of coe 
kind? 

To nies ibs Kings in the low lust ot 


Yellin hel ‘us, and share the murderous 
preys 
To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils 


From freemen torn; to tempt and to 
betray ? 


BEARS IN SOLITUDE 


127 





Save if the door half opened, and 1 
snatched 

A hasty glance, and still, my heart 
UPy 

Fer sat Tope ose the sree 

Townsman, or aunt, or sister more 


My play-mate when we both were 
clothed alike ! 


Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by 
Whose 2 Tbreathings, heard in this 
calm, 

WiLep the istesperod vacancies 
‘momentary pauses of the thought ! 
My sella er 
fender gladness, thus to look at 

thee, 

And think that thou shalt learn far other 


lore, * 
hates saber sees For T was 


pays pent "mid cloisters dim, 
ere 
Dat yy tet se war Ihe 
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the 
a a 
‘Which image in thelr bulk both lakes 
and shores 
And mountain crags: so shalt thou sce 
and hear 
and sounds intelligible 
which thy God 
‘Utters, who from eternity doth teach or 
Hissseifin all, and all things in bine, 
‘Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould 
‘Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. 
‘Therefore ali seasons shall be sweet to 
Whether the summer clothe the gencral 
earth 


\ al nal the redbrenst sit and 








Betwixt’ the tufts of snow on the bare 
branch 


e 
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh 
thatch 


Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the 
‘eave-drops fall 70 
Heard only in the trances of the blast, 
Or if the secret ministry of frost 
Shall hang them up in silent icicles, 
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon, 
February 139% 


FEARS IN SOLITUDE 


WRITTEN IN APRIL (798, DURING 
‘THE ALARM OF AN INVASION 


A Gnxen and silent spot, amid the hills, 
A small and silent dell! Over stiller 


place 
No singing sky-Jark ever poised. himself, 
The hills are heathy, save that swelling 


slope, 
Which hath & gay and gorgeous covering 


on, 

All golden with the never-bloomless furze, 

Which now blooms most profusely : but 
the dell, 

Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate 

As vernal cornfield, or the unripe flax, 

When, through its hat-transparent stalks, 
at eve, 

The level sunshine slimmers with green 


Ob ‘isk quiet spirit-heaing nook t 

Which all, methinks, would love ; but 
chielly he, 

The humble man, who, in his youthful 


years, 

Knew just so much of folly, ax had made 

His early manhood more securely wise ! 

Here he might lie on fern or withered 
heath, 

While from the singing lark (that sings 
unseen, 

‘The minstrelsy that solitude loves best), 

And from the sun, and from the breezy 
air, » 

Sweet Influences trembled o'er his frame 3 





FEARS IN SOLITUDE 


And he, with many feelings, many 

Made up « meditative joy, and found 

Religious meanings in the forms of 
Nature ! 

And so, his senses gradually 

In a half sleep, he dreams of better 


worlds, 
ele oe henge 3 
‘That singest like an angel in the clouds ! 


My God! it is a melancholy thing 
pc ss wt cy | whi oelA EA ob 


preserve 
His spi calmness, yet perforce one 


For all his human brethren—O my God ! 
te cig apes the heart, that he must 


‘What cp and what strife may now 
ing 
This ion ele way o'er these silent 


Tovasion, and the thunder and the shout, 
And all the crash of onset; fear and 


rage, 
And undetermined conflict—even now, 
Even mys perchance, and in his native 


Carnage and groans beneath this pon 
sunt 

We have cisenad, Ohi aap connteyment 

We have offended very grievously, 

And been most tyrannous, From east 
to west 

A groan of accusation pierces Heaven ! 
The Tse plead against us; multi- 


Reaullanah vehement, the sons of God, 
Our a ec Like a cloud that travels 


Steam'd p from Cairo’s. swamps of 
pestilence, 

Even =, my countrymen ! have we gone 
orth 

And borne to distant tribes slavery and 


nr, our vices, whose deep 





With slow perdition murders the whole 
man, 

His body and his soul! Meanwhile, at 
home, 


One Benefit.Club for mutual flattery, 
Puliatious ‘hoes the ataiea Nene 
Pua from the brimming cup of 


Contempt: ‘ofall honourable rule, 
Yet Davterngfeedom andthe por man's 


For go asa a make ‘The sweet 


of Christian words that even 
Might stem Teresten were prin: 


preached, 
Are muttered o'er by men, whose tones 
im 
How flat and wearisome they feel thei 
trader 


Rank scoffers some, but most too indotent 
To gare a eat ee | 


Oh! ite Oe 
pantie nataossaney PORES ] 


court 5 < 
‘All, all must swear, the briber 
bribed, 


‘Merchant and lawyer, senator , 
Toe et ee presen 


All, all make top one acheme: ef} 


‘That falh’ dot ret twang 





FEARS IN SOLITUDE 





(Portentous sight !) the owlet Atheism, 
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the 


oon, 

Drops his tlee-fringod lids, and holds 
them clase, 

And ta hg at the glorious sun in 
Hea 

Cries out, * Where i is it?” 


‘Thankless too for peace, 
(Peace long preserved by fleets and 


seas) 
Seome fom actos! watitre, we tare 
To swe Ie warewhoop, passionate for 


Alas! hee jorant of all 
its ae (Gamine'ee' blie 


Battle, or siege, or flight through wintry 
snows, 
We, this whole people, have been 
Gamoroes 
For war and bloodshed; animating 
sports, 
The which we pay foras a thing to talk of, 
and not combatantst No guess 
Anticipative of a wrong wnfelt, 
No ged ‘on contingeney, 
‘and vague, too vague and 


gfe a gee cod forth, 120 
(Stuffed out with big preamble, boly 


names, 
And adjerations of the God in Heaven,) 
We semi oer mandates for the certain 


Se ee Boys 
And women, that would groan to see a 


Pall off an insect's teg, all read of war, 
The best amusement for our morning 


meal! 
The poor wrete, who has learnt his only 


prayers 
¥rom curses, who knows scarcely words 
To mk a from his Heavenly 





Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute 

And technical in victories and defeats, 

And all our dainty terms for fratricide ; 

Terms which we trundle smoothly o'er 
‘our tongues 

Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to 
whic 

We join no feeling and attach no form t 

As if the soldier died without a wound ; 

As if the fibres of this godlike frame 

Were gored without a pang; as if the 
wretch, 

Who fell in battle, doing bloody deeds, 

Passed off to Heaven, translated and not 
killed ; iar 

As though he had no wife to pine for him, 

No God to judge him! Therefore, evil 
days 

Are coming on us, © my countrymen 1 

‘And what if all-avenging Providence, 

Strong and retributive, should make us 
know 

The meaning of our words, force us to 
foe! 

‘The desolation and the agony 

Of our fierce doings? 


Spare us yet awhile, 

Father and God! O1! spare us yet 

awhile! 1 

Oh! let not English women drag their 
flight 

Fainting beneath the burthen of their 
babes, 


Of the sweet infants, that but yesterday 

Laughed at the breast ! Sons, brothers, 
husbands, all 

Who ever gazed with fondness on the 

rms 

Which grew up with you round the same 
fire-side, 

And all who ever heard the sabbath-bells 

Without the infidel’s scorn, make your- 
selves pure! 

Stand forth ! be men ! repel an impious 
for, 

Impious and false, a light yet eruel rac 

Who laugh away all virtue, min 
mirth ut 

With deeds of murder ; and still promising 


x 





TO A YOUNG LADY—THE NIGHTINGALE 








The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze 
‘The light has left the summit of the hill, 
still a sunny gleam lies beautiful, 


‘Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell, 
Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot ! 
On the x sheep-track, up the heathy 
Homeward I wind my way; and tot 


recalled 
From bodings te avo, wel -nigh 
wearied m 


Te cael open the brow, and pause 
Startled! And after lonely sojourning 
fn such a quict and surrounded nook, 
‘This burst. of prospect, here the shadowy 


main, 

Dim-tinted, there the mighty majesty 

Of that amphitheatre of rich 

And elmy seems like society— 
with the mind, and giving it 

A. livelier Jmpalse and’ a dance ot 


thought ! 

And now, beloved Stowey I behold 
‘Thy charch-tower, and, methinks, the 
elms 

mark the mansion of 


my friend ; 
‘And close behind them, hidden from my 


Sie asta honty Coline where my babe 
‘And my tabe's mother dwell in peace 


Night 
And quickencd footsteps thitherward I 


tend, 
Remembering thee, O green and silent 
it 
And ful, that by nature's quictness 
And — all my heart ay 
Is soften’d, amd made worthy to indulge 
Love, and the thoughts that yearn for 
buman kind, 


Nernex Srowny, April 20th, 1798. 


TO A YOUNG LADY 
(Miss. Lavinta Poot] 
ON HEK RECOVERY FROM A FEVER 


Pour need Tsay, Lovie das 
How glad T am to see you here, 





A lovely convalescent 
Risen from the bed of pain and fear, 
And feverish heat incessant, 


The sunny showers, the dappled sky, 

‘The little birds that warble high, 
‘Their vernal loves commencing, 

Will better welcome you than 
With their sweet influencing, 


Believe me, while in bed you lay, 

Your danger taught us all to pray ¢ 
‘You made us grow devouter ! 

Each eye looked up and seemed to say, 
How can we do without her? 


Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew 
‘They have no need of such as you 

In the place where you were gaing 1 
This World bas angels all too few, 

And Heaven is overflowing ! 

March 31, 179% 


THE NIGHTINGALE 


A CONVERSATION POEM, WRITTEN IN 
APRIL 1798 


No cloud, no relique of the sunken day 

Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip 

Of sullen tight, no obscure trembling 
hues, 

Come, we will rest on this old mossy 
bridge 1 

You see the glimmer of the stream 
beneath, 

But hear no murmuring : it flows silently, 

O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, 

A balmy night | and though the stars be 
dim, 

Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 

That gladden the green earth, and we 
shall find om 

A pleasure in the dimness of the stars, 

And hark! the Nightingale begins its 


song, 
«Most musical, most melancholy’ bird ! 
Armelancholy bird? Oh! idle thought ! 
In Natute there is nothing melancholy. 
But some night-wandering man whose 
heart was pierced 





| 


132 


THE NIGHTINGALE 





With the remembesnce of 2 grievous 


‘wroog, 

Or slow distemper, of neglected lore, 

{And so, poor wretch ! Gi'd all things 
with himeetf, 

And made all gentle sounds tell back the 
tale 


> 

Of bis own sorrow) he, and such as he, 

First named these notes a melancholy 
strain. 

And many a poet echoes the conceit ; 

Poet who bath been beilding up the 


rhyme 
When he had better far have stretched 
his limbs 


Beside a brook in mossy forest-detl, 
By sun or moon-light, to the influxes 
of agit a sounds and shifting cle- 
Simesdeiegs his whole spirit, of his 


song 
And of his fame forgetful ! so his fe 30 
Should share in Nature’s immortality, 
‘A venerable thing ! and so his song 
Should make all Nature lovelier, and 
itself 
Be loved like Nature! 
be £0 5 
And youths and maidens most poetical, 
Who lose the deepening twilights of the 


But "twill not 


spring 
Tn ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still 
Full of meck sympathy must heave their 


aig 
O'er Philomela’s pity-pleailing strains. 


My Friend, and thou, our Sister! we 
have learnt ” 
A different lore; we may not thas 
profane 
Nature's sweet voices, always full of love 
And joyance ! "Tis the merry Nightingale 
‘That crowds, and hurries, and pre- 
Gpitates 
‘With fast thick warble his delicious notes, 
“As he were fearfal that an April night 
| Weald be too short for him touutter forth 
Jove-chant, and disburthen his full 
soul 
fall its music! 


| They answer and provoke 





And 1 keow a grove 
Of large extent, hard bya castle huge, 9 
Which the great lord inhabits not and 


© 

‘This grove is wild with tangling under. 
wood, 

‘And the trim walks are broken wp, and 
grass, 

Thin grass and king-cops grow within 
a 

Bot never a oe 

So many i and near, 


ightingales 
In wood and thicket, over the wile grove, 
each other's 


songs, 

With skirmish and capricious 

And seaeacspielcal sedlaw inti : 

‘And one low “Pisiog sad more sweet 
than all ér 

Stirring the air rat aaeh Gv baa 

That should you close your eyes, you 
might almost Gn 

Forget it was not day! moonlight 
bushes, 


Whose dewy leaflets are but half-disclosed, 
You ari behold them on the 


Their wig bright eyes, their eyes both 

t and fly : 

Giistening® while many a glow-worns in 
the shad = 


the le 
Lights up her love-torch. 


‘A most gentle Maid, 
Who dwelleth in her hospitable home ze 
Hard by the castle, and at latest eve 
(Even like a Lady vowed and dedicate 
To something more than Nature in the 


grove) 

Glides through the pathways she knows 
all thelr notes, 

That gentle Maid! and off, a moment's 


space, 

What time the moon was Jost bebind a 
loud, 

Hath heard a pause of silence; till the 


moon 
Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky 
With one sensation, and those wakeful 

bints ” 





133 





Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy, 
As if some sodden gale had swept at once 
A bundred airy harps! And she hath 


laghtir ch giddil; 
co ane 


© 

And to that motion tune his wanton song 

Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing 
head. 

Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow 

ere, 

And you, my friends! farewell, a short 
farewell : 

We have been loitering long and plea- 

And now for ost dear homes.— That 
strain again 1 co 

Full Gain it would delay me? My dear 

Who, capable of no articulate sound, 

Mae al ings with be imitative, 

How he place his hand beside his 


ear, 
His fittle hand, the small forefinger up, 
And bed ws listen! And I deem it 


He 


wise 

To make him Nature's play-mate. 
knows well 

The evening-staz; and once, when he 
awoke 

Tn most Pia mood (some inward 

Had made ed that strange thing, an 


SG femier a tea fe nar cechard, mais 
And he bebeld the moon, and, hushed at 


0ace, 
Ae lag 
While his fir eyes, that swam with 


Wik gtr the yeti moon-bcam 
“4 Weil !— 
}) It be a father’s tale = Hat if that Heaven 
Should give me life, his childhood shal! 
grow up 
Familiar with these “76h that with the 
night 


© bp. 


dined 


Sy Viton et Ne 0 
bed ci 
Ate 4 ‘ 





He may associate joy.—Once more, 
farewell, 

Sweet Nightingale ! once more, my 
friends | farewell, 10 


RECANTATION 


ILLUSTRATED IN THE STORY OF THE 
MAD Ox 


TAs printed in the Morming Post for July 30, 
rth the following heading— 
ORIGINAL PORTRY 
A TALE 


The following amusing Tale gives a very huim- 
ourous description of the French Revolution, 
which is represented as an Ox} 


AW Ox, long fed with musty hay, 
And work'd with yoke and chain, 
Was loosen'd on an April day, 
‘When fields are in their best array, 
And growing grasses sparkle gay 
‘At once with sun and rain. 


u 
‘The grass was fine, the sun was bright— 
With truth I may aver it ; 
The beast was glad, as well he might, 
Thought a green meadow no bad 
sight, 10 
And frisk'd,—to shew his huge delight, 
Much like a beast of spirit. 


“Stop, neighbours, stop, why these 
alarms? 
The ox is only glad 1” 
Hut still they pour from cots and farms — 
*Halloo !* the parish is up in arms, 
(A Aoaxing-hunt has always charms) 
“Hallo ! the ox is mad.” 


vw 


The frighted ox scamper’d about— 
Plange! throvgh the hedge 
drove + 
‘The mob pursue with hideous rout, 





in RECANTATION 


A all atog Garon \t om this: smeet 
V Wve gees Whe fog 2 bis somgme Bangs | oy see 
oo) 


eS wed, BOS ae, Og Feee th 
. 


Soy waghoan sang Stet BE oil 
oe ee a 
oe ae Re Se Se 
a ee ee Sie 
oa, = 


feere, 
‘They're both alike the agse 


xt 


| And so this ox, in frantic mosdl, 
Fac'd round like a mad Bull! 


But had his belly full 1 


xu 


‘Old Nick's astride the ox, “tis dear? 
Old Nicholas, to a tittle? 


- 
ites! “Sap Ralluwe the poor beast, 


Mam Teen Bed, Dick and Walter. 


xa * 
eth, (Wena bis evil day), 
RS iret hing its is shoes 5 
Ds, Wad, hie what cou'd he say? 
Hahek ee tide’ with dismay, 
et wee ole Dimon, mid the fray, 
Mabess is his death's bruise. 


ix 


Iualisst ox wlrowe om (bat h 
Retispel scarce more true ix 
Shops abort in mid career 
Reader, do not sneer 2 

ise bun drop a tear, 

fos goed! old Lewis 1) 





Bat all agreed, he'd disappear, 

Wonld bat the Parson venture mest, 

And through bis teeth," right o'er the 
steer, 


Squirt out some fasting spittle. 


xiv 


| Achilles was a warrior floct, 


‘The Trojans he could worry + 


| Oar Parson too was swift of feet, 


Bat shew’d it chiefly in retreat : 
‘The victor ox drove down the street, 
The mob fled hurry-scutry, 


According to the cormmen sepertition there 
are two ways of fighting with the Devil. You 
coy ca hin io half wah sree, or ba eal 
vanish if you spit over his horns with « fasting 
spittle. [Note by S. T. Cte A, Pettd 





eee « 


Tim of wine 


Ho. od eM ; 


yo 


Myrna 4 he 
Wirt 


aa 


135 





xv 
Through gardens, lanes and fields new- 
rd, 


Throvgh Ais bedge, and through Aer 
hedge, 
He plang’d and. tos'd and bellow'd 
oud. 


Till in his madness he grew proud 
To see this helter-skelter crowd 
‘That had more wrath than courage! yo 


XVI 


Alack ! to mend the breaches wide 
He made for these poor ninnies, 
‘They all must work, whate'er betide, 

_ Both days and months, and pay beside 
(Sad news for Av'rice and for Pride), 
A sight of golden guineas ! 


xvi 


But here once more to view did pop 
‘The man that kept his senses— 
And now be baw!'d, —* Stop, neighbours, 


stop! 
‘The ox is mad! I would not swop, 100 
No f nota school-boy’s farthing top 
For all the parish-fences." 


xyitr 


*The ox is mad! Tom! Walter! Mat!" 
“What means this coward fuss ? 

Ho! stretch this rope across the plat— 

"Twill trip him up—or if not that, 

Why, dam'me! we must lay him flat— 
‘See ! bere’s my blunderbuss.’ 


xix 
+A barefaced dog! just now he said 
The ox was only glad tto 
Lat's break his head t" 
“Huh ¢° qooth the sage, "you've been 


No quarrels now ! let's alll make head, 
You dreve the poor ox mad.’ 
xx 


‘But lo, to interrupt my chat, 
With the ‘wot newspaper, 





In eager haste, without his hat, 

As blind and blund’ring as a bat, 

In rush’d that fierce aristocrat, 
Our pursy woollen-draper, 


XXL 


And 50 my Muse per force drew bit 5 
And he rush’d in and panted ! 
‘Wall, have you heard?” No, not a 


whit. 
‘What, ha'at you heard?’ Come, out 
‘with it f 
“That Tierney's wounded Mister Pir, 
And his fine tongue enchanted,’ 


LOVE * 


ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 

And feed his sacred flame. 


Of in my waking dreams do I 

Live o'er again that happy hour, 

When midway on the mount I Jay, 
Beside the ruined tower, 


‘The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene 

Had blended with the lights of eve; 10 

And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
My own dear Genevieve ! 


She leant against the armed man, 

The statue of the armed knight 5 

She stood and listened to my lay, 
‘Amid the lingering light. 


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 


T played a soft and doleful air, 

T sang an old and moving story— 

An old rude song, that suited well 
‘That evin wild and hoary, 


She fistened with a fitting blush, 

With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 

For well she knew, T could not choose 
But gaze upon her face, 





HEXAMETERS 


7 





The tines whe senda her little page 

Up the castied mountain's breast, » 

Whe might find the Knight that wears 
ee his crest. 


Tht ar was sloping down the sky, 

ed she had baat there all day, 

rae Somes, dreaming fears— 
Ob wherefore can he stay? 


Shes a mtlng oe the trook, 

She sees far off a swinging 

“Ti He! "Tis my betrothed. icnight 
Lord Falkland, it is Thou!’ 0 


SSe springs, she clasps him round the 


neck, 
Se sots a thousand hopes and fears, 
Her kisses slowing on his checks 
She quenches with her tears, 


‘My friends with rude ungentle words 
scoff ancl bid moe Ay to thee 


‘My Henry, I have given thee much, 
eave what I.can nee rcal, » 
sere my heart, I gave my peace, 
© Heaven! 1 gave thee all.’ 


oe shall be my love's, 
The biben carte of bovis 


closed you 
fied we two will steal 
Beneath the twinkling stars !’— 


‘The dark? the dark? No! not the 
dark? 

‘The twinkling stars? How, Henry? 
How? 


axe? ees ter eve of oon 
He pledged his sacred vow ! 





«And in the eye of noon my love 

Shall lead me from my mother’s doar, se 

Sweet boys and gitls all glothed in white 
Strewing flowers 


* But first the nodding minstrels go 

With music meet for lordly bowers, 

"The children next in anow-while wal, 
Strewing buds and flowers ! 


+ And then my love and I shall pace, 
My jet black hair in pearly braids, 
Between our comely bachelors 

And blushing bridal maids.” 


3798. 


HEXAMETERS 
[Sent in a letter from Rataeburg to the Words- 
worths at Geular in the winter of 17985 ‘The 
seven lines beginning ‘O! what a life is the 
eye" were printed in the edition of 1834, with the 
heading *Written during 1 temporary Dlindness 
in the year r79!° ‘When I was ill and wake- 
ful (writes Coleridge) I composed some English 
hexameters:—] 
Wittiam, my teacher, my friend! dear 
William and dear Dorothea ! 
Smooth out the folds of my Ietter, and 
place it on desk or on table; 
Place it on table or desk 3 and your right 
hands loosely half-closing,* 
Gently sustain them in air, and extend- 
ing the digit didactic, 
Rest it a moment on each of the forks of 
the five-forkéd left hand, 
Twice on the breadth of the thamb, and 
once on the tip of each finger ; 
Read with a nod of the head in a hu- 
mouring recitativo 5 
And, as T live, you will see my hexa- 
meters hopping before you, 
This is a galloping measure ; hop, and 
a trot, and a gallop! 


All my hexameters fly, like stags pursued 
ly the stag-hounds, 
Breathless and panting, and ready to 
drop, yet flying still onwards, 
2 False metre. 
2 + Stent dying onwards’ were peshaps betwen. 








MAHOMET 


139 





Hall | O Godden, die hail! Blst be 
thou! and, blessing, I hymn thee! 
Forth, ye sweet sounds ! fram my harp, 
‘and my voice shall float on your 


Soar thou aloft, O my soul! and bear up 
‘my song on thy pinions. 


Travelling the vale with mine eyes— 
green meadows and lake with 


‘green intend, 
Dark in its basin of rock, and the bare 
stream Sowing in brightness, 
‘Thrill’d with thy beauty and love in the 
wooded slope of the mountain, 
Here, great spats, 1 I lic, thy child, with 
his head on thy bosom ! 


Playful the spirits ot mss tat rushing 
soft through thy tresses, 

Green-hair’d goddess ! refresh me; and 
bark! =| they hurry o linger, 

Fill the pease of 7 harp, or sustain it 


musical murmurs. 


Into my being thou murmurest joy, and 
tenderest sadness 


Shedd'st thou, like dew, on my heart, till 
the joy and the heavenly sadness 

Pour themselves forth from my heart in 
tears, and the hymn of thanks- 
giving. 


Earth f ayy mother of numberless chil- 
dren, the nurse and the mother, 
Sister thou of the stars, and belored by 
the Sun, the rejoice 
Guardian and friend of the moon, O 
Earth, whom the comets forget 


Rot, 
Yea, in the measureless distance wheel 
round and again they behold thee ! 
Fatieless and young {and what if the 
atest birth of creation ?) 
Bride and consort of Heaven, that looks 
down upon thee enamour' 
mysterions Earth! O say, great 
trother and goddess, 
‘Was it not jhe ihe the oe when first 


thy lap was 
‘Thy lap to the genial ur Hence, the day 
that he woo'll thee and won thee! 


‘Say, 





Fair was thy blush, the fairest and first 
of the blushes of morning! 

Deep was the shudder, O Earth! the 
throe of thy self-retention : 

Tnly thou strovest to flee, and didst seck 
thyself at thy centre | 

Mightier far was the joy of thy sudden 
resilience ; and forthwith 

Myriad myriads of lives teem’d forth from 
the mighty embracement. 

‘Thousand-fold tribes of dwellers, impell'd 
by thousand-fold instincts, 

Fill'd, as a dream, the wide waters; the 
rivers sang on their channels 5 

Laugh’d on their shores the hoarse seas ; 
the yearning ocean swell’d up- 


ward 5 

Young life low'd through the meadows, 
the woods, and the echoing moun 
tains, 

Wander'd bleating in valleys, and warbled 
on blossoming branches. 


11700 


MAHOMET 


Urrer the-song, O my soul! the flight 
and return of Mohammed, 
Prophet and priest, who scatter'd abroad 

both evil and blessing, 
Hage wasteful empires founded and 
hallow'd slow persecution, 
Soul-withering, but crush’d the blas 
phemous rites of the Pagan 

And idolatrous Christians. —For veiling 
the Gospel of Jesus, 

‘They, the best corrupting, had made it 
worse than the vilest. 

Wherefore Heaven decreed th’ enthu- 
siast warrior of Mecca, 

Choosing good from iniquity rather than 
evil from goodness. 

Loud the tumult in Mecca surrotinding 

the fane of the idol >— 

Naked and prostrate the priesthood were 
Inid—the people with mad shouts 

Thundering now, and now with saddest 
ululation 

Flew, as over the channel of rock-stone 
the ralnous river 





140 CATULLIAN HENDECASYLLABLES—METRICAL FEET 





Shatters its waters abreast, and in mazy 
uproar bewilder'd, 

Rushes dividuous all—all rushing im. 
petuous onward. 1 179 


CATULLIAN 
HENDECASYLLABLES 


Hean, my beloved, an old Milesian 
story 

High, and embosom’d in congregated 
laurels, 

Glimmer'd a temple upon a breesy head- 
land 3 


= 


In the dim distance amid the skiey billows 

Rose a fair island ; the god of flocks had 
blest it, 

From the far shores of the bleat-resound- 
ing island 

Oft by the moonlight a little boat came 
floating, 

Came to the sea-cave beneath the breezy 
headland, 

Where amid myrtles a pathway stole in 


mazes 

Up to the groves of the high embosom’d 
temple. 

There in a thicket of dedicated roses, 

Of did a priestess, as lovely as a vision, 

Pouring her soul to the son of Cytherea, 

Pray him to hover around the slight 
canoe-boat, 

And with invisible pilotage to guide it 

Over the dusk wave, until the nightly 
sailor 

Shivering with ecstasy sank upon her 
bosom, Tinh! 


THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER 
DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED 


STRONGLY it bears us along in swelling 
and limitless billows, 

Nothing before and nothing behind but 
the sky and the ocean. 4 ayy, 





THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE 
DESCRIDED AND EXEMPLIFIED 


Ix the eae rises the fountain’s 
ery column ; 
In the peace aye falling in melody 


21798 
Vansak |» 6t7. 


METRICAL FEET * 
LESSON FOR A BOY. 


Trocuix trips trim lng w short ; 

From long to long in solemn sort 

Siw Spondée stiiks ; strong fot! yea 
ill able 

Bve 13 cdme tip with Dact¥l ti. 
syllable, 

Yambics mireh fim short 06 ling j— 

With 4 I&ip lind & bolind thé swift 
Aniip&sts throng ; 

One ole long, with one short at each 


Amphontehe hastes with & stitely 
stride ;— - 

First ind list béing Jong, middle short, 
Affiphimicer 

Strikes his thindéring hoofs lke & proud 
high-bréd Racer, 

Wf basi, be innocent, steady, and 


And alight in the things of earth, water, 
and skies 5 

‘Tender warmth at his heart, with these 
metres to show it, 

With sound sense in his beains, may 
make Derwent a poet, — 

May crown him with fame, and must 
win him the lore 

Of his father on earth and his Father 
above, 

My deas, dear chili f 

Could you stand’ upon Skiddaw, you 
‘would not from its whole ridge 

Sce a man who so loves you as your 
fond 5, T, COLERIDGE. sos. 


hace lon Natt x 
mn 





THE BRITISH STRIPLING’S WAR-SONG—ON A CATARACT 14 





THE BRITISH STRIPLING'S 
WAR-SONG 


IMITATED FROM STOLBERG 


Yes, noble oki Warrior! this heart has 
beat high, 
Since you told of the deeds which our 
‘countrymen wrought ; 
© lend me the sabre that hung by thy 


Ani F too will fight forefath 
as my forefathers 
fought. 


Despise not my youth, for my spirit ix 
steel’ 
‘And I know there is strength in the 
grasp of my hand ; 
Yea, we firm as thyself would I march to 


field, 
And = Prondly would die for my 
dear native land, 


fn the sports of my childhood T mimic’ 
“The tu of trumpet suspended my 
And my fancy st wander'd by day 


by night, 
Amid battle and tumult, "mid conquest 
and death. 


My own shoot of anset, in the heat of my 
trance, 
How oft it awakes me from visions of 
+ 
When I meant to have leapt on the 
Hero of France, 
And Bae da Hin, cath, pale 
and breathless and gory. 
As Tate thro’ the city with banners all 
To seem trumpets the Warriors 


Wah oat ‘and scimitars naked and 


On I pn a brea thunder. 





T sped to yon heath that is ean and 
rey 
For each nerve was unquict, each 
pulse in alarm ; 
And I hurl'd the mock-lance thro’ the 
objectless air, 
‘And in open-eyed dream proved the 
strength of my grm, 


Yes, noble old Warrior ! this heart has 
beat high, 
Since’ you told of the deeds that our 
countrymen wrought 5 
O lend me the sabre that hung by thy 


thigh, 
And T too will fight as my forefathers 
fought ! 1 799. 


ON A CATARACT * 


FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT 
OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE 


[arren stounnnc’s usreanicuer 
UNGLING) 


sTRorux 


Unrrrtsana youth | 
Thou leapest from forth 
The cell of thy hidden nativity ; 
Never mortal saw 
eradle of the strong one ; 
er mortal heard 
‘The gathering of his voices ; 
‘The deep-murmur'd charm of the son of 
the rock, 
‘That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless 
fountain, 
‘There's a cloud at the portal, a spray- 
woven veil 
At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing ; 
Tt embosoms the rows of dawn, 
Tt entangles the shafts of the noon, 
And into the bed of its stillness 


) 
( 


‘The moonshine sinks down as in shamber, / 


That the son of the rock, that the 
nursling of heaven 
May be born ina holy twilight ! 





FROM THE GERMAN—WATER BALLAD 


Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, 


143 


For if the nymphs should know my 


‘That Styx the detested no more he may 
view, 

And like one of us Gods may conceit 
him to be! 

Thanks, Hebe! I qeaff it! To Pxan, I 

t 
‘The wine of the Immortals 
Forbids me to die! 1:59». 

FROM THE GERMAN 

Kwow’'sr thou the land where the pale 
citroms » 

‘The golden fruits in darker foliage 
glow? 

‘Soft blows the wind that breathes from 


that blue sky 1 
Still stands the myrtle and the laurel 


high ! 
Kaow'st them it well, that land, beloved 
Friend? 


would I 


Thither with thee, O, thither 
wend! Yar 


WESTPHALIAN SONG 


[The following it an alinoat literal translation 
of a very olf and very favourite song among the 
Wesphalian Booes. ‘The ture at tbe end is the 
same with one of Mr. Diddin's excellent songs, 
aad the air tn which it is mung by the Boors is 
remarkably eweet ar ively.) 


WHEN thou to my truc-love com’st 
Greet her from me kindly ; 

When she asks thee how I fare? 
Say, folks in Heaven fare fincly. 


When she asks, ‘What! Is he sick?’ 
Say, dead !—and when for sorrow 
She begins to sab and exy, 


‘Say, I come to-morrow. ti 


MUTUAL PASSION 


ALTERED AND MODERNIZED FROM 
AX OLD POET 
T nove, and be loves me again, 
Yet dare I not tell who: 





swain, 
T fear they'd love him too. 
Yet while my joy's unknown, 
Its rosy buds are but half-blown : 
What no one with me shares, seems 
scarce my own, 


Vl tell, that if they be not glad, 
‘They yet may envy me: 

Bat then if I grow jealous mad, 
‘And of them pitied be, 

*Twould vex me worse than scorn t 
And yet it cannot be forbrne, 
Unless my heart would like my thoughts 

be tom. 


He is, if they can find him, fair 
And fresh, and fragrant too 5 
As after rain the summer air, 
And looks as lilies do, 
That are this morning blown ! 
Yet, yet I doubt, he is not known, 
Yet, yet I fear to have him fully shown. 


But he hath eyes so large, and bright, 
Which none can see, and doubt 
That Love might thenoe his torches 
light 
Tho! Hate had put them out ! 
Bat then to rise my fears, 
His voice——what maid so ever 


hears 
Will be my rival, though she have but 
am. 


Tl tell no more I yet I Jove him, 
And he loves me; yet 80, 
‘That never one low wish did dim 
Our love's pute light, I know—— 
In each so free from blame, 
That both of us would gain new 


fame, 
Tf love’s strong fears would let me tell 
his name t Tax. 


WATER BALLAD 


“Come hither, gently rowing. 
‘Come, bear me quickly o'er 








EPITAPH ON AN INFANT—LINES AT ELBINGERODE 


145 





EPITAPH ON AN INFANT 


Exx. Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, 
Death came with friendly care ; 


hes pening bad to Heaven conveyed, 
bade it blossom there. 1794. 


ON AN INFANT 
WHICH DIED NEFORE WAPTISM 


* Be, rather, than be call'd, a child of 


Death whisper'd !—with assenting nod, 
Its head upoa its mother’s breast, 
‘The Baby bow'd, without demur— 
Of the kingdom of the Blest 
, not inheritor, 


April th, 179 


EPITAPH ON AN INFANT 


Irs balmy lips the infant blest 
ding from its mother’s breast, 
Tow sweet it heaves the happy sigh 
Of inmocent satiety ! 
And sach my infant's latest sigh ! 
Oh tell, rude stone | the passer by, 
‘That here the pretty babe doth lic, 
Death sang to sleep with Lullaby. 
9 


LINES 


WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELUINGE- 
RODE, IN THE MARTZ FOREST 


IT stoop on Brocken’s sovran height, and 
aw 

Woods crowding upon woods, hills over 
hills, 


‘A surging scene, and only limited 
By the blue distance. Heavily my way 
Downward I dragged through fir groves 
Where green moss heaves in 


Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom 





‘The sweet bird's song became an hollow 
sound 5 

And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, 

Preserved its solemn murmur most dis- 
tinct 

From many a note of many a waterfall, 

And the brook's chatter; ‘mid whose 
islet-stones 

‘The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell 

Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat 

Sat, his white beard slow waving, I 
moved on 

In low and languid mood:! for I had 
foun 

‘That outward forms, the loftiest, still 
receive 

Their finer influence from the Life 
within ;— 

Fair cyphers else: fair, but of import 
vague 

Or unconcerning, where the heart not 
finds 

History or prophecy of friend, or child, 

Or gentle maid, our first and early love, 

Or father, or the venerable name 

Of our adored country! © thou Queen, 

Thou delegated Deity of Earth, 

°o dea, eo England t how my longing 


Turned retary shaping in the steady 
cloud: 
Thy sands and Righ’ white if 


My native Land ! 
Filled with the thought of thee this heart 
was proud, 
Yea, mine eye swam with tears t that all 
the view 
From sovran Brocken, woods and woody 


hills, 
Floated away, like a departing dream, 


2 ae “When I have gazed 

From some high eminence on goodly wales, 

And cots and villages embowered below, 

The thought woold rise that all to me was 

strange 

‘Amid the scenes so fair, nor one small spot 

‘Where mptired mind might rest and call it homes" 
Soursey's Hywwm to the Penater. 


L 





Feeble and dim! Stranger, these im- 
Blame | not lightly; nor will I pro- 


With hasty judgment or injurious doubt, 
That sublimer spirit, who can feel 
‘That God is everywhere ! the God who 


pain! be one mighty family, 
to 
Himself our eer mie World our 


May 27, aay 


SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT 
VERY NATURAL 
WRITTEN IN GERMANY 
Ir Thad but two little Ment 
And were a little feathery bird, 
‘To you I'd fly, yp roeel 
But thoughts like these are idle things, 


But in my sleep to you I fly: 
Tm SES in my sleep! 
‘The world is all one’s own. 
But then one wakes, and where am I? 
All, all alone, 


Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: 
S weloahay savage 
though my 
Yet while Ow ele abate ce lids, 
And still dreams on, 
April 83, 1799 


HOME-SICK 
WRITTEN IN GERMANY 


"Tis sweet to him who all the week 
Theovgl city-crowds must push his 


way, 
To stroll ee through fields and woods, 
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day. 


And sweet it is, in summer bower, 
Sincere, affectionate and gay, 

‘One's own dear children feasting rou 
To celebrate one's pom is 


'] 





‘But what is all, to his delight, 
Who having Jong been doomed to 


‘Throws off the bundle from his back, 
Before the door of his own home? 


THE DAY-DREAM 


FROM AN EMIGRANT TO MES ANSENT 
wire, 


Ty thou wert here, these tears were tears 
of light 

But from as sweet a vision did 1 start 

As ever made these eyes grow idly bright! 

‘And though I weep, yet still around 


my heart 
A sweet and playful tenderness doth 


And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran, 
All o'er my lips a soft and breezelike 


fed 

Tinow fox olan = iat Os See 
stealing 

Upon a sleeping mother’ 

A would have mpate tie 
dream 


‘That she was 
Her isegt Le 


A eae ate. ofits 
And yet its own dear baby self’ 


Across ane chest there Jay ee 50 
Asivome bird had taken sbetter there 


ng thee 


T guess 
‘mother 


i lg to kiss “i | 





THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS 


147 





Anil! Escem'd to see a woman's form — 
Thine, Sara, thine? © joy, if thine it 


were! 
I gsoed with stified breath, and fear’d to 
wir it, 
No deeper ance eer wrapt a yearning 


Ant now, when I seem'd sure thy face to 
=e, 
Thy own dear self in our own quiet 
home; 
There came an elfish laugh, and waken’d 


mo: 

"Twas Frederic, who behind my chair 
had clomb, 

And with his bright eyes at my face was 


peeping. 
I bless'd him, tried to laugh, and fell 
acweeping ! 179% 


THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS 


Prom his beienstone bed at break of day 
A walking the Drvit is gone, 

To visit his little seug farm of the carth 
And sec how his stock went on. 


Over the bill and over the dale, 

And be went orer the plain, 

‘And backward and forward he swished 
his long tail 

‘As a gentleman swishes his cane. 

And how then wss the Devil deest ? 


Oh ! he was in his Sunday's best: 20 
His jacket was red and his breeches 


were blue, 
And there was a hole where the tail came 
through. 


He saw a Lawyes killing a Viper 
On Tene beside his stable, 
And the sealed, for it pat him in 


mind 
Of Cain and Ais brother, Abel, 


A Poriecary on a white horse 
Rode by oa bis 

And the Devil thought of his old Friend 
Deatit in the Revelations, » 





He saw a, cottage with a double coach- 
house, 
A cottage of gentility ! 
And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin 
Is pride that apes humility. 


He went into a rich bookseller’s shop, 
Quoth he! we are both of one college, 

For I myself sate like a cormorant once 
Fast by the tree of knowledge. 


2 “And all amid them stood the ‘Tam oF Lie 
High, eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit 
Of vegetable gold (query Aupermency), and 
neat to Life 
Our Death, the TREE OF KNOWLEDGE, grew 
fast 


So clomb this first grand thie-— 
‘Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life 
‘Sat like a cormorant.’ 

Par, Lott, iv. 


‘The allegory here is so apt, that in a catalogue 
of various readings obtained from collating the 
MSS. one might expect to' find it noted, that for 
‘Livn’ Coot. guid. habext, “Trave.' Though 
indeed rica TRADE, i.e. the bibliopolic, +0 called 
rar dé, may be regarded as Lire sensu 
ewinention’; « suggestion, which 1 owe to a 
young retailer in the hosiery line, who on bearing 
a description of the net profits, dinner parties, 
country houses, etc., of the trade, exclaimed, "Ay! 
that's what T call Lire now !’—This ‘Life, our 
Death,’ is thus happily contrasted with the fruits 
of Authorship—Sie nos non nobis mellificarmus 


Apts. 

‘Of this poem, which with the ‘Fire, Famine, 
and Slaughter” first appeared in the Morning 
Post (6th Sept. 1799) the three first stanzas, 
which are worth all the rest, and the ninth, were 
dictated by Mr. Southey. See Apologetic Preface 
{to * Fire, Famine and Slaughter’). Between the 
ninth and the concluding stan, two or three are 
omitted as grounded on subjects which have 
lost their interest—and for better reasons, 

If any one should ask who General — meant, 
the Author begs leave to inform him, that he did 
‘once s6¢ a red-faced person in a dream whom by 
the dress he took for a General; but he might 
hawe been mistaken, and most certainly he did 
not hear any names mentioned. fn simple verity, 
the author never meant any one, or indeed any 
thing but to put a concluding stanza to his 
doggerel. [5 T. G's pote in 1805) (See the 
origival versionof the poem inthe * Notes, "=Ev.) 








ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE 





The things of Nature utter; binds or 


trees, 
‘Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, 
Or where the stiff =i io mid the heath- 
plant war 
Murmur rere music thin of sudden 
beecee, ia 


ODE TO GEORGIANA, DUCHESS 
OF DEVONSHIRE 
ON THE TWENTY-POURTH STANZA 


IN HER ‘PASSAGE OVER MOUNT 
GOTHARD” 


‘Az hall the Chapel t hail the Platform wild! 
Wier Tell directed the avenging dart, 
Wah well-strung arm, that first preserved his 


Then aim'd the arrow at the tyrant’s heart. 


Srtexnowr’s fondly-foster'd child ! 

‘And did you hail the platform wild, 
Where once the Austrian fell 
Beneath the shaft of Tell! 

° eri brie in pomp and plea- 


Weer fet you that heroic mea- 


Light as a dream your days their circlets 
mn, 
From om that teaches brotherhood to 


fan 
Par, farremored | from want, from hope, 
from fear ! 


Enchanting music Iolled your infant exr, 
‘Obeixanice, praises soothed your infant 


: 1 
geal amd old ancestral 


With many 2 ‘bright obtrusive form of art, 
Detained your eye from Nature : stately 


That ‘strove to deck your charms 
Rich wlands, and the pleasurable wine, 


Were yours unearned by toil ; nor could 
you see 





‘The unenjoying toiler's misery. 

And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child, 

You hailed the Chapel and the Platform 

wild, 20 
Where once the Austrian fell 

Beneath the shaft of Tell ! 
© Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure ! 
‘Whence learnt youthat herole measure? 


There crowd your finely-fibred frame 
All living faculties of bliss ; 
And Genius to your cradle came, 
His forehead wreathed with lambent 
flame, 
And bending low, with godlike kiss 
Breath'd in a more celestial life; 90 
But boasts not many a fair compecr 
A heart as sensitive to joy and fear? 
And some, perchance, might wage an 
equal strife, 
Some few, to nobler being wrought, 
Cozrivals in the nobler gift of thought, 
Yet theie delight to celebrate 
Laurelied War and plamy State ; 
Or in verse and music dress 
Tales of rustic happiness— 
Pernicious tales ! insidious strains ! 40 
‘That steel the rich man’s breast, 
And mock the lot unblest, 
The sordid vices and the abject pains, 
Which evermore must be 
The doom of ignorance and penury ! 
But you, free Nature's uncorrupted child, 
You hail'd the Chapel and the Platform 


Where once the Austrian fell 
Beneath the shaft of Tell! 
© Lady, nursed in pomp and plea 
sure ! P 
Whence learnt you thatheroic measure? 
You were 4 Mother! That most holy 
name, 
Which Heaven and Nature bless, 
1 may not vilely prostitute to those 
Whose infants owe them less 
Than the poor caterpillar owes 
Its gaudy parent fly. 
m were 2 mother! at your bosom 
fe 








TALLEYRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE 


150 





vu 


“A murderous fend, by fiends adored, 
He kills the sire and starves the son ; 
‘The busband kills, and from her board 
‘Steals all bis widow's toil had won ; 
Planders God's world of beauty ; rends 


away ” 
All safety from the night, all comfort 
from the day. 


vit 


“Then wisely is my soul elate, 
That sri aheald’ vanish, battle 
Cease 


T'm poor and of 2 low estate, 
‘The Mother of the Prince of Peace. 
joy tines in me, like a summer's morn: 
Pesce om Earth! the Prince of 
Pence is bor.” 179 


TALLEYRAND TO LORD 
GRENVILLE 


A METRICAL EPISTLE 
VAs printed f Mforming Fest for January 10, 
‘ony * 


ee ae, 


AC 


yee 
ia 


n 
i 
} 
F 
i 





great a sensation in the world ax Lord Grenvilto, 
or even the Duke of Portland? But tho Minister 
of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, ix acknowledged, 
which, in our opinion, could not have happened 
had he written only that insignificant prose- 
letter, which seems to precede Bonaparte’s, as in 
old romances a dwarf always rat before to. pro- 
claim the advent or arrival of kaight er giant. 
‘That Talleyrand’s character and penctices tore 
resemble those of some regular Governments 
than Honaparte’s I admit ; but this of itself does 
not appear a satisfactory explanation. However, 
Tet the letter speak for itself. The second line is 
supererogative in yllables, whether from the 
‘oveitancy of the transcriber, oF from the trepida- 
tion which might have overpowered the modest 
Frenchman, on finding himself in the act of 
writing t0 00 great a man, 1 shall not dare to 
determine. A few Notes are added by 
Your sereant, 
Gxone. 

P.5.—s mottoes ace now fashionable, es 
pecially if taken from out of the way books, you 
may prefix, if you please, the following lines 
from Sidonius Apollinaris : 

“Sana, et robora, comeasque fibras 
Mollit duleilogu& canorus arte!” 


TALLEYEAND, MINISTER OF FOREIGN 
AFFAIRS AT PARIS, TO LORD GREN> 
VILLE, SECRETARY OF STATE IN 
GREAT BRITAIN FOR FOREIGN AF> 
FAIRS, AUDITOR OF THR EX- 
CHEQUER, A LORD OF TRADE, AN 
ELDER BROTHER OF TRINITY HOUSE, 
BTC. 


My Lord! though your Lordship repel 
deviation 
From forms long establish’d, yet with 
‘igh consideration, 
I plead for the honour to hope, that no 
blam 


e 

Will attach, should this letter degin with 
my name. 

I dared not presume on your Lordship to 


yunce, 

But thought it more exywérite first to 
emmosrnce ! 

My Lord ! I've the honour to be Talley- 


And the letter’s from. met you'll not 
draw back your hand 





152 

Nor yet take it up by the rim in 
Ys 

PacBeH FOS ob ha pancho 2 pel ol: 


I'm no Jacobin foul, or red-hot Contelier 
‘That your Lordship’s w#gauntleted fingers 


An infection or burn! Believe me, ‘tis 
tre, 

‘With a scorm like another f look down 
‘on the crew 

That baw! and hold up to the mob's 
detestation 

‘The most delicate wish for a silent fer. 
sucsion, 

A form longrestablish'd these ‘Terrorists 
call 

Bribes, perjury, theft, and the devil and 

And yet spite of all that the Moralist ! 
prates, 

"Tis the keystone and cement of ettliet 
States. 

‘Those American Refs!? And # faith, 
‘they were serious 1 

qt see ae at Paris, like something 


That Fie geri ‘a Congress—But no 
more of 't ! I'm 


To have stood so distinct fram the | 
crowd, 


Jacobin 


My Lord! though the vulgar in wonder 
be lost at ; 
My transfigurations, and name me 4fos- 
tat 


tes 
Such a meaningless nickname, which 
never incens'd me, 


¥ This sarcasm on the writings of moralists is, 
to. general, extremely just ; but had 
continued 


which both Secret Influence, and all the other 
Established Forms, are Sastified and placed In 
their true Tight. 

2A fashionable abbreviation in the higher 
ireles for Republicans, Thus Afad was origin: 
ally the Mobility, 





TALLEVRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE 


Cannot Fesjatice ie ‘or your Cousin 
Tm Ext mat then? Burke 
hat iieh not the, 
Church that Jeft 
My tes pei T tv and eta” 
As long as what J meant by Prelate 
remain’d 
And thy Mdtres no longar soll gear fr 
our mart, 
T'm episcopal still to the core of my 
heart. 
No time from my name this my motto 
‘shall sever ; 
‘Twill be Mon sine pulvere palma for 
ever! 


oases the 


Your Fi piers my Lord, I conceive 
Or taeda pee you x srl 2 


abaut 
And the te line of beauty si windaies 
It ors Lord! of fine thoughts 
To split and Sind aide tate heade ale 
While charms that surprise (it can ne'er 
Sproat fr meh ed he hears 
Were a seen rank, like a common: 


Compet' ‘dito ry on to beet 7 
at once, 


1 Pralves wom rine fudvere, 10 plain Rnglish, 
sa ceg poly ee a plecre er 





TALLEVRAND TO LORD GRENVILLE 


153 





it vintage of initiations * 
foble Lords Jose in your Lord- 
ship's orations. 
My fancy transports me! As mute as a 


mouse, 
Se ee ect ee Tm borne to 
Where all those who are Lords, from 
father to son, 
Discuss the affairs of all those who are 


pone, 
T bebld yo, ey Lord tf your fecings 
a, 
"Fore the woolsack arise, like a sack full 
of wool ! 


You rise on each Anti-Grenvillian 

Short, thick and Uastroes, like a day a 
November 1? 

cay aaa Tmean: for the er 

Fame eva that most famous reporter, 
ne'er reaches, 

Lo! Patienice beholds you contemn her 

And ‘Time, that all-panting toil'd after in 
vain, 

(Like the Beldam who raced for a smock 
with her ild) 


and cries: ‘Were such lungs 
Ser assign'd to.n man-child ?" 


I The word /nitiations i& borrowed from the 


it 


me, rally er figuratively; and 
what species Gr 


i 


Cowstip wine. “ slashing critic to 


itt 
the 
jut 
ie 
peed 


moctest emendation, pethaps, would be this 
Vintage read Ventage. 

We conaot sufficiently admire the accuracy 
this simile. For a8 Lond Grenville, though 
short, Ix certainly not the shortest roan in the 
House, even se fs it with the days in November. 


eel 





Your strokes at her vitals pale Truth has 
confess’, 

And Zeal unresisted entempests your 
breast !? 

‘Though some noble Lords may be wish. 
ing to sup, 

Your merit self-conscious, my Lord, aoe 
Yous sip, 

Unextinguish’d and swoln, as @ alloca 
‘of paper 

Keeps aloft by the smoke of its own 
farthing taper. 

Ye sixTeexs® of Scotland, your snufls 

Your Geminies, fix'd stars of England! 
grow dh 

And but for @ form long-establish'd, no 
doubt 

Twinkling faster and faster, ye all would 
§9 out, 


Apropos, my dear Lord | a ridiculous 
blunder 

Of some of our Journalists caused us 
some wonder + 


2 An evident plagiarism of the Ex-Bishop's 
from Dr. Johmon 2— 

*Kxistence saw him spurn her bounded relgm, 
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain : 
His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth canfes'd, 
‘And unresisting Pasion storm'd the breast.’ 

2 This line and the following are involved in 
an almost L.ycophrontic tenebricenity. On repeat- 
ing them, however, to an J/Zueimant, whose 
confidence I possess, he informed me (nnd he 
ought to know, for he ie a Tallowchandler by 
trade) that certain candles go by the name of 
sixteens, ‘This explains the whole, the Scotch 
Peers are destined to burn out—and so are 
candles! The English are perpetual, and are 
therefore styled Fixed Stars! The word Geminice 
is, we confess, still obscure to ux; though we 
venture to muggest that it may perhaps be « 
metaphor (daringly sublime) for the wo eyes 
which noble Lords do in general ponent 

inky used by the poet Fletcher in this 
the yrat stanza of his Pre Selene -— 

* What ! shall T then Hieed seek & patron out, 

‘Or beg a favour from » mistress eyes, 

‘To fence my song against the vulgar rout, 

And shine wpon me with her grsimies 1° 





THE KEEPSAKE 


‘Tt was said that in aspect malignant and 
In aunt Great Britain a great 
‘Turn’d as i jumeynan mils 
On oberg aS that appear'd in 
Ets oacls tamhieah har Vie 
‘You Lary tl wade Wis apenas 
You, my saparyed your star, sat in 
pee eater thought fit to 


But perhaps, dear my Lord, among other 
wore 

The lene was no more than a lic of 

The Times. 

Bie aoetessaeay tsa in a civilisd 
state 

‘That such Newspaper rogues should have 

ear ae co 

Indeed printing in general—but for the 


taxes, 
Iain theoy falas and pernicious in presi} 
and I, and your Cousin, and Abbé 


Sieyes, 

Ste did ceo noah live in 

Are agreed that no nation secure is from 
villence 

‘Unless all who must think are maintain’d 
all in silence, 

This printing, ay Lord—but 'tis useless 
to mention 

What we both of us think—'twas a 
cursed invention, 

And Germany might have been honestly 

ERs TR HE Sloan se eel cat iy 
powder, 

ar eee tie ot oot labours 

Who aie. fie Department of foreign 


And how with their libels these journal. 
ists bore us, 





i than Scorn 

Wis Tae presnes eh usenet neta 

Those oats black Devil! these 
Devils of Printers! 

Tn case of a peace—but perhaps it were 

FNS ee eatie Varna) 

For the Micrmmate ot reese 


parte, my master, 
Has found out a new sort of éusilicon 


Bae pate tee ny dere Teed aoe 
nation’s best treasure, 

T’ve intruded already too long on your 
leisure 5 

If so, I, entreat you with penitent 
‘sorrow 


To pause, and resume the remainder 
to-morrow. 


THE KEEPSAKE & 
Tur tedded hay, the first fruits of the 
ae ee 
ic 3 
Show summer gone, ere come, The 
foxglove tall 
‘Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the 
Or whe es teeth th ping 
Or mountain-finch alighting. And the 
tose 
(In vain the darling of successful love) 
See ened deauty of past 
The shen Temaing, and the ower 


Nor ean I Sndy amid walk 
By rivulet, or ah are road: 


side, 
‘That blue and fd bight -ereil Rei 





LINES TO W. LINLEY, ESQ—A STRANGER MINSTREL 


155 





Hope's penile: gem, the sweet Forget me- 
pot! 

Se will mot fade the flowers which 
Emmeline 

With — fingers on the snow white 

Has worked (the flowers which most she 
knew I loved), 

And, more beloved than they, her auburn 


Tn aa fo morning teilight, carly 


By her Pore osom's joyous restlessness, 
Sehly she rose, and lightly stole along, 
the slope coppice to the woodbine 


bower, 
Whose rich “flowers, swinging in the 


breeze, 
| Over their dim fast-moving shadows 
Making a quiet image of disquiet 
ia the ony scarcely moving river- 
There, ia that bower where first she 
ee 


Joy 
From off ber plese cheek, she sate and 
stretebed 

‘The silk upon the frame, and worked 
her name 

Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-me- 
pot— 

Her own dear name, with her own 
auburrs baie} 

‘That forced to wander till sweet spring 
return, 

I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her 

Her voice (that even in her mirthful 
mood 


Has mae me wish to steal away and 
weep) 
3 Doe of the semes (snd meriting to be the 


Varrbuimctn Richi) 20d, 0 teliere, In Dew: 





Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden 
ki 


ss 

With which she promised, that when 
spring returned, 

She would resign one ‘half of that dear 
name, 

And own thenceforth no other name but 
mine! aa 


LINES TO W. LINLEY, ESQ. 


WIHTLE It SANG A SONG TO 
TURCELL’s MUSIC 


Wome my young check retains its 
healthful hues, 
And I have many friends who hold 


me dear, 

Linley! methinks, I would not often 
hear 

Such melodies as thine, lest E should lose 

All memory of the wrongs and sore dis- 
tress 

For which my miserable brethren 


weep! 
But should uncomforted misfortunes 
steep 
My daily bread in tears and bitterness ; 
And if a4 death's dread moment 1 should 


with as sakeeod techie ny Oatley 
To fix the last glance of my closing eye, 
eon such strain, breathed Ly 


angel-quide, 
‘Woobd sun wap Yla'oen rangi 


Mix with the blest, nor know that T 
had died! 1800, 


A STRANGER MINSTREL 


[WRITTEN TO MRS. ROBINSON, A FEW 
WEEKS BEFORE HER DEATH] 


As late on Skiddaw’s mount I fay supine, 

Midway th’ ascent, in that repose divine 

When the soul centred in the heart's 
recess: 





THE MAD MONK 


Hath quaff"d its fill of Nature's loveli- 
‘NESS, 
Yet still beside the fountain's marge will 


Fill up the rakes of «stent laagh-— 
Tn that sweet mood of sad and humorous 


A train me rose, within us 

ith ead eeoce seetles that 1 cried 
aloud, 

‘Thou ancient Skiddaw helm of 
cloud, es 


, 
And ‘many-oolour'd chasms deep, 
ee eos that for ever sleep, 
By yon small flaky mists that love to 


creep 
Along the of those spots of light, 
Those sunny islands on thy smooth green 


height, 
And by yon shepherds with their 


"Pr 
And dogs and boys, a gladsome crowd, 
‘That Yoh ovis, now wih Cianour 
loud 


‘Then ancient Skiddaw, mee and prowl, 
Tn sullen majesty rey 

‘This spake from oct hisbehe of cloud. 95 
(His voice was like an echo dying '}:— 

*She dwells belike in scenes more 

And scorns a mount so bleak and bare.’ 


1 only sigh'd when this I heard, 
Such mournful thoughts within me stire’d 
‘That all my heart was faint and weak, 
So sorely was I troubled ! 
No laughtce wrinkled on my cheek, 
But O the tears were doubled ! 





“Nay, batho dost not Sow he might 
The pinions of hee soul how strong ! 
But many a stranger in my height 


sublime, 
Exempt from wrongs of Time!" 
Thus spake the mighty Mount, and T 


de answer, 


‘ih a decp-drawn 
‘Thou ancient Skiddaw, by this 


TwouldsT would that shahoes Ramet 
November V0, 


THE MAD MONK * 


T HEARD a voice from Etna’s side; 
Where o'er « cavern's mouth 


And thas the music fow'd s 
In melody mast like to okt 





THE TWO ROUND SPACES ON THE TOMBSTONE 


157 





“There way slime when earth, and ss, 
The Tah green vale, and forest's 


dark recess, ” 

With all things, by lay before mine eyes 
In steady loveliness: 

But now I feel, on earth's uncasy scene, 
Such sorrows as mm never cease ;— 
Tanly ask for pen 

If T must Hive to know that such a time 

been!’ 


A at then ensued: 
‘Till from the cavern came 
A voice ;—it was the same! 
And thas, in mournfal tone, its dreary 
plaint renew'd ; ° 
*Last night, as o'er the sloping turf I 
trod, 
‘The smooth green turf, to me a vision 


gave 
Beneath mltie eyes, the sod— 
The roof of Rosa's grave ! 
My heart has necd with dreams like 
these to strive, 
‘or, when I woke, beneath mine eyes 
I found 


The plot of mossy ground, 
ee when Rosa was 


alive, 
Why mast the rock, and margin of the 
flood, 
Why mast the hills 20 many flow’rets 
bear, » 
Whose colours to a orurder’d maiden's 
blood 


‘Such sad resemblance wear ?— 
“1 struck the syund,—this band of 


mine? 
For Ob, thou maid divine, 
Tlor'd to agony! 
‘The youth whom thou call’d'st thine 
Did never love like me? 


“Is the stormy clouds above, 
That flash’d so red n gleam? 
On. yonder downward 


Ts ot the Blood of her love — 


trickling 
° 





The sun torments me from his western 


Oh, let him cease for ever to diffuse 
Those crimson spectre hues ! 
Oh, let me lie in peace, and be for ever 
ead 1° 


Here ceas'd the voice, In deep dismay, 
Down thro’ the forest I pursu’d my way. 
Bor. 


THE TWO ROUND SPA 
THE TOMBSTONE 


ON 


{As printed in Morning Pout, Dec. 4, 1800.) 
Tue Devil believes that the Lord will 


come, 

‘Stealing a march without beat of drum, 

About the sam ne that he came last 

On an old Christmas-day in a snowy 
blast: 

Till he bids the trump sound neither 

ly nor soul stirs 

For the dead men’s heads have slipt 

under their bolsters. 


Ho! ho! brother Bard, in our church- 


ra 
Both’ beds and bolaters are soft and 
green 5 
Save one alone, and that's of stone, 
And under it lies a Counsellor keen. 
This tomb would be square, if it were 
not too long; 
And ‘tis rail'd round with iron, tall, 
spear-like, and strong. 


This fellow from Aberdeen hither did 
skip 

With a waxy face and a blubber lip, 

And a black tooth in front to show in 


part 
What was the colour of his whole heart. 
This Counsellor sweet, 
‘This Scotchman complete 
(The Devil scotéh him for a snake!), 
T trust he lies in his grave awake, 








DEJECTION: AN ODE 


159 





ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE 


AYTER LONG AISENCE, UNDER STRONG 
MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION NoT 
‘TO BATHE 


Gon be with thee, gladsome Ocean t 
How gladly greet I thee once more ! 
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion, 
‘And men rejoicing on thy shore. 
Dissuading spake the mild Physician, 
“Those briny waves for thee are 
Death 1" 
Bat my soal fulfilled her mission, 
I breathe untroubled 


Dreams (the Soul berself forsaking), 
boyish mieth 5 


A blessed shadow of this Earth ! 


that stix within me, 
comes with you from above 


we my rij 
Tantei ey my sae 
child of 





Who Inte and lingering secks thy 
shrine, 

On him but seldom, Power divine, 

Thy spirit rests ! Satiety 

And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee, 

Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope 

And dire Remembrance interlope, 
To vex the feverish slumbers of ‘the 


mind : 
The bubble floats before, the spectre 
stalks behind. 


But me thy gentle hand will lead 
At morning through the accustomed 
mead 5 
And in the sultry summer's heat 
Will build me up a mossy sent ; 
And when the gust of Autumn crowds, 
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, 
Thou best the thought canst raise, the 
heart attune, 
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the 
gliding moon, 
‘The feeling heart, the searching soul, 
‘To thee I dedicate the whole ! 
And while within myself E trace 
The greatness of some future race, 
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan 
The present works of present man— 
A wild and dream-like trade of blood 
and guile, 
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a 
smile! wor, 


N ODE car 


WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802 


DEJECTION : 


Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, 
With the old Moon in hee arms ; 
And I fear, 1 fear, my Master dear ! 
We shall have a deadly storm. 
Ballad of Sir Patrich Spence, 


Wain! If the Bard was weather-wise, 
who made 
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick 
Spence, 





160 


DEJECTION: AN ODE 





This night, so tranquil pow, will not 
ge hence 
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier 
trade 
Than those which mould yon cloud in 
Inzy flakes, 
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans 
and rakes 
Upoa the strings of this Aolian 
lute, 
Which better far were mute, 
For lo! the New-moon winter- 
‘And ovetspread with phantom fi 
(Wik swimming phantom Tight oer 
spread 
But rimmed and’ cleled! by a silver 
thread) 
Lsee the old Moon in hee lap, foretelling 
The coming-on of rain and squally 
Dlast. 
And oh} that eyen now the gust were 
swelling, 
And the slant night-shower driving 
Joud and fast ! 
‘Those sounds which oft have raised me, 
whilst they awed, 
And sent my soul abroad, 
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse 


give, 
Might startle this dall pain, and make it 
move and live ! » 


| 
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and! 
drear, 
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, 
Which finds no natural outlet, no 
relief, 
In word, or sigh, or tear— 
© Lady! in this wan and heartless 
mood, 
To other thoughts by yonder throstle 


woo'd, 
All this long eve, so balmy and serene, 
Have I been gazing on the western sky, 


And its peculiar Unt of yellow groen ; 
And still 1 gazo—and with how blank 


an eye! RP 
ponudsns 


ie 
. 
witha 


annidar 


And those thin clouds above, in flakes 
and bars, 
| That give away their motion to the stars; 
‘Those stars, that glide behind them or 
between, 
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but 
always sen: 
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it 


grew 

In its own cloudless, starless lake of 
blue ; 

1 see them all so excellently fair, 

1 see, not feel, how beautiful they are ! 


To lift the smothering fetin anon 
my breast ? 
It were a vain endeavour, 
‘Though I should gaze for ever 
On that green light that lingers in the 
west : 
I may not hope from outward forms to 


win 
‘The passion and the life, whose fountains 
are witht. 


(oe 
w 


Grow 
‘O Lady ! we receive but what we give, 
And in our life alone does Nature fie: 

Ours is her wedding garment, ours her 

shroud | 


And would we aught behold, of higher 


worth, P 

Than that inanimate cold world allowed 

To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, 
Ah! from the soul itself must issue 

forth 
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 
Enveloping the Earth— 
And mea) a soul itself must there be 


A Posies aa potent voice, of its own 
birth, 
Of all sweet “ounds the life and element! 





rae de) ) 


Cans 


o« 





| 


hw 


Sa rests 0 LAr ann 


Caatwen: rp, Za aad rons 


rhb) em ob REPFECTION: AN ODE 


POVelieve 


whe £e5 





‘ 


o se “tts heart! thou need’st not ask 


What se free music In the soul may 
f 

What, ar wherein it doth exist, 

This teh, this glory, this fair luminous 


“This Beautifl and’ Beauty making power, 
Joy, rivers aa ier Joy that ne'er 


‘Save to < aay and im their purest 
he oa Life's efiluence, cloud at once 
and shower, 


j, Lady ! is the spitit and the power, 
i, wedding Nature to us,gives in 


A new Earth and new Heaven, 
Undreant of by the sensual and the 


~ 
fi the sweet voice, Joy the luminous 
Joy oy 


We In oursetves rejoice ! 
And thence flows all that charms or car 


or sight, 
All melodies the echoes of that voice, 
All colours a seffusion from that light. 


vt 

when, though my path 
was Is 
‘This joy within me dallied with dis. 


tress, 
And all misfortunes were but 2s the stuff 
Whence Fancy made me dreams of 


Pepe ot me, like the ied 

ieee and _fotinge, not my a, 
seemed rit 

‘Bot now aiaistions (bow ma down! to 


a f 
care d me of m 
mirth S 


My a Sit of Siaagitntia 


| For not to think of what I needs must 





feel, 
Hut to be still and patient, all 1 
can; 
And haply by abstruse research to steal 
From my own nature all the natural 
man— $0 
‘This was my sole resource, my only 
plan: 
‘Pill that which suits a part infects the 
whole, 
And now is almost grown the habit of 
my soul. 


vu 


Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around 
my mind, 
Reality's dark dream | 
T turn from you, and listen to the wind, 
Which lang’ has raved’ unnoticed. 
What a scream 
Of agony by torture lengthened out 
‘That lute sent forth! ‘Thou Wind, that 
rav'st without, 
Bare crag, or mountain tain, or 
blasted tree, 100 
Or pine-grove whither woodman never 
clomb, 
Or lonely house, long held the witches? 
home, 
Methinks were fitter instruments for 


thee, 

Mad Lutanist! who in this month of 
showers, 

Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping 
fi 


lowers, 
Mak’st Devils’ yule, with wore than 
wintry song, 

The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves 
among, 

Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic 
sounds ! 

‘Thou mighty Poet, even to frenzy bold | 

Whit tell’st thou now about? 110 

"Tis of the rushing of an host in 


rout, 
With groans of trampled men, with 
smarting wounds— 


M 


o ae Ebene 


4 





162 


THE PICTURE 





At once they groan with pain, and 
shudder with the cold ! 
But hush! there is a pause of deepest 
silence | 
And all that noise, as of a rushing 
crowd, 
With groans, and tremelous shudderings 
—all is over— 
It tells another tale, with sounds less 
deep and loud I 
A tale of less affright, 
And tempered with delight, 
As Otway's self had framed the tender 


ay, 
# of a little child 
Upon a lonesome wild, 
Not far from home, but she hath lost her 


way : 

And now moans low in bitter grief and 
ear, 

And now screams loud, and hopes to 
make her mother hear. 


vit 


"Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I 
cof sleep : 
Full seldom may my friend such vigils 
Keep ! 
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings o 
healing, 
And may this storm be but a mountain- 
birth, 
May all the stars hang bright above her 
dwelling, 1% 
Silent as though they watched the 
sleeping Earth ! 
‘With light heart may she rise, 
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, 
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her 
voice; 
‘To her may all things live, from pole to 


pole, 
‘Their life the eddying of her living 
soul! 
© simple spirit, guided from above, 
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my 
choice, 
Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. 





| Booen-berrtes. 


X THE PICTURE 
Ok THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION 


Tino weeds and thors, and matted 
underwood 

I force my way ; now climb, and now de- 
scend 

O'er rocks, of bare ot mossy, with wild 
foot 

Crshing the purple whorts ;1 while oft 
unseen, 

Hurrying along the drifted forest-Jeaves, 

The scared snake rusties, Onward still 
1 toll, 

I know not, ask not whither! A new 
joy, 

Lovely as light, sudden as summer gust, 

And gladsome as the first-borm of the 
spring, 

Beckans me on, of follows from behind, 1 

Playmate, or guide! The master-passion 
quelled, 

1 feel that I am free, 
bark 

‘The fir-trees, and the unfrequent slender 


With dun-red 


oak, 

Forth from this tangle wild of bush and 
brake 

Soar up, and form a melancholy vault 

High o'er me, murmuring like a distant 
se, 


Here Wisdom might resort, and here Re- 
morse ; 
Here too the love-lom man, who, sick in 


soul, 

And of this busy human heart aweary, 
Worships the spirit of unconscious life 20 
In tree or wild-flower.—Gentle lunatic ! 
If so he might not wholly cease to be, 
He would far rather not be that th 


is: 
But would be something that he 

not of, 
Tn winds or waters, or among the rocks 


1 Yccininne Myrtitns owe iy tae 
names of Whorts, Whorile-berries, Mil 

and in the North of Bi Wea-berries 
[Note hy S. TC. afos.) 





THE PICTURE 


163 





But tence, fond wretch ! breathe not 
contagion here ! 
No myre-walks are these : these are no 
groves 
Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen 
mood 
He sheald stray hither, the low stumps 


_ shall gore 
Mis dainty fees, the briar and the thorn 30 
Make his plomes hnggord. Like a 
wounded bit 


ye dusky Dryades ! 
Abdyea, ye Earth-winds! you that make 
The eg mora 
drops quiver on the spiders’ 
webs t 
You, O ye wingless Airs ! that creep be- 


tween 
The tigid stems of beath and bitten furse, 
Wain whose scanty shade, at summer- 


Reon, 
The mether-sheep hath worn a hollow 
be 
Yeythat now coot her fleece with dropless 


damp, «” 

Sew pant and murmur with her feeding 
lamb. 

Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin 
Gnomes! 

With pickles sharper than his darts be- 
mock 

His Wattle Godship, making him perforce 

Creep throwgh a thom-bush on yon 
hedgebog's bac! 


1 can 


‘This is my hour of triumph ! 
now 
Wat aay own’ Gc play the merry 


5 
And away worse folly, being free. 
towel ef myself, beside the ald, 
Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine 
Clothes ax with net-work + here will couch 





‘That murmurs with » dese, yet tinkling 
sound ; 
Or to the bees, that in the neighbouring 


trunk 

Make honey-hoards. The breeze, that 
‘visits me, 

Was never Love's accomplice, never 
raised 

‘he tendril ringlets from the maiden’s 
brow, © 

And the blue, delicate veins above her 
cheek 3 

Neer played the wanton—never half dis- 
closed 

The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering 
thence 

Eye-poisons for seme love-distempered 
youth, 

Who ne'er henceforth may see an aspen- 


grove 
Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart 
Shall flow away like a dissolving thing. 


Sweet breete! thou only, if 1 
aright, 

Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast, 

That swells its little breast, so full of 
song, 

Singing abore me, on the mountain-ash, 

And thow too, desert stream ! no pool of 


guess 


thine, 
‘Though clear as lake in latest summer- 


ere, 

Did e’er reflect the stately virgin’s robe, 

The face, the form divine, the downcast 
look 

Contemplative! Behold ! her open palm 

Presses her cheek and brow ! her elbow 


rests 
On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree, 
That leans towards fits iisror! Who 
erewhile 
Had from her countenance turned, or 
looked by stealth & 
(Por fear is truc-love's cruel nurse), he 
now 
With steadfast gaze and unoffending eye, 
Worships the watery idol, dreaming 


lope 
Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain, 








VMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI 165 





Fold im behind ench other, and so 
wake 
Acirmalar vale, and land-locked, a3 might 


seem, 

With brook and bridge, and grey stone 
cottages, 

Haifhid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my 


feet, 
The whortle-berries are beclewed with 
apesy, 
Dabed upwards by the furious waterfall. 
Hlow solemuly the pendent ivy-mass 
Swings in its winnow: All the air is 
calm. 
Thesmnoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged 
with light, 149 
Rises in columns ; from this house alone, 
Glose by the waterfall, the column slants, 
And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what 
is this? 
That ‘specced with its slanting chimney- 


ed dive beside its porch 2 sleeping 


child, 
Hie dear head pillow'd on « sleeping 
ai 


oo 
One arm between its forelegs, and the 
hand 





Holds loosely iis small handful of wild- 
flo 


WER, 
Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths. 
A curious picture, with a master’s 
haste 


Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin, 
Peeled from the birchen bark! Divinest 


maid ! 16r 
Vou bark her canvas, and those purple 


And le jon puch of ath has been 
her couch— 
‘The presure still remains O blessed 
couch t 
For this may’st thou flower early, and 
sn, 
Slanting ‘at eve, rest liright, and linger 
Jong 


Upon thy purple bells! Isabel! 

Daughter of genius! stateliest of our 
maids ! 

fore besulifil shan whom Aleioes wooed, 

The Lesbian woman of immortal song ! 

© child of genius! stately, beatiful, 

And full of love to all, save only me, 

And not ungentle een to me! My 
heart, 

Why beats it thus? Through yonder 
coppice-wood 

Needs must the pathway turn, that leads 
straightway 

‘On to her father’s house. She is alone ! 

The night draws on—such ways are 
hard to hit— 

And fit it is 1 should 
sketch, 

Dropt unawares no doubt. 


this 
Ho 
Why should 


restore 


T yearn 
To keep the relique? "twill but idly feed 
‘The passion that consumes me, Let me 
haste! 
The picture in my hand which she has 
left 5 
She cannot blame me that I follow'd 


her: 
And I may be her guide the long wood 
through, 


HYMN BEFORE S' 
THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI 


Besides the Rivers, Arve and Arveiron, which 
have thelr sources in the foot of Mont Blanc, five 
conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and 
within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiaon 
Major grows in immense numbers, with its 
“flowers of lovelicat blue.” 


Hast thou acharm to stay the morning- 
star 

| Tn his steep course ? 
to pause 

| On thy bald awful head, O sovran 
BLANe t 

‘The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 

Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, mest awful 
Form! 


So long he seems 





166 HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNT 


fewest arcestcine sa sere 
‘Deep is the air and dark, substantial, 
Searels ‘methinks thou piercest 
As with'a wedge! But when I look 
este eNisicinst codon (aceaey ty exes 


from eternity ! 
Orca nd ee silent Mount! I gazed upon 
Til to ‘still present to the bodily 
Didst raciih ‘from my thought : entranced 
‘prayer 
I worshipped the Invisible alone. 
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, 
Sores, we know not we are listening 
to 
Thou, the Panes wast blending with 
my Thought, 
Yea, with ey Life and Life's own went 
Till the ‘iftating Soul, enrapt, trang, 
Into the mighty vision passing—there 
‘As in her natural form, swelled vast to 
Heaven ! 
Awake, my soul! not only passive 
praise 
Thou bic not alone these swelling 


Moats and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 
Voice clare sweet ae! Awake, my heart, 


Ghar gias del icy cliffs, all join my 

Hyom, 
“Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of 

the Vale ! 

iwgsting wilh the darkness all the 
night, 

And vised all night by trocps of 

Or wen they climb the sky or when 


they sink : 
Companion of the momingstar at dawn, 





Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the 

Corned’ wake, © wake, a te 

Bie sonia ty arto lien siete 

Whe iy comes ith on 

Who made thee parent of perpetual 
streams? 


And yau, ye five wild torrents fiercely 
t 

Who called you forth from night and 

utter death, id 

From dark and icy caverns called you 

Down those precipitous, black, jagged 
rocks, 

For oes ees and the same for 


ihe ee invulnerable life, 
eats emmion 


Habeaslng soieteged tereal eect 
Aad who commanded {and the silence 


came), 
Here let the billows stiffen, and have 
rest? 


Ve Ice-falls | yo that from the mount. 
ain’s brow 


Adown enormous ravines slope amain— 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty 


And stopped at once amid their maddest 
t 


Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts £ 
Who made you glorious as the Gates of 


Heaven 
Uonnth ba keen ae ‘Who bade 
the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with 
living flowers. 
Sistas Boe, eprend athens al $e 
Gon he ane ies san 


Anon a et the Sepa: shy 





TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A STRANGER 


167 








Gov! ye streams with | 
Fe Be ‘roice 1 © 
Ve pine-groves, with your soft and soul- 
like sounds ! 


Aad they top have a voice, yon piles of 


snow, 
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, 
Gon! 


Ve living flowers that skirt the eternal 
frost ! 

Ye wild 1 goats sporting round the eagle’s 

Yo tes pley.mates of the mountain 

Ye wesiings, the dread. arrows of the 


Ye signs pny ins of the element ! 
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with 
praise ! 


Thou too, hear Mount ! with thy sky- 


pointing peaks, oy 

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, un- 
heard, 

Shoots downward, glittering through the 
pure serene 

Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy 
breast— 

Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! 

That as I raise my bead, awhile bowed 
ow 

In adoration, upward from thy base 

Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused 


‘with tears, 
seemest, Uke a vapoury cloud, 





Solemnly 

To rise before me—Rise, O ever rise, 

Rise Uke a cloud of incense from the 
Earth 


! & 
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the 
hills, 
‘Thou dread ambassador from Earth to 
Heaven, 
Great Hierarch! tell thom the silent 
And sel the stars, om! tell yon rising | 


Earth, vith Teer thomsand voices, praises 
Gop, tor. 


TO MATILDA BETHAM FROM A 
STRANGER 


[One of our most celebrated pasts, who had, 
1 was wold, picked out and praised the little 
piece“ On a Cloud,” another had quoted (aying 
it would have been faultless if T bail not used the 
word Phasur in it, which he thought inadmis- 
nible in modern poetry), sent me some verses 
scribed *' To Matilda Betham, from a Stranger 
and dated “Keswick, Sept. 9, 1203, 5 T, C." 
1 should have guesse:l whence they came, but 
dared not flatter myself so highly as satisfactorily, 
to believe it, before I obtained the avowal of the 
Jady who bad transmitted them. 


Matitpa! I have heard a sweet tune 
play’d 

On a sweet instrament—thy Poesie— 

Sent to my soul by Boughton's pleading 
voice, 

Where fdendship's 
spirited, 

Deepencd and fill’d the subtle tones of 
taste 


zealous wish in- 


| (So have I heard a Nightingale’s fine notes 


Blend with the murmurs of a hidden 
stream !) 

And now the fair, wild offspring of thy 
genius, 

Those wanderers whom thy fancy had 
sent forth 

To seek their fortune in this motley 
world, 10 

Have found ® little home within my 
heart, 

And brought me, as the quit-rent of thelr 
lodging, 

Rose-buds, and fruit-blossoms, and pretty 
weeds, 

Andi timorous laurel leaflets half-disclos'd, 

Engarlanded with gadding woodbine 
tendrils t 

A coronel, which, with undoubting hand, 

T twine around the brows of patriot 
Horn! 


The Almighty, having first composed a 
Man, 

Set him to music, framing Woman for 
him, 





168, 


AN ODE TO THE RAIN 


ene Stes each fo cect, and saps thepy 


one} 
And pee iss that there's a natural 
Between the female mind and measur'd 


do I know a sweeter than this, 
That iis wet Hoe yen 


‘That cine Britain, owe dear mother 


Mey boas one-Mald,a poctess indud 
Great pal th” es Lesbian, in 


And oret he of holier Her ii, and happier fate. 


Matilda! £ dare wine ¢éy vernal wreath 
Around the brows of patriot Hope! But 


thou ” 
Be wise! be bold ! fulél my auspices ! 
Tho’ oy eae Cnega stern must be 
thy 
Patient ny eae watehful thy mild eye | 
Poetic flings, th like the stretching boughs 
or sight oaks , pay homage to the 


gales, 
‘Toss in the strong winds, drive before 


the gust, 
Botella one giddy ‘storm of flattering 


Yet all the while slf-imited, verain 
Equally near the fixid and solid trunk 
Of Trithsud) Neti inthe Rowting 


As in beak ‘catm that stills the aspen ore, 
Be ae Spee Woman! but be wisely 


Fly, eee Ike, firm land beneath thy 
feet, 


Yet hurried onward by thy wings of fancy 
Swiftas the ahve, singing in their 


quills. 
Look nea thee! look within thee! 
think and feel! 
‘What nobler meed, Matilda ! canst thou 
win, 
‘Than tears of gladness in a BOUGHTON’S 


Hea exe atten overt iu wisthperv Kekres? 
vee. 





AN ODE TO THE RAIN 


COMPOSED HEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE 
MORNING APPOINTED FOR TItK 
DETARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, 
‘BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, 
WHOM If WAS FEARED THE RAIN 
SHGHT DETAIN 


2 
I xNow it is dark ; and though I have 
Tain, 


Awake, as I guess, an hour 
1 have not once open’d the ares, 


But Tlie in'the dark, asa bllnd man lies. 
© Rain ! that I lie listening to, ~ 
You're but » doleful sound at best 1 


" 
O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, 
‘The clash hard by, and the murmur all 
You ki ute 
‘oa know, know aught, that we, 
Voth night (and day, ‘but i Bites 
For and mont! almost years, 
Have staat con through this vale at 


Since ody of mine) and rainy weather, 
Have lived on easy 


should tm ty 


morrow, 

And bring with you both pain and 
sorrow 5 

‘Though stomach should sicken and knees 
should swell— > 

Tl nothing speak of you but well. 


But only now for this one 
Do go, dear Rain t phcbi 





THE GOOD, GREAT MAN 


169 





a 


_ Dae Rain ! I ne'er refused to say 
Yoere «good creature In your way + 
Nw, [could write a book myself, 
Woe fit a parson’s lower shelf, 
very are, — 
‘What hdd, must be fair! | 
Asa if sometisnes, why not to-day ? 
Depo, dear Rain ! do go away ! 


v 
Tkar Rain! if I've been cold and 


Tike ee ieecsi 17 tell you why. 
A dear old Friend e’en now js here, 

Aad with him came my sister dear ; 
‘After loog absence now first met, 

Long tonths by pain and grief beset — 
We three dear friends! in truth, we 


groan 

Iespatiently to be alone. 

We three, you mark! and not one 
more! 


The ‘wish makes my spirit sore. 
We have so miuch to talk about, 

‘So many sad things to let out ; 

So many tears in our eye-corners, 
Sitting like little Jacky Horners— 

In short, as 00m as it is day, 

Do go, dear Rain ! do go away. 


»| 


s 
_ And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain ! 
shall come again, 
Ii as e’er you could 
the bye ‘tis understood, 
‘AOL $0 pleasant as you're good), 
Yet, knowing well your worth and place, 
TL welcome you with cheerful face; « 
And though you stay"d a week or morc, 
Were ten times duller than before ; 
Yet wtih ped heart, and right’ good 
WH sit and Fisten to you still ; 
Nor shold you go away, dear Rain! 
Uninvited to remain, 
But only now, for thks one day, 





Do go, dear Rain! do go away. 28> 


INSCRIPTION FOR A FOUNTAIN 
ON A HEATH 


THIS Sycamore, oft musical with bees; — 

‘Such tents the Patriarchs loved | O long 
unharmed 

May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy 

‘The small round basin, which this jutting 


stone 
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long 
may the Spring, 
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath, 
Send up cold waters to the traveller 
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease 
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless 


lance, 

Which at the bottom, like a Fairy’s Page, 

As merry and no taller, dances still, 

Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the 
Fount. 

Here twilight is and coolness: here is 
moss, 

A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade. 

Thou may'st toil far and find no second 


tree. 
Drink, Pilgrim, here! Here rest! and 
if thy heart 
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh 
‘Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound, 
Or passing gale or hum of murmuring 
est Boe. 


THE GOOD, GREAT MAN 


+ How seldom, friend ! a good great man 
inherits 
Honour or wealth with all his worth 
and pains ! 
It sounds like stories from the land of 
spirits 
If any man obtain that which he merits 
Or any merit that which he obtains.’ 


REPLY TO THE ABOVE 


For shame, dear friend, renounce this 
canting strain ! 

What would'st thou have a good grent 
man obtain ? 





170 


’ 
THE PAINS OF SLEEP of qy( Hubs 





Place? titles? salary? 9 gilded chain? 
Or throne of corses which his sword had 
slain? 
Greatness and goodness are not ares, 
‘but ends t 
Hath he not always treasures, always 
friends, 
The good great man? ¢hree treasures, 
Love, and Licitr, 
And CaLM THOUGHTS, regular as 
infant's breath ; 
And three firm friends, more sure than 
day and night, 
Hiosnty, his Maker, and the ANGEL 
Deatn! 
Morning Post, Sif. 24, Wor. 


ANSWER TO A CHILD'S 
QUESTION 


Do you ask what the birds sy? The 
Sparrow, the Dove, 

‘The Linnet and Thrush say, ‘1 love 
and I love !” 

In the winter they're silent 
so strong 5 

What it says, I'don't know, but it sings 
a loud song. 

But green leaves, and blossoms, and 
sunny warn weather, 

And singing, and loving—all come back 
together. 

[‘T love, and [ lore,’ almost all the birds 
my 

From sunrise to star-tisc, so gladsome 
are the} 

But the Lark is so brimful of gladness 
and love, 

The green fields below him, the tilue sky 
above, 

That he sings, and he sings ; and for ever 
sings he— 

‘L love my Love, and my Love loves 
me!’ 

[Tis no wonder that he's full of joy to 
the brim, 

When he loves his Love, and his Love 
loves hier !} a 


the wind is 





& 
THE PAINS OF SLEEP 


Enz. ou my bed my limbs I lay, 

Tt hath not been my use to pray 

With moving lips or bended knees ; 

But silently, by slow degrees, 

My spirit I to Love compose, 

In humble trust mine eye-lids close, 
With reverential resignation, 

No wish conceived, no thought exprest, 
Only a sense of supplication ; 

A sense o'er all my soul imprest % 
‘That 1 am weak, yet not unblest, 

Since in me, round me, every where 
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are. 


But yestersnight 1 pray'd alowd 
In anguish and in agony, 

Up-starting from the Sendish crowd 

Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: 
A lurid light, a teampling throng, 

Sense of intolerable wrong, 

And whom I scored, those cult strong 
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will 2x 
Still bafiled, and yet burning still t 
Desire with loathing strangely mixed 
On wild or hateful objects fixed, 
Fantastic passions ! maddening braw! ! 
And shame and terror over all ? 

Deeds to be hid which were not hid, 
Which all confused I could not know 
Whether I suffered, or I did: 

For all seem’d guilt, remorse or woe, 3° 
My own or others still the same 
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame 


So two nights passed : the night's dismay 

Saddened and stunned the coming day. 

Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me © 

Distemper's worst calamity. 

‘The thiel night, when my own loud 
scream 

Had waked me from the fiendish deeam, 

O'ercome with sufferings strange and 
wild, 

T wept as T had been a child ; ” 

And having thus by tears subdued 

My anguish to a milder mood, 

Such punishments, I said, were due 

To natures deepliest stained with sin s 





AN EXILE—TO ASRA 


171 





For aye entempesting anew 

"The vatethomabte bell within 

The horror of their deeds to view, 

To know and loathe, yet wish and do ! 
Such griefs with sach men well agrec, 
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? so 
To be beloved is all I need, 

And whom I love, I love indeed. 1505, 


AN EXILE 
Fatexp, Lover, Husband, Sister, Brother! 
Dear names close in upon each other ! 
Alas t poor Fancy’s bitter-sweet— 
on Esemees and Dut our ames can meet, 
1805. 

THE VISIONARY HOPE 

SAD lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly 
Kneeling 

Ife fain would frame a prayer within his 


breast, 
Would fain entreat for some sweet breath 


] 





of healing, 
That his sick body might have case and | 


rest 5 
He strove in vain | the dull sighs from 
his chest 


Against his will the stifling load revealis 
Oo ew Nature forced ; though like some 


ive guest, 

Raa Feteoher aL Wa! conquerors 
feast, 

Aa alien's restless moo! but half con- 

The sternness on his gentle row con- 


Sickness within and miserable feeling : 

Thowh cheers pangs made canes of 

And messes pve, cach night repelled 

Fach wa was scattered by its own 
fond screams : 

Vet never could his heart command, 


One deep full wish to be no more in 


‘That Hope, which was his inward bliss 

and boast, 

Which waned and died, yet ever near 
him stood, 

‘Though changed in nature, wander where 
he would — 

For Love's Despair is but Hope’s pining 
Ghost ! 

For this one hope he makes his hourly 
moan, 

He wishes and cen wish for this alone t 

Pierced, as with light from Heaven, 
before its gleams 

(So the love-stricken visionary deems) 

Disease would vanish, like a summer 
shower, 

Whose dews fling sunshine from the 
noon-tide bower ! 

Or let it stay ! yet this one Hope should 


give 
Such strength that he would bless his 
pains and live, ©? yo? 1810 


HOMELE 


*O! Curisrmas Day, Oh! happy day, 
A foretaste from above, 

‘To him who hath a happy home 
And love returned from love !' 


[on THE Avove] 


O1 Cutaisratas Day, O gloomy day, 
The barb in Memory’s dart, 

‘To him who walks alone through Life, 
The desolate in heart, 


“TO ASKA 


Axe there two things, of all which men 
possess, 

That are so like each other and so near, 

As mutual Love soems like to Happiness? 

Dear Asta, woman beyond utterance 
dear! 

This Love which ever welling at my 
heart, 

Nowin its living fount dotl heave and fall, 





172 


Now overflowing pours thro’ every part 

Of all my frame, and fills and changes all, 

Like vernal waters springing up through 
snow, 

is Love that seeming great beyond the 
power 

Of growth, yet seemeth ever more to 


grow, 
Could I transmute the whole to one rich 


ower 
Of Happy Life, and give it all to Thee, 
Thy lot, methinks, were Heaven, thy 


age, Etemity ! rhe 
MS. 


PHANTOM 


Att Jook and likeness caught from earth, 
All accident of kin and birth, 

Had pass'd away. ‘There was no trace 
OF aught on that illumined face, 
Upraised beneath the rifted stone 

But of one spirit all her own ;— 

She, she herself, and only she, 


Shone through her body visibly. tag 


SON 
[TRANSLATED FROM MARINE] 


Laby, to Death we're doom'd, our crime 
the same ! 

‘Thou, that in me thou kindled’st such 
fierce heat 5 

I, that my heart did of a Sun so sweet 

‘The rays concentre to so hot a flame. 

I, fascinated by an Adder's eye 

Deaf as an Adder thou to all my pain ¢ 

‘Thou obstinate in Scorn, in Passion T 

I lav'd too much, too much didst thou 
disdain, 

Hear then our doom in Hell as justasstern, 

Our sentence equal as our crimes con- 
spire— 

Who living bask'd at Beauty's earthly fire, 

In living flames eternal there must burn— 

Hell for us both fit places too supplies— 

In my heart thou wilt bum, I roast before 


thine eyes, 2 thos 
MS, 





PHANTOM— CONSTANCY TO AN IDEAL OBJECT 


A SUNSET x 


Urox the mountain's edge with light 
touch resting, 
‘There a brief while’ the globe of splen- 
dour sits 
And seems a creature of the earth, 
but seon, 
More changeful than the Moon, 
‘To wane fantastic his great orb submits, 
Or cone or mow of fire: till sinking 


slowly 
Even toa star at length he lessens wholly, 


as Spirits vanish, he is sunk 
F ike brecee possesses all the wood. 
‘The boughs, the sprays have stood 
As motionless as stands the ancient trunk! 
Bat every leaf through all the forest 
flatters, 
And deep the cavern of the fountain 
mutters, 180s. 


CONSTANCY TO AN IDEAL 
OBJECT 
Steer all that beat about in Nature's 


range, 
Or veer or vanish; why should’st thou 
remain 
The only constant in a world of e 
hat iv'st but in 


Call to the Hours, that in the distance 


play 
The faery 7 rool of the future day—— 
Fond Thought! not one of all that shin- 
ing swarm 
wil inet on ¢hee with life-enkindling 


breath, 

Till when, like strangers shelt’ring from 
a storm, 

Hope and Despair meet in the porch of 
Death! 

Yet still thou haunt'st me; and thoagh 
well I see, 

She is not thon, and only thou art she, 

Still, still as though some dear emivtiet 
Good, 





THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE 


173 





Sime fining Lowe before my eyes there 
stood 


Wah answering look a ready car to | 
lend, 

Teeam to thee and say—* Ah! loveliest | 
friend! 

That this the meed of all my toils might 


be, 
Tohave 2 home, an English home, and 


Vain repetition! Home and Thou are 
one. 
The peacefull’st cot, the moon shall shine 


tipon, 

Lalled By the thresh and wakened by 
the lark, 

Withost thee were but a becalmed bark, 

Whose helmsman on an ocean waste and 
wide 

Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm 


And art thow nothing? 
as when 
The woodman winding westward up the 


Such thou art, 


gken 

At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep- 
track's maze 

The viele snow-mist werves a lst’ 


ing haze 

Sets full before him, gliding without 
tread, 

An image with a glory round its head ; 

The enamoured rustic worships its fair 


hues, 
Nor knows he mals the shadow, he 
pursees! Tios. 


FAREWELL TO LOVE 
PAREWRLL, sweet Love! yet blame you 


While most were wooing wealth, or gaily 
swerving 
‘To pleasure’s secret haunts, and some 
apart 
Stood strong in pride, self-conscious of 
deserving, 
To you I gave my whole weak wishing 
heart, 


And when I met the maid that realized 
Your fair creations, and had won her 
kindness, 
Say, but for her if aught on earth T 
prized! 
Your dreams alone 1 dreamt, and 
caught your blindness. 


| © gricf!—but farewell, Love! 1 will go 
play me 

With, thoughts that plésse te less, and 
less betray me, ifs. 


WHAT IS LIFE? 


Resemnces life what once was deem'd of 
light, 

Too ample in itself for human sight? 

An absolute self—an element 
grounded— 

All that we see, all colours of all shade 

By encroach of darkness made ?— 

Is very life by consciousness unbounded ? 

And all the thoughts, pains, joys of 
mortal breath, 

A war-embrace of wrestling 
death ? 


un: 


life and 
ttos. 


THE BLOSSOMING OF THE 
SOLITARY DATE-TREE 
A LAMENT 


I seem to have an indistinet recollection of hav 





Rot 


my truth; 
More fondly ne'er did mother eye her | 


Than T your form : yowrs were my hopes 
of | 
And as yew alah my thoughts I 
Wighed or 


ing read either in ene of the ponderous tomes of 
» oF fin some other compilation 

iret Hebrew writers, an apelozve 

| of Rabbinical wadition to the following purpose t 
White car first parems stood before thelr 

| offended Maker, and the fast words of the sen- 
| tence were yet sounding in Adam's ear, the 





THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE 


‘with guilt like thine, it had been possible for thee 
to have the heart of a Man, and to feet rhe yearn 


introductory stanzas, 
is wanting; and the author has In vain taxed his 
memory to repair the loo. But a rude draught 
of the poem contains the substance of the stanzas, 
and the reader ix requested to receive it as the 
nubstitute. [1 is not impossible, that some con- 


original integrity by a reduction of the thoughts 
1o the requisite metre. arc 


' 


BeneaTu the blaze of a tropical sun the 
mountain peaks are the Thrones of Frost, 
through the absence of objects to reflect 

“What no one with us 


presence of a ONE, 
The best belov’d, who loveth me the best, 


is for the heart, what the supporting air 
soos within is for the hollow globe with 
its suspended car, ive it of this, 
and all without, that would have 

it aloft even to the seat of the gods, be- 
comes a burthen and crushes it into Sat- 
Ness 





For never touch of gladness stirs my 


But tim’ronsl to rejo 
Tike s ited Ate tat fem dep dak 
start 


In lonesome tent, I listen for fhy voice. 
Heloved! "not thines thou art not 
there 
‘Then melts the bubble into idle air, 
Tat Siti Steet hope ea 
despair, 
5 


Behar hes ie ing 
her chaix aii 





SEPARATION—A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER 





Ad flatt’ning its round check upon her 
ki 


mee, 
‘Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare 
‘Te mock the coming sounds, At that 
‘sweet sight 
She hears her own voice with a new 
| 


delight ; | 
And vel the babe perchance should lisp | 
the notes aright, 


6 


‘Then is she tenfold gladder than before ! 
Bat should disease of chance the darling 


take, 
What then’ avail those songs, which 
‘sweet of yore 
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's 
? 


sake’ 
Dear maid! no pratiler at a mother's 
knee 


Was c'er so dearly prized as I prize 
thee: 


Why was [ made for Love and Love 
denied to me? es. 


SEPARATION 


ASWORDED man whose trade is blood, 
In in anger, and in fear, 
Theo” swamp, and torrent flood, 
Teck the wealth you hold so dear! 
The de lng charm oe oatward form 3 
‘The power , the pride of birth, 
Have takes Woman's heart by storm— 
Usarp’d the place of inward worth. 


Te not tree Love of higher 

ponent ostward a though fair to see, 
fealth’s glittering fairy-clome of ice, 
Or echo of proud ancestry ?— 





(This separation is, alas! 

Too great a punishment to bear; 
01 take my life, or let me pass 

‘That life, that happy life, with her !) 


The perils, erst with steadfast eye 
Encounierd, now I shrink to see- 
Oh! T have heart enough to die~ 
Not half enough to part from Thee! 
Tides, 


A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY A 
VIEW 
OF SADDLEBACK IN CUMBERLAND 


OX stern Blencartha’s perilous height 
The winds are tyrannous and strong ; 
And flashing forth unsteady Tight 
From stern Blencartha’s skiey height, 
As loud the torrents throng! 
Beneath the moon, in gentle weather, 
‘They bind the earth and ‘sky together, 
But ae She iy oud its forms, how 


The things | tat seek the earth, how full 
of noise and riot! 186, 


A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER 


Exe on my bed my limbs I lay, 

God grant me grace my prayers to tay 

© God! preserve my mother dear 

In strength and health for many a year; 

And, O! preserve my father too, 

‘And may T pay him reverence due; 

And may I my best thoughts employ 

To be my parents’ hope and joy; 

And O! preserve my brothers both 

From eril doings and fromy sloth, 

Ani may we always love each other 

Our friends, out father, and our mother: 

And still, © Lond, to me impart 

‘An innocent and grateful heart, 

‘That after my last sleep T may 

Awake to thy eternal day! Amen. 
fa 


v 





TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 





[Wittias Worpswoxrst] 


COMPOSED ON NIGHT AVTER 215 
RECITATION OF A YOKM ON THE 
GROWTH OF AN INDIVIDUAL MIND 


FRrexp of the wise ! and Teacher of the 
Good ! 

Into my heart have I received that Lay 

More than historic, that prophetic Lay 

Wherein (high theme by thee first sung 
aright) 

Of the foundations and the building up 

Of a Human Spirit thow hast dared to 
tell 

What inay be told, to the understanding 
mind 

Revealable ; and what within the mind 

By vital breathings secret as the soul 

OF vernal growth, oft quickens in the 
heart 1 

Thoughts all too deep for words !— 


Theme hard as high ! 

Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious 
fears 

(The first-born they of Reason and twin- 
birth), 

Of tides obedient to external force, 

And currents selfedetermined, as might 
seem, 

Or by some inner Power ; of moments 
awful, 

Now in thy inner life, and now abroad, 

When power streamed from thee, and 
thy soul received 

The light reflected, as a 
stowed — 

OF fancies fair, and milder hours of 
youth, pa 

Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought 

Industrions in its joy, in vales and 
glens 

Native or outland, 
hills t 

Or on the lonely high-road, when the 
stars 


light be- 


lakes and famous 





Were rising; or by secret. mountain: 
streams, 
The guides and the companions of thy 


way! 


Of more than Faney, of the Social 
Sense 

Distending wide, and man beloved os 
man, 

Where France in all her towns lay 
vibrating 

Like some becalmed bark beneath the 
burst , 

Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when 
no cloud 

Is visible, or shadow on the main. 

For thou wert there, thine own brows 
garlanded, 

Amid the tremor of a realm aglow, 

‘Amid a mighty nation jubilant, 

When from the general heart of human 
kind 

Hope sprang forth like m full- born 
Deity ! ° 

——OF that dear Hope afflicted and 
struck down, 

So summoned homeward, 
calm and sure 

From the dread wateh-tower of man’s 
absolute self, ° 

With light unwaning on hee eyes, to 
Took 

+r on—herself a glory to behold, 

The Angel of the vision! ‘Then (last 
strain) 

Of Duty, chasen Laws controlling choice, 
Action and joy !—An_orphic song ip- 
deed, "3 
A song. divine of high and passionate 
*houghts a 

‘To thelr own music chaunted ! 


thenceforth, 


© great Bard! 
Ere yet that last strain dying awed the 
air, 
With stedfast eye 1 viewed thee in the 
choir 
Of ever-enduring men. The truly great 
Have all one age, and from one visible 
space a 





TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 


77 





re EY ‘They, both in power 

rae and Time is not with 

Save as it Petal pe them, they #m it. 

Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, 

And to be placed, as they, with gradual 
fame 

Among the archives of mankind, thy 
work 


Makes audible a linked lay of Truth, 
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous 


lay, 
Not learnt, but native, her own natural 
notes! @ 
Ak! as I listen’ with a heart forlom, 


| The pulses of my being beat anew : 
And even as life retums upon the 


drowned, 
Life's joy rekindling roused a thrang of 
Keen pargriof Lore, awakening ss 0 


Teta ‘with an outery in the heart ; 
that shunned the 


ee ae hopes 
Aud eg that scarce would know itself 
from fear 5 


manhood come 


ad all Ste en ha 

A it toil had reared, 
and all, 

Commune with tice bad opened out— 
‘bat Sowers 

Strewed om my corse, and borne upon 


ty Dler, 
Peers cam ee s2i-sane 





Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And 
i 


intertwine beseems 
wreaths 
Strew'd before hy advancing ! 


fo 
Such triumphal 


Nor do thou, 
Sage Bard ! impair the memory of that 
hour 
Of thy communion 
mind 
By pity or grief, already felt too long! 
Nor let my words import more blame 
than needs. [it nigh 
‘The tumult rose and xd; for Peace 
Where _wisdom’s voice has Tound a 
listening heart. [storms, 
Amid the howl of more than wintry 
The halcyon hears the voice of vernal 
hours oe 
Already on the wing. 


with my nobler 


Eve following eve, 
Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense 
Home 
Is sweetest ! moments for their own sake 
hailed 
And more desired, more precious, for 
thy song, 
In silence listening, 
child, 
My soul lay passive, by thy various 
strain 
Driven as in surges now beneath the 
stars, 
With momentary stars of my own birth, 
Fair constellated foam, still darting off 
Into the darkness ; now a tranquil sea, 
Outspread and bright, yet swelling to 
the moon, 


like a devout 


yor 


And when—O Friend! my comforter 
and guide! 

Strong in thyself, and powerful to give 
strength !— 

Thy long sustained Song finally closed, 

And thy deep voice had coased —yet 
thou thyself 

Wert still before my eyes, and round us 
poth 


N 





eagnee he 


+ 
WF LOVE—THE HAPPY HUSBAND 


Se 


aly Love within yu wrought — 
1 sate, my being blended in ane thought O Greta, dear identi 
Sua meni e spiionzi acs 
ano 
Absorbed hanging still the ‘ 
fae “0 = Mas not, since then, Love's prompture 
And when I rose, I found myself in 


prayer. 
. Sanaary 807. 


RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE 
7 


How warm this woodland wild recess ! 
Love surely hath been breathing here 
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear ! 


‘Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, Ort, of methinks, the while with 

‘As if to have you yet more near, Tenth om the ear thy ear 

And dedicated name, I hear 
un fe errr and a mystery, 
of more than life, 

Eight springs have flown, since tast I lay | 4 Pledge Tetog 

On seaward Quantock's heathy hills, | Ye in that very name of Wi 

Where quiet sounds from hidden rills 
Float here and there, like things astray, 

And gh o'er head the sky lark 

shrills. 


m 


Re eeesn re es macle the air 
Be music with your name ; yet why 
ree 
promise wi 
Beloved t flew your sink by? re 
wit 

y And into eolatheal soon dying, 
hs ‘Wheel out their sity moment, then 

As when a mother doth explore Resign the soul to love again. 
‘The rose-mark on her long-lost child, 

T met, I loved you, maiden mild ! A more precipitated vein 

As whom I long had loved before— Of notes, eddy in the flow 

‘So deeply had I been beguiled. of seo song, they come, they 


v And dare thete sweeter unde 
Its awn sweet self—a love of Thee 


You stood before me like a thought, seems, yet cannot greater be ! 
A dream remembered in a dream, aS oe ‘Tiber. 








A DAY-DREAM—TO TWO SISTERS 


79 





A DAY-DREAM 


Biv eget make plctares sehen they are 
aad = 
1 see a fountain, large and fait, 
A willow and a ruined hut, 
And thee, and me and Mary there. 
fo) oe make thy gentle lap our 


Bend oer vs, Tike a bower, my beautiful 
green willow | 


A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed, 
Avd that and summer well agree : 
‘And lo! where Mary leans her head, 
Two dear names carved upon the 
tree! 
Awd Mary's tears, they are not tears of 
sorrow : 
Our sister and our friend will both be 
here to-morrow. 


“Twas day! but now few, lange, and 
The stars are round the crescent 


moon 
And pow it is 4 dark warm night, 
‘The balmiest of the month of June! 
A glow-worm fall'n, and on the marge 


remounting 
Shines, and its shadow shines, fit stars 
for oar sweet fountain. 


© ever—ever be thou blest ! 
For dearly, Asca! love 1 thee ! 
This brooding, warmth seross my 


mn a his eth of tranquil bliss—ah, 
emai ata ihe Tare Gee, 1 know 
hither, 


et room we three are still 


‘The shadows dance upon the wall, 
By the still dancing fire-fAames 
made ; 


And now they slumber moveless all ! 
And now they melt to one deep 
shade! 





But not from me shall this mild darkness 
steal thee = 

I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my 
heart I feel thee! 


Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play— 
*Tis Mary's hand upon my brow ! 
But let me check this tender lay 
Which none may hear but she and 
thou! 
Like the still hive at quict midnight 
humming, 
Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved 
women ! Fiber, 


TO TWO SISTERS 
[MRs. MORGAN AND Miss Brent] 
A WANDERER’S FAREWELL 


To know, to esteem, to love,—-and then 

to part— 
fakes up rites tale to many a feeling 

heart 

Alas for some abiding-place of love, 

O’er which my spirit, like the mother 
dove, 

Might brood with warming wings ! 


O fair! O kind! 

‘Sisters in blood, yet each with each in- 
twined 

More close by sisterhood of heart and 


mind ! 
Me disinherited in form and face 
By nature, and mishap of outward 


grace; 

Who, soul and body, through one guilt- 
less fault 10 

Waste daily with the poison of sad 
thonght, 

Me did you soothe, when solace hoped I 
hone t 

And as on unthaw’d ice the winter sun, 

‘Though stern the frost, though brief the 
genial day, 

You bless my heart with many a cheerful 


ray 3 
For gratitude suspends the heart's despair, 








FOR A MARKET-CLOCK-—LOVE'S BLINDNESS 


181 





And with a natural gladness, he main- 
‘tained 


The citadel unconqvered, and in joy 
Was to follow the delightful Muse, 
For not a hidden path, that to the shades 
Of the beloved Parnassian forest leads, 
Lerked andiscovered by him; not a rill 
‘There issues from the fount of Hippo- | 


rene, 

Bet —, had traced it upward to its 
acoph oe sre glade, dark glen, and 
SERRA Fr fay teh eens a is: banks, 


and culled 

Tis med'cinabile herbs. Yea, oft alone, 
Picreing the long-neglected holy cave, 
‘The haunt obscure of old Philosophy, 
He bade with lifted torch its starry 


walls 

Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the 
flame 

Of odorous lamps tended by Saint and 





© framed for calmer times and nobler | 
bearts ! 


© studious Poet, eloquent for truth! 
Philosopher! contemning wealth ani 


‘Vet docile, childlike, fall of Life and | 
Love! 


Here, rather than on monumental stone, 
‘This record of thy worth thy Friend 
puee 


Thoughtfal, with quiet tears upon his 
cheek. Yakeg. 


FOR A MARKET-CLOCK | 
(narromrre) | 
Whar pow, O Man! thou dost or mean'st 


todo 
Wall elp ta give thee pence, or make 


rae 
Wheel tierering cet the dot this hant 
shall 


‘The moment that secures thee Heaven 


or Hell! 105 


MS 


INSCRIPTION FOR A TIME-PIECE 
Now! it is gone.—Our brief hours travel 


post, 
Each with its thought or deed, its Why 
or How :— 
| Bur know, each parting hour gives up a 
ghost 
‘To dwell within thee-—an eternal xow! 
1189 


THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN 


COPIRD FROM A PRINT OF THE VIRGIN 
IN A CATHOLIC VILLAGE IN GERMANY 
Donat, Jesu ! Mater ridet 
Que tam duloem somnum videt, 
Dorm, Jesu ! blandale ! 
Si non dormis, Mater plorat, 
Inter fila cantans ornt, 
Blande, veni, somnule. 
ENGLISH 
Sleep, sweet babel my cares beguiling : 
Mother sits beside thee smiling ; 


Sleep, my darling, tenderly ! 
If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, 


| Singing as her wheel she turneth 


Come, soft slumber, balmily ! 


TO A LADY 


OFFENDED DY A SPORTIVE OMSERYA- 
TION THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS 


Nay, dearest Anna { why 0 grave? 
T said, you had no soul, “tis true ! 
For what you ave you cannot sane 
"Tis I that Save one since ¥ first had 
yout Nae 


REASON FOR LOVE'S BLINDNESS 


T HAVE heard of reasons manifold 
Why Love must needs be blind, 

Bat this the best of all I bold 
His eyes are in his mind, 


What outward form and feature are 
He guesseth but in part j 
But that within is good and fair 


He seeth with the heart. ttn, 





THE PANG MORE SHARP THAN ALL 


THE SUICIDE’S ARGUMENT 
Ee ‘- oe ‘of my life, if I wish’d it 
No queen ‘was asked. me—it could not 
If iba ols ibd tics Sk 
And ttre on te ‘Yes; what can No 


NATURE'S ANSWER 


Is't returned, as "twas sent? Is't no 
worse for the wear? 
‘Think Anas what youare! Call to mind 
shat you were ! 
gave ‘a innocence, I gave you hope, 
Hd Wealth, and genizs, and an ample 


scope. 
Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair? 
Make out the invent’ry; inspect, com. 


Then abit aie you dare! ate. 
THE PANG MORE SHARP THAN 
ALL 
AN ALLEGORY 
1 

He too has flitted from his secret nest, 

Hope's last and dearest child without a 
name !— 

‘Mas flitted from me, like the warnthless 
flame, 

‘That makes false promise of a place of 
rest 

To the tied | Pilgrim's still believing 
mil 

Ot like some Elfin Knight in kingly court, 

Who having won all guerdons in his sport, 

Glides: ae of view, and whither none can 

“u 
Yes! he hath fitted from me—with what 


aim, 
Or why, T know not! "Twas a home of 
Lillss, 





And he was innocent, as the pretty shame 

Of babe, that tempts and shuns the 
menaced kiss, 

From 2 ei hiding place of 
snow 

Pure as the babe, I ween, and all 

Antbe dese ope that evel the mother's 

Mer eye down ing o'er her clasped 

Yet re ‘an thal twice Imppy falhers 
kiss, 


That well ight glance aside, yet never 
Where the sweet mark emboss'd so sweet 


a targe— 
Twice wretched he who hath been doubly 
blest ! ~ 
in 
Like a loose blossom on a gasty night 
‘He flited from me—and has left behind 
(As if to them his faith he ne'er did 


plight) 
Of either sex and answerable mind 
Two ply ‘twin. births of his foster- 


‘hope 8 sadly Esteem he hgh) 
And Kindness is the gentler sister's name. 
Dim likeness now, though fair she be and. 


or igh ty who ath all 

s00k >— 

But in his full- nen 
it in l-eyed aspect wi 


‘And while her face reflected Rte abe 

And in reflection kindled—she became 

So like him, that almost she seem’d the 
same ! 


Ww 


Aht he is gone, and yet will not de- 
te 


Is with me still, yet I from him exiled 1 
For still there within my secret 
heart 
‘The magic image of the magic Child, 
Which there be made up-grow by his 
strong art, 





THE NIGHT-SCENE 





As in that crystal! orb—wise Merlin's 

The won Wott of Gs teretn | 

all healt fie things their beings dil fe 

And there fe left it like a Syiph be- 

To live and yearn and languish incom. 
plete ! 


v 
Can wit of man a heavier grief reveal ? 
Can sharper pang from hate or scorn 
rise ?- 


arise ?— 
Ves! ome more sharp there is that deeper 


tes, 
Which fond Esteem but mocks when he 
would l. 
Yet meither scorn nor hate did it devise, 
But sad compassion and atoning zeal ! 
One pang more blighting- een than hope 
betray’ t 


And this it is my woeful hap to feel, 

When, at ber Brother's hest, the twin- 
born Maid 

With face averted and unsteady eyes, 

Her ea playmate’s faded robe puts 


And inky y shrinking from her own disguise 
Emacts the faery Boy that's lost and 


gone. 

@ worse tham all! O pang all pangs 
abore 

Is Kindness counterfeiting absent Love! 


orn) 


“Kpws dei AdAnfpos traipos 


Ts many ways docs the full heart reveal 
‘The presence of the love it would con. 


ceal 5 

But in far more th’ estranged heart lets 
know 

‘The absence of the love, which yet it 


fain would shew. 1826, 





site ane yse Divivions of the 
* Poems,” Bid and 1829.) 


3 Fatrie Queene, & Wik 6-9, % 19. 


THE NIGHT-S E 


A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT 


Sandoval. You loved the daughter of 
Don Manrique? 

Bari Henry. Loved ? 

Sand, Did you not say you wooed 

her? 

Earl H. Once I loved 
Her whom I dared not woo ! 

Sand. ‘And wooed, perchance, 
One whom you loved not ! 

Bart Ht. Oht T were most base, 
Not loving Oropeea, ‘True, I wooed her, 
Hoping to heal a deeper wound ; but she 
Met my advances with impassioned pride, 
‘That kindled love with love. And when 
her sire, 
in his dream of hope already 
grasped 
‘The golden circlet in his hand, rejected 
My suit with insult, and in memory 1 
Of ancient feuds poured curses on my 


Who 


Her blessings overtook and baffled them ! 

But thou art stern, and with unkindling 
countenance 

Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to 


me, 
Sand. Anxiously, Henry ! reasoning 
anxiously. 
But Oropeza— 
art H. Blessings gather round her! 
Within this wood there winds a secret 


passage, 
Beneath the walls, which opens out at 
length » 
Into the gloomiest covert of the garden. — 
The night ere my departure to the army, 
She, nothing trembling, led me through 
that gloom, 
And to that covert by a silent stream, 
Which, with one star reflected near its 


marge, 

‘Was the sole object visible around me, 

No leaflet stirred; the alr was almost 
sultey 5 

So deep, so dark, s0 close, the umbrage 
o'er us! 





18 


No leaflet stirred ;—yet pleasure hung 
The ena and. stillness of the balmy 


air. 
A little farther on an arbour stood, 
Fragrant with Betet trees 1 well 


remember 
‘What an uncertain glimmer in the dark- 
ness i 
Theirsnow-white blossoms made—thither 
To Genes ire ‘Then Oropeza 
sweet ! en 
trembled— 
Theard her heart beat—if "twere not my 
own. 
Sent, 4 rude and scaring note, my 


Earl H, Oh! no! 
Thave Loa memory of aught but plea- 


The athe of fear, like lesser streams 
Still eels still were lost in those of 


love 
So love ihe fom he eta 
Fleeing aed Pain, shelter'd herself in 
eis cas aire our Nand were dex and 


Like eyes satuned with rapture, Life wat 
in us = 

‘We were all life, each atom of our frames 

A living soal—T vow'd to die for her: 

With the faint voice of one who, having 


spoken, 

Relapses into blessedness, I vowed it : 

‘That solemn vow, a whisper scarcely 
heard, 

A murmur breathed against a Indy’s ear. 

Ont there is joy above the name of 


pleasure, » 
Deep self-possession, an intense repose. 
Sand. (2vith a sarcastic smile). No 
other than as eastern sages paint, 
‘The God, who floats upon a Lotos leaf, 
‘Dreams for a thousand ages ; then awnk+ 


ings 
Creates a world, and smiling at the 


le, 
Relapses into bliss. 


THE NIGHT-SCENE 


Earl H. Abt wns that bliss 
Feared as feo alien, and too vast for 


an watt, impatient of its silence, 

Did ‘starting, graspmy forehead. 

T caught her arms ; the veins were swell- 
ing on them. & 

Wee ‘bower she sent a hol- 

“Ont wat it bay me? what i 

1 ig at ha onc that 

thought 

‘The purpose and the substance of my. 

I swore to her, that were she red with 
guilt, 

I wonld exchange my unblenched state 
mith tee 

Friend! by at wing eel ae 

I now will ‘ri goal objects there will 
teach mi 

Unwar iting love, and Sigleio OO heal 

Go Santor Jam prepared to meet 

her— nm 

Say nothing of me—I myself will seek 
her— 

Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear 
the torment 


1. (alone), 
striv’st thou to be great: 
By thine own act—yet art thoa never 
great 


But by the inspiration 1 rea paee 
arate comes, the desert-sands 


ro: mae 
iis \eongh ap pillars of « 


‘temple, 
Built by Or ‘in its own honowr: 
porefet 


he mighty columns were tal 
And tary ends tal est OO 
iy 


Is fled: 





A HYMN—-THE BUTTERFLY 


185 





~ A HYMN 


My Maker! of thy power the trace 

In every crexture’s form and face 
Ud pay Eneeabea 

Thy wisdom, infinite above 


Seraphic thought, a Father's love 
‘As infinite displays! 


From all that meets or eye or car, 
‘There Gils a pe holy fear 
Whieb, like the heavy dew of morn, 
Refreshes: 


while it bows the heart forlorn! 
Great Ged! thy works how wondrous 
fair | 


Yet sinful man didst thou declare 

The whole Earth's voice and mind! 
Lord, ev'n a8 Thou all-present art, 
© may we still with heedful heart 

Thy know and find t 
Then, come, what will, of weal or woc, 
Joy's bosom-spring shall steady flow ; 
For thovghi 'tis Heaven THYSELP to sec, 
Where tora thy Shaves falls, Grief cannot 


181g 


x TOALADY 
WITH FALCONER's SIPWRECK 


AH! pot by Cam or Tris, ot rapeta 
In arched groves, the youthful poct's 
choice 


Nor while le alg, ‘mid delicious 
To iar a ata sng. tom Tadys hand 


Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood 


On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell ; 


Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed 


strewed, 
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's 
swells 


Oar sextant “ag this song! which still 


And for thee, sweet friend | 
card 








Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's 
wings, 
Now groans, and shivers, the replunging 
bark 
“Cling to the shrouds!’ In vain! The 
breakers roar— 
Death shrieks! With two alone of all 
his clan 
Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, 
No classic roamer, bat a shipwrecked 
man! 


Say then, what muse inspired these genial 
stenins 
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame? 
The clevating thought of suffered pains, 
Which gentle hearts shall mourn ; but 
chief, the pame 


Of gratitude ! remembrances of friend, 
Or absent or no more! shades of the 
Past, 
Which Love makes substance ! 
to thee I send, 
dear as long as life and memory last! 


Hence 


I send with deep regards of heart and 
head, 
Sweet maid, for friendship. formed | 
this work to thee = 
And thou, the while thou canst not choose 
but shed 
A tear for Fatcoxre, wilt remember 
MK, Tatty. 


THE BUTTERFLY 

Tne Butterfly the ancient Grecinns made 

The soul's fair emblem, and its only 
name—t 

But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade 

Of earthly life !~~For in this mortal frame 

Ours is the reptile’s Tot, much toil, much 
blame, 

Manifold motions making little speed, 

And to deform and kill the things whereon 
we feed. 11815. 


1 Payche means both Muttertly and Soul 





f ay wos 


186 


HUMAN LIFE 
ON THE DENIAL OF DexORTALITY | 


Ip dead, we cease to be; if total gloom 
7 spat sre rept ca | 


As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and 
Whose sound and motion not alone 
declare, 
Beat are their totwle of being! If the 
dreath 
Be Life itself, and not its task and 
tent, 
If even a soul like Milton's can know 
death ; 
© Man! thou vessel purposeless, un- | 
meant, 
‘Yet drone-hive strange of phantom par: | 
t 


of Nature's dread activity, 
Which, as she gazed on some nigh: 
Gnished vase, 


‘Retreating slow, with meditative pause, 
‘She formed with restless hands umcon- 


sciously, 
Blank accident ! nothing's anomaly! 
If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy 


state, 
Ga thy dreams, and be thy hopes, 
thy fears, 
‘The counter-weights !—Thy laughter and 
thy tears 
Mean but themselves, cach fittest to 


create 
And to repay each other! Why rejoices 
heart with hollow joy for hollow 


? 
Woy ot thy face beneath the 
mourner’s hood, 
Why waste thy sighs, and thy lamenting 
voices, 


‘of Image, Ghost of Ghostly Elf, 
‘such a thing as thou feel'st warm or 
cold ? 


‘what and whence thy gain, if thou 
withhold 
‘costless shadows of thy shadowy 
2? 





HUMAN LIFE—HOUNTING SONG 


Be sad be glad be. etter} se, ot 
mt 
‘Thou hast no reason why! Thou canst 


have none; 
‘Thy being’s being is contradiction, 
Teas. 


SONG ¥ 


SUNG BY GLYCINE IN Z470LYA, 
ACT I. SCENE 2 


A sunny shaft did I behold, 


Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted | 


He sunk, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled 
Within that shaft of sunny mist ; 

is eres offi, Bs his beak of gold, 
All else saci 

And thes he 

Lope delete ged 


Tee spring de 
sparkting 

‘Sweet month of 

We must away ; 
Far, far away! 
Today! today! 3835, 

HUNTING SONG 

[zaronya, ACT IV. SCENE 2] 


Up, up! ye dames, and kasses gay t 
‘To the meadows trip away, 

“Tis you must tend the flocks this mom, 
‘And scare the small birds from the corn. 
Not a soul at home may stay : 

For the shepherds must go. 

‘With lance and bow. 
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 


Leave the hearth and leave the house: 
‘To the cricket and the mouse + 
Find grannam out a sunny seat, 
With abe and page at her feet. 
Not a soul at home may stay: 
For the shepherds must 
‘With lance and bow = 
Tohunt thew ol Se 
Se 








TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY—. 


ISRAEL'S LAMENT 187 





‘TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY 
AN ALLEGORY, 


‘ON the wide level of x mountain's head, 
(L knew not where, bot "twas some facry 


‘Their Sale it ta, for sails out- 
children run an endless race, 


it the other 5 
reverted face, 
Seedpeer Ec £ the boy be- 


Fee be Ba alas! is blind | 
O'er romgh and smooth with even step he 


SMaal atten peta a bs Bat last 
Tits. 


ISRAEL'S LAMENT 


‘Translation of "A Hebrew Dirge, chaunted in 
‘the Great Syragogee, St. James's Place, Aldgate, 
i i in ics ot B Roel Highoas 

the Princess Charlotte. By Hyman Hurwite, 
‘Master of the Hebrew Academy, Mighgate, 
Baz. 


Loe Israel! Sons of Israel, mourn! 
Give utterance to the inward throe ! 
As wails, of her first love forlorn, 
“The Virgin clad in robes of woe. 


‘Mourn the young Mother, snatch’d away 
Frots Light and Life's ascending Sun 
Mourn for the babe, Death's voiceless 
Earl by long pangs and lost ere won. 


‘Mourn the bright Rose that bloom'd and 
went 


Ere half disclosed its vernal hue! vo 
Mourn the green bed, so.rudely rent, 
It brake the stens on which it grew. 


‘Moar for the universal woe 
ae solemn dire and faulting 


For Enplant's is laid low, 
‘So dear, a ay aiyontgt 





The blossoms on hee Tree of Life 
Shone with the dews of recent bliss = 
‘Transplanted in that deadly strife, 
She plucks its fruits in Paradise, 20 


Mourn for the widow'd Lord in chief, 
Who walls and will not solaced be ! 

Mourn for the childless Father's grief, 
The wedded Lover's agony ! 


Mourn for the Prince, who rose at morn 
To seek and bless the firstling bud 
Of his own Rose, and found the thom, 

Its point bedew'd with tears of blood, 


O press again that murmuring string ! 
Again bewail that princely Sire!" ye 
A destined Queen, a future King, 
He mourns on one funereal pyre. 


Mourn for Britannia’s hopes decay'd, 
Her daughters wail their dear defence ; 

Their fair example, prostrate laid, 
Chaste Love and fervid Innocence. 


While Grief in song shall seck repose, 
We will take up a Mourning yearly + 

‘To wail the blow that crush’d the Rose, 
So dearly priz'd and lov'd so dearly. 42 


Long as the fount of Song o'erflows 
Will I the yearly dirge renew : 

Mourn for the firstling of the Rose 
That snapt the stem on which it grew. 


The proud shall pass, forgot ; the chill, 
Damp, trickling Vault their only 
moumer ! 
Not so the regal Rose, that still 
Clung to the breast which first had 
worn her! 


© thou, who mark’st the Mourner's path 
To sid Jeshurun’s Sons attend! 50 
Amid the Lightings of thy Weath 
‘The showers of Consolation send ! 


Jehovah frowns ! the Islands bow | 
And Prince and People kiss the Rod !— 
‘Their dread chastising Judge wert thou! 
Be thou their Comforter, O Ged } 
bry. 





THE TEARS OF A GRATEFUL PEOPLE 





THE TEARS OF A GRATEFUL 
PEOPLE 


A Heltew Dirge ant Hymo, chansted in the 
Great St. ames’ pl. Abigate, on 
the Day of the Funensi of King George If, of 
Memed memory. By Hyman Murwitz of High- 
ete, Translated by a Friend, 


Dinge 
‘Orrness’n, confased, with grief and pain, 
And inly shrinking from the blow, 
Tn vain I seek the dirgeful strain, 
‘The wonted words refuse to flow. 


A fear in every face I find, 
Esch voice is that of one who grieves ; 
And all my Soul, to grief resigeed, 
Reflects the sorrow it receives, 


The Day-Star of our glory sets t 
‘Our King has breathed his latest 
breath ! 10 
Each heart its wonted palke forgets, 
As if it own’d the pow'r of death. 


Our Crown, our heart's Desire is fled ! 
Beltannia’s glory moults its wing ! 
Let us with ashes on our head, 
Raise up a mourning for our King. 
Lot of his beams the Day-Star shorn, 
Sad gleams the Moon through cloudy 
veil! 


‘The Stars are dim! Our Nobles mourn ; | 


The Matrons weep, their Children | 


wail. 20 


No age records a King so just, 
His virtues numerous as his days ; 

The Lord Jehovah was his trust, 
And truth with mercy ruled his 


His Love was bounded by no Clime: 
Each diverse Race, each distant Clan 
He “Sot wern'd by this truth sublime, 


senly knows the ‘heart — not 


ays. 


4 The author, in the ww Poetry, 
here repeevents the Crown, the Peernge, and the 
Miieimoealty, lyr the figurative expression of the 
See, Moon, and Stars. 





| Mis word appall'd the sons of pride, 
Tniquity far wing'd ber way j 

| Deceit and fraud were scatter’d wide, 
And truth resum'd her sacred sway. 


He sooth'd the wretched, and the prey 
From impious tyranny he tore ; 

He stay'd th’ Usurper’s iron sway, 
‘And bade the Spoiler waste mo more, 


Thoa too, Jesharun’s Daughter} thon, 
d of nations and the scorn | 
ras hail on his it brow 


» 


A sefety dawning like the morn. 


| The scoff of each unfeeling mind, 
Thy doom was hard, and keen thy 
ft 


° 


grief; 
Beneath his throne, peace thou didst find, 
And blest the hand that gave relief, 


E’en when a fatal coud o'erspread 
The moonlight splendour of his sway, 
Yet still the light remain’d, and shed 
Mild radiance on the traveller's way. 


‘But he is gone—the Just ! the Good ! 
Nor could a Nation's pray'r delay» 

The heavenly meed, that long had stood 
His portion in the realms of day, 


Beyond the mighty Isle’s extent 
‘The mightier Nation moums ber Chief: 
Him Judah's Daughter shail lament, 
In tears of fervour, love and grief. 


Britannia mourns in silent grief 
Her heart a prey to inward wot. 

In vain she strives to find relief, 
Her pang so. rest, x0 great the 


low. 


Britannia t Sister ! woe is met 
Full fain would 1 console thy woe. 
But, ah! how shall 1 comfort theey 
Who need the balm I would bestow ? 


United then let us repair, 
As round our common Parent's grave; 
And pouring out our heart in prayer, 
Our heav'nly Father's merey crave. 





LIMBO 


189 





Until Jehovah from his throne 
Shall eed his sullering people's 


fears oa 
Shall tum to song the Mourner's groan, 
‘To smiles of joy the Nation's tears, 


Praise to the Lord! Load praises sing! 
And bless Jehovah's Laat hand ! 
Again be bids a George, our Ki 
Dispense his blessings to the and 
Hywn 
O thron’d in Heav'n! Sole King of 
kings, : 
Jehowah ! hear thy Children’s prayers and 
! 
Thou ed of the broken heart! with 


of heat healing om thy people rise! to 
yy tnereies, Lord, are sweet ; 
And Peace and Mercy mect, 
Before thy Judgment seat : 
Lord, hear us! we entreat ! 


When angry clouds thy throne sur- 
roan, 

En Let the cloud thou bid’st thy mercy 
And ere thy rvightecey vengeance strikes 

the wound, 
‘Thy grace prepares the balm divine ! 
‘Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet ; 

ete, 


The Parent tree thy hand did 


spare— al 
Ut fell fad tll the ripen’d fruit was won ; 
aryl tis shade the Scion flourish’d 


Aad the Sretho ga the Son, 


‘This — which thou didst 


Aad train yo fom the pl ro, 
Protect, O Lord ! and to the Nations 


Long let shelter yield, and frit 
ete, 





Lord, comfort thou the royal line: 
Let Peace and Joy watch round us hand 
and hand, 

‘Our Nobles visit with thy grace divine, 120 
‘And banish sorrow from the land ! 
Thy mercies, Lord, are sweet ; 

And Peace and Mercy meet 

Before thy Judgment seat ; 
Lord, hear us ! we entreat ! 
1820. 


LIMBO 


tie Something — This, in 


as here Ghosts 
frighten mi 

‘Thence cross‘ uny 
fated hour 

Be pulveriz'd by Demogorgon’s power 

‘And given as poison to annihilate souls — 

Even now it shrinks them—they shrink 
in as moles 

(Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of 
the ground) 

Creep back from Light—then listen for 
its sound ;— 

‘See but to dread, and dread they know 
not why— 

The natural alien of their negative eye. 


z'd—and shall some 


"Tis a strange place, this Limbo !—not a 
Place 

Yet name it so ;—where Time and weary 
Space 

Fettered from flight, with night- mare 
sense of Aeeing, 

Strive for thei last’ crepuscular half: 
being :— 

Lank Space, and scytheless Time with 
branny hands 

Barren and soundless as the measuring 


sands, 

Not mark’d by flit of Shades,—unmean- 
fing they 

As moonlight on the dial of the day! 

But that is lovely—looks like human 
Time,— 








4 Ka forte af Fp dag « 
bch Aelia lany 
hate onel 


Pig sony fo” 
m1 phi 
Wie? 


PROOF, AND REPLY aN 





pind tia 


Deep, batt, inward joy that closely 


And trace in leaves and flowers that 
round me lic 

Lessons of love and earnest picty. 

‘So let it be; and if the wide world rings 

In mock of this belief, it brings 

Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity. 

So wilt T my altar in the fields, 

‘And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be, 

And the sweet fragrance that the wild 
flower yields 

Shall be the incense 1 will yield to Thee, 

Thee only God! and thou shalt not 


despise 
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice. 


* 


Viexsx, a breeze mid blossoms straying, 

Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee— 
Both were mine! Life went a-maying 

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 

When I was young ! 


YOUTH AND AGE 


‘That fear no spite of wind or 
Nought cared this body for wind or 


weather 
When Youth and I lived in’t together. 


_ 2) Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-tike : 
Friendship is a sheltering tree ; 


Ere I was old! 


re I was oh? Ah woful Ere, 
Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here ! 
© Youth ! foe years so many and sweet, 
"Tis known, that Thou and 
Tl think it’ but fond conceit — 





ae Seng tt Seay 


Tt cannot be that Thou art gone ! 

Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d :— 
And thou wert aye a masker bold! 30 
‘What strange disguise hast now put on, 
To make defieve, that thou art gone? 

I see these locks in silvery slips, 

This ai A gait, this altered size : 
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips, 
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! 
Life is but thought: so think I will 
‘That Youth and I are house-mates still. 


Dew-drops are the gems of morning, (3 
Hut the tears of mournful eve t e. 
Where no hope is, life's a warning 
That only serves to make us grieve, 
When we are old : 

That only serves to make us grieve 
With oft and tedious tal ate Audrey 
Like some poor nigh-related guest, — 
‘That may not rudely be dismist 3 
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, 
And tells the jest without the smile. 

wBaghBys, 

J 


THE REPROOF AND REPLY 


Or, The Flower-thiefs Apology, for a rubbery 
committed in Mr. and Mrs. —'s garden, on 
Sunday morning, 2sth of May, 1833, between the 
hours of eleven and twelve. 


«Fiz, Mr. Coleridge !—and can this be 
you? 

Break two commandments? and inchurch- 
time too! 

Have you not heard, or have you heard 
in vain, 

The birth-and-parentage-recording strain? 

Confessions shrill, that out-shrill'd mack~ 
arel drown— 

Fresh from the drop, the youth not yet 
eut down. 

Letter to sweet-heart—the last dying 
speech— 

And didn’t all this begin in Sabbath- 
breach? 

‘You, that knew better? 
day, 

Steal in, steal out, and steal our flowers 
away? 6 


In broad open 








ot 


wahirg m Fi 


wind, Wheck tomes ete hing Puts 
haharaed 


- vee 
pwtry 4 
Brine Hick oh 


LOVE'S FIRST HOPE—ALICE DU CLOS” 





LOVE'S FIRST HOPE 
O FAIR ee first hope to gentle 
! 


mains 
As Eve's fiest star thro’ fleecy cloudlet 


peeping ¢ 

And sweeter than the gentle.south-west 
wi 

O'ee willowy weads, and shadow'd 
waters creeping, 

And Ceres’ golden fields ;—the sultry 


hind 
Meets it with brow uplift, and stays his 
reaping, Titay. 


ALICE DU CLOS 
O8 THE FORKED TONGUT 
A BALLAD 
“Oe want with two meanings is the traitor’ 
‘Died ane shaft: and a stir vonguve be his blazon ! 
Cancasian Prover’. 
* Tux Sun is not yet risen, 
Bat the dawn lies red on the dew: 
Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters 


O Eady) throw your Tok aside! 
le 
T would not that my Lord should. chide.” 


Sir Hegh the vassal knight 
ang 
a8 
oon-shiny doe, 
‘on its brow, 





The studious maid, with book on knee,— 
Abi! carliest-open'd flower 5 
While yet with keen unblunted light 
The moming star shane opposite 
The Inttice of her bower— 
Alone of all the starry host, 
As if in prideful scorn 
Of flight and fear he stay'd behind, 
To brave th’ advancing mom. 


O1 Alice could read passing well, 
And she was conning then 

Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves, 
And gods, and beasts, and men. 


‘The vassal’s specch, his taunting vein, 

It theill'd like venom thro” her brain ; 4o 
Yet never from the 

She rais'd her head, nor did she deign 
‘The knight a single look. 


* Off, traitor friend | how dar’st thou fix 
‘Thy wanton gaze on me? 

And why, against my eamest suit, 
Does Julian send by thee? 


* Go, tell thy Lord, that slow is sure : 
Fair speed his shafts to-day 

I fellow here a stronger lure, ns 
And chase a gentler prey.’ 


She said: and with a baleful smile 
The vassal knight reel’d off— 

Like a huge billow from a bark 
Toil'd in the deep sea-trough, 

‘That shouldering sideways in mid plunge, 
Is travers'd by a flash. 

And staggering onward, leaves the car 
With dull and distant crash, 


And Alice sate with troubled mien ¢ 
A moment ; for the scoff was keen, 
And thro’ her veins did shiver ! 
‘Then rose and donn'd her dress of green, 
Her buskins and her quiver. 


There stands the flow'ving may-thorn 
tree t 
From thro’ the veiling mist you see 
‘The black and shadowy stem j— 


hy Minh (Marnusl, 27) ad fhe cipal al SH, 
tare -Oh Hae Pik tat 





194 


Smit by the sun the mist in glee 
Dissolves to lightsome jewelry— 
‘Each blossom hath its gem t 


With tear-drop glittering to a smile, 
‘The gay maid on the garden-stile 
Mimics the hunter's shout. 
TO a hip! To horse, to 
1 


re 
Go, bring the palfrey out, 


* My Jolian’s out with all his clan, 
And, bonny boy, you wis, 
Lord Julian is a hasty man, 
Who comes late, comes amiss.’ 


Now Florian was 2 stping suit, 
‘A gallant boy of Spat 
‘Phat tessd his head toy a pride, 
Behind bis Lady fie to te, 
Dat Dlush'd to hold her tain 


‘The buntress is in her dress of green,— 
And forth they go; she with her bow, 
‘Her buskins and her quiver }— 
‘The squire—no younger e’er was seen— 
With restless arm and laughing een, 
‘He makes his javelin quiver. » 


And had not Ellen stay’d the race, 
And stopp'd to see, a moment's 
The whole great globe of light 
Give the Jast parting kiss-like touch 
To the eastern ridge, it lack'd not 


much, 
They had o'erta’en the knight. 
Tt chanced that up the covert lane, 
‘Where Julian waiting stood, 
A neighbour knight prick'd on to join 
‘The huntsmen in the wood. 100 


And with him must Lord Julian go, 
Tho’ with an a ‘d mind 


pride, 
Excuse to stay behind, 


He bit his lip, he wrung his glove, 
He look’d around, he look'd above, 
Bat pretext none could find or frame. 








ALICE DU CLOS 


Alas ! alas! and well-a-day ! 

Tt grieves me sore to think, to my, 110. 

‘That names so seldom meet with Love, 

‘Yet Love wants cournge without a 
name! 


Straight from the forest’s skirt the trees 
O’er-branching, made an aisle, 

‘Where hermit old might pace and chaunt 
‘As in a minster's pile, 


From underneath its leafy screen, 
And from the twilight shade, 

You pass at once into a green, 
‘A green and lightsome glade. 120 

And there Lord Julian sate on steed 5 
Behind him, in a round, 

Stood kale and squire, and menial 


Against the leash the greyhounds strain ; 
"The horses paw'd the ground. 


When up the alley Sir Hh 

Spure'd in spon he sna a 

And mute, wi t a word, did he 
Fall in behind his lord. 


Lord Julian turn'd his steed half round,— 
“What ! doth not Alice delgn a 
To accept your lovi 

Or dothahe fear our ecole alight 
And joins us on the plain?” 


With stifled \goeabe kakenes 1. 
And look’d askance on. 

‘Nay, let the hunt proceed 
‘The Lady's message that I bear, 
T guess’ would scantly please your ear, 

‘And less deserves your heed. ue 
* You sent betimes. Not yet unbarr’d 
eee middle door ju 

rs only met my eyes, 
Tor Ale, ieee 


* 1 came unlook'd for: and, it seem’d, 
Tn an unwelcome hour; 

And found the of Du Clos. 
Within the bower, 





LOVE, A SWORD—A CHARACTER 


195 





* But hush f the rest may wait. If lost, 
(0 great boss, I divine 5 190 
And idle words will better suit 
A Gir maid's lips than mine.’ 


*Cei wrath! speak out, man," Julian 


(Orenmaster'd by tho sudden smart }— 
And feigning sharp, blunt, and 


rade, 
‘The knight his subtle shift pursued. — 
“Scow! hot at me; command my skill, 
‘To lure your kawk back, if you will, 
But not a woman's heart. 


Go! (said she) tell him,—slow is 


sure s bo 
his shafts to-day ! 


fa stranger lure, 
‘And chase a gentler prey.” 


“The game, pardie, was full in sight, 
‘That then did, if I saw aright, 
The fair dame’s eyes engage j 
For turning, ax T took my ways, 
I saw them fix'd with steadfast gaze 
Fall on her wanton page.’ 


The fast word of the traitor knight 
Tet had but entered Julian's ear,— 

From two cage oaks between, 

With glist’ning helmvlike cap is seen, 
Borne on in giddy cheer, 


A youth, that ill his steed can guide ; 
Yet with reverted face doth ride, 

As toa voice, 
‘That seems at once to laugh and chide— 
‘Not mine, dear mistress,” still he 


cried, 
"Tis this mad filly’s choice.” 


With sudden bound, the boy, 
See! see! that face of hope and joy, 
‘That regal fromt } those cheeks aglow ! 
‘Thou peeded'st but the crescent sheen, 
A quiver'd Dian to have been, 
‘Thou lovely child of old Du Clos ! 


Dark as a dream Loni Julian stood, 
‘Swift a5 a dream, from forth the wood, 
Sprang on the plighted Maid ! 


370 


ato 





With fatal aim, and frantic force, 190 
The shaft was hurl’'d !—a lifeless corse, 
Fair Alice from her vaulting horse, 

Lies bleeding on the glade. 1 1tas, 


LOVE, A SWORD 


TuovucH veiled in spires of myrtle 
wreath, 

Love is a sword which cats its sheath, 

And through the clefts itself has made, 

We spy the flashes of the blade ! 


But through the clefts itself has made, 
We likewise see Love's flashing blade 
By rust consumed, or snapt in twain ¢ 
And only hilt and stump remain. t gas, 


A CHARACTER 


A Bin, who for his other sins 
Had lived amongst the Jacobins ; 
‘Though like a kitten amid rats, 

Or callow tit in nest of bats, 

He much abhorr'd all democrats ; 

Yet nathless stood in ill report 

Of wishing ill to Church and Court, 
‘Though he'd nor claw, nor tooth, nor 


edpaais pipe God save the King; 

Though each day did new feathers 
bring, 10 

All swore he had a Jeathern wing ; 

Nor polish’d wing, nor feather'd tail, 

Nor down-clad thigh would aught avail ; 

‘And though—bis tongue devold of gall— 

He civilly assured them all -— 

*A bird am 1 of Phoebus’ breed, 

And on the sunflower cling and feed 5 

My name, good sits, is Thomas Tit!" 

The bats would hail him brother cit, 

Or, at the farthest, cousin-german. 20 

At length the matter to determine, 

He publicly denounced the vermin 5 

He spared the mouse, he praised the owl 

But bats were neither flesh nor fowl. 

Blood-sucker, vampire, harpy, goul, 

Came in full clatter from his throat, 





And plough'd and sow'd, while others 


Teapt 5 

‘The work was his, but theirs the glory, 
Sic ws mom vobis, his whole story. 
Besides, whate’er he wrote or said 
Came from his heart as well as head ; 
‘And though he never left in lurch 

His king, his country, or his chure, 9 
‘Twas but to humour his own cynical 
Contempt of doctrines Jacobinical ; 

‘To his own conscience only hearty, 
“Twas but by chance he served the 


party j— 
‘The self-same things had said and writ, 
Had Pitt been Fox, and Fox been Pitt ; 
‘Content his own applause to win, 
Wo ered through thick and 
thin, 
And he can make, so say the wise, 
No claim who makes no sacrifice ;— 6 
And Bard still less ;—what claim had 


‘Who swore it vex'd his soul to see 
So grand a cause, s0 proud a realm, 
With Goose and Goody at the helm 5 
Who fong ago had fall'n asunder 
Bat for their rivals’ baser blunder, 
‘The coward whine and Frenchified 
Slaver and slang of the other side !— 


Thus, his own whim his only bribe, 
Our Bard pursued his old A. B.C. yo 





sense his name "Borgce 5 

Punic Greek for “he hath stood 1") 

‘the men, the cause was good ; 
with a right good will, 

fool, he fights their battles still. 

1 squeak’d the Bats;—a mere 


2 if 


EF 


These circlets of 
But then, alas! were his garters { 
Ah ! silly Bard, unfed, untended,, 


THE TWO FOUNTS % 5 iil! 


STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY [MRS. 
ADERS] ON HER RECOVERY WITH UN- 
BLEMISHED LOOKS, FROM A SEVERE 
ATTACK OF PAIN 


Methor 


gM he fronted me with peeing 
Fix’d on my heart; and read aloud in 
‘The lowes and giiels tease sa ei 
And wre a he one ho witha 


In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's 
sin 

‘Two Founts there are, of Suffering and 
of Cheer! ” 





DUTY SURVIVING SELP-LOVE 


197 





That to let forth, and sir to keep within ! 
But she, whose aspect I find imaged here, 


Of Pleasure only will to all dispense, 

That Fount alone unlock, by no distress 

Choked of turned inward, but still issue 
thence 

Unconquered cheer, persistent loveliness. 


As on the driving cloud the shiny bow, 
That gracious thing made up of tears and 


Tight, 

‘Mid the wild rack and rain that slants 
below 

Stands smiling forth, unmoved and freshly 
bright : 


2 


‘As though the spirits of all lovely flowers, 
Inweaving each its wreath and dewy 


crown, 
Or ere they sank to earth in vernal 
Had built « bridge he 
a to tempt the angels 
down. Ss 
Even 80, Elita | on that face of thine, 


On that benignant face, whose look alone 
(The soal's transtucence thro’ her crystal 


shrine !) 
Has power to soothe all anguish but 
thine 


A beauty bovers still, and ne'er takes 
‘Bat ony & silent charm compels ra 


IRaal ortring Gentes of he biter sping, 
To shrink aback, and cower upon his urn, 


Who then needs wonder, if (no outlet 
* fownt 

In ae spleen, or strife) the Fount 

Crerfloming beats against its lovely mound, 

And in Seal seen nk Beast to 

Sleep, and the Dwarf with that unsteady 

‘On his raised lip, that aperl a eritic smile, 





Had passed ; yet I, my sad thoughts to 
beguile, 

Lay weaving on the tissue of my 
dream Pa 


‘Till audibly at length T cried, as though 

‘Thou hadst indeed been present to my 
eyes, 

O sweet, sweet sufferer ; if the case be so, 

T pray thee, be fess good, fers sweet, less 
wise | 


In every look a barbed arrow send, 

On those soft lips let scorn and anger live t 

Do any thing, rather than thus, sweet 
friend | 

Hoard for thyself the pain, thou wilt not 
give! vi06, 


DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE 


THE ONLY SURE PRIEND oF 
DECLINING Lire 


A SOLILOQUY 


Unentancxn within, to se¢ all changed 
without, 

Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. 

Yet why at other wanings should’st 
thon fret? 

‘Then only might'st thou feel a just regret, 

Hadst ee withheld thy love or hid thy 


In sells "forethought of neglect and 


slight. 
© wisetier then, from feeble yearnings 
ceed, 
While, and on wbom, thou may'st—shine 
‘on! nor heed 
Whether the object by reflected light 
Retum thy radiance or absorb it quite : 
And though thou notest from thy safe 


recess 

Old friends burn dim, lke lamps In 
noisome air, 

Love them for what they are; nor love 
them less, 

Because to tee they are not what they 
were. 1826, 





SANCTI DOMINIC! PALLIVUM 





LINES 


SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF 
WERENGARIUS 


‘Ol. ANNO DOM. 1083 
No more ‘twixt conscience staggering 
now before my God appear, 
By him to be acquitted, as Thope; 
By him to be condemned, as I 
REFLECTION ON THE ANOvE 
Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy 
Be of good cheer, meck soul! T wonld 


Isee a from that humble fear. 
gale ae alike through storms 


Right scent What though dread of 

it ons it 

threatened death 

And dungeon torture made thy hand and 
breath 

“Inconstant to the trath within thy heart ? 

‘That truth, from which, through fear, 
thon twice didst start, 

Fear hay told thee, was 2 learned 


OE ey wate ay ues 
And imyriaels had reached Heaven, who 


never knew 
Where lay the difference "twixt the false 
and true t 


Ye, who secure ‘mid trophies not your 
own, 

Judge him who won them when he stood 
alone, 


And proudly talk of reereant Berengare— 
Taio pl then the man com- 


‘That age how dark! congenial minds 

Nott ends wih kindred real did 
mnt 

No throbbing hearts awaited his return ! 

Prostrate alike when prince and peasant 


fel 
He only disenchanted from the spell, 





paket gro 

Moved in the scanty circlet of his light : 

se hata redone tbr 

‘Phat did palette 

The Rae day-star with a bolder 
eye 

Hath lit each dew-drop on our trimmer 
Jawa! 


Yet not for this, if wise, will we decry 
The spots and’ struggles of the timid 


Dawn 5 
eae pe AR approaching Noon 
‘The mists and painted vapours of our 
Morn, 21826, 


SANCTI DOMINICI PALLIUM 


A DIALOGUE BETWREN PORT AND 
FRIEND 


SrRUTTe ON THE MLANK UTA AT 
TOTmE AEGUSING OF BETLES'S “OEIGKE or THe 
enuncnt(v8a5) 

PORT 

T Nore the moods and feelings men 

And hed thet more than aught yd 

The tga shots of many « set 


ui-born ot in its birth; 
These best reveal the smooth man’s 


Baler made up of impndenge and 
With tes sonpee premeaeieree 
lick, 


The ronaing of thy heart, O vaveieg 
And Set grim triumph sod cerieenane 





NE PLUS ULTRA 


199 





Absolves anew the Pope-wronght perfidy, 
‘That made an empire's plighted faith a lie, 
And fix'd a broad stare on the Devil's 


eye— 
(Pleased Ned the guilt, yet envy-stung at 


To stand outmaster'd in his own black 
art!) 
Yet Butler— 
FRIEND 


of Butler! we're agreed, 
Who eer tepeae would then have done 
deel, 


Bat ake not feels persuasion’s gentle 


{Rome's smooth go-between !) 
FRIEND 
‘Lament the advice that zour’d a milky 


queen— 
Foe Hoody" all entighten'd men confes 
a satigeoed eo. the press :) 
rapt by zeal beyond her scx's 


‘With actual cautery staunch'dtheChurch’s 
wounds! 

ae that with too broad 

We aay the French and Irish mas- 

Yet vies ihe ‘both—and thinks the 
cht err t 

‘What think ye now? Boots it ve 
and shield 


spear 
Against rch gentle foes to take the field 
hands themild Caduceus 


PORT 


What think I now? Even what I 
thought before ;— 
What Butler boasts though Butler may 


‘SHill T repeat, words lead me not astray 





‘When the shown feeling points a different 
way. 

Smooth Butler can say grace at slander’s 
feast, 

And bless each haut-gout cook'd by monk 
or priest ; 

Leaves the full tie on Butler's gong to 


swell, 
Seah ace ‘half-truths that do just as 


° 
But any decks his mitred comrade’s 
lank: 


And with him shares the Irish nation’s 
thanks ! 


So much for you, my friend! who 
‘own a Church, 
And would not leave your mother in the 
lurch } 
But whena Liberalasks me what I think— 
Scared by the blood and soat of Cobbett’s 


ink, 

And Jeffrey's glairy phlegm and Connor's 
foam, 

In search of some safe parable T roam— 

An emblem sometimes may comprise a 
tome! 


Disclaimant of his unenught grandsr's 


Tse a gic boring kitten’s food : 

And who shall blame him that he purs 
applause, 

When brother Brindle pleads the good 
‘old catnse 5 

And frisks his pretty tail, and half un- 
sheathes his claws ! 

Yet not the less, for modern lights unapt, 

I trust the bolts and cross-bars of the laws 

More than the Protestant milk all newly 
lapt, 

oreetir a tame wild-cat's whisker'd 
jaws ! 1825, oF 1836, 


NE PLUS ULTRA 


Sore Positive of Night ! 
Antipathist of Light ! 
Fate’semly essence ! primal scorpion rod~ 





THE IMPROVISATORE 


The one permitted opposite of God !— ir and well bear ane fut 


Condensed blackness and abysmal storm 


he Suttle ibeshadow 
‘The Dragon fou and fll— 6 
‘The unrevealable, ‘ 


And hidden one, whose breath 
Gives wind and fuel to the fires of Hell !— 


Reveal'd to none of all ‘tt Anpalc Stat, 
Save to the Lampads Seven, 
‘That watch the e ae Bserseit 


% THE IMPROVISATORE 
OR, "JOMN ANDERSON, MY JO, JONN’ 
Seene—A spacious drawing-room, with 
music-room adjvining, 
Katharine, What are the words? 
Elica. Ask our friend, the Improvisa- 
tore; here he comes. Kate has a favour 
to bloat of eit eed da it - that you will 


eset 

Fried, It is in Moore's Trish Melo- 
dies ; but I do not recollect the words 
distinctly, The moral of them, how- 
ever, I take to be this :— 
eae, roul remain the same if tue, 
You sod inal win oa ot he 
By ie sume proofs woold Show isl th same, 

Eifx, What are the lines you repeated 
from Beaumont and Fletcher, which my 
mother admired so much? It begins 
with som about two vines s0 close 
‘that their tendrils intermingle. 

Fri, You mean Charles’ speech to 
Angelina, in The Elifer Brother. 


‘Welll live together, Fike t shibour vines, 
Cjrdag ours inal levs nseesacaie’? 





‘aid One rhe 
One ‘vith and hor of 
San toe ver cp est or ate 


Kath. precious boon, that would 


Feet 


fect 
be otherwise. 


Deside a clear 
ew for ns wig-block. 
Ellis. Say another word, 
downright 


4 (aséile to Leucine), He never loved 
who thinks 50, 





THE IMPROVISATORE 


201 





Eliz. Brother, we don’t want you. 
‘There! Mrs. H. cannot arrange the 
flower vase without you. ‘Thank you, 
Mrs. Hartman. 

Lue, VI have my revenge ! 
what I will say! 

Eliz, Of | Off! 
Love, you were 

Fri, Hush! 


I know 
Now, dear Si,— 
Preaching, you mean, 


Eliza. 
Elia, (impatiently). Pshaw | 
Fri. Well then, I was saying that 
love, trily such, is itself not the most 
common in the world : and mutual 
fowe still less so. But that enduring 
personal attachment, so beautifully de- 
Hineated by Erin’s sweet melodist, and 
still more ly, perhaps, in the 
well-known ballad, Jenn ‘Anderson, 
sy Jo, Jobm,” in addition to a depth 
‘constancy of character of no every: 
occurrence, supposes a peculiar 
sensibility and tenderness of nature; a 


in the detail of sympathy, in the outward 

visible signs of the sacrament within 
—=to count, as it were, the pulses of the 
life of love. Bat above ail, it supposes 
= soul which, even in the pride and 
wemmer-tide of life—even in the lusti- 
hood of health and strength, had felt 
oftenest and prized highest that which 

age cannot bie a and nd which i in all 


on 
Bie Thon feces here (fornd- 


pap eh that seems to understand 

you, but wants the word that would make 
it understand itself. 

Keth, 1, too, seem to feel what you 

the feeling for us, 

‘mean that willing sense 

of the umsufficingness of the self for itself, 

which predisposes a generous nature to 

see, in the total being of another, the 

it and completion of its own ; 

seeking which the 


finds, and, finding, again seeks on ;—- 


— 
lastly, when ‘Tife’s changefal orb has 
pass'd the full,’ a confirmed faith in the 
nobleness of humanity, thus brought 
home and pressed, as it were, to the 
very botom of hourly experience ; it 
supposes, I say, a heartfelt reverence for 
worth, not the less deep because divested 
of its solemnity by habit, by familiarity, 
by mutual infirmities, and even by a 
feeling of modesty which will arise in 
delicate minds, when they are conscious 
of possessing the same or the corre: 
spondent excellence in their own char- 
acters. In short, there must be a mind, 
which, while it feels the beautiful and the 
excellent in the beloved as its own, and 
by right of love appropriates it, can call 
Goodness its playfellow ; and dares 
make sport of time and infirmity, while, 
in the person of a thousand-foldly en- 
denred partner, we feel for aged virtue 
the caressing fondness that belongs to the 
innocence of childhood, and repeat the 
same attentions and tender courtesies 
which had been dictated by the same 
affection to the same object when at- 
tired in feminine loveliness or in manly 


ty. 

Eliz. What a-soothing—what an ele- 
vating idea t 

Kath. 1fit be not only an idea, 

Fri. At all events, these qualities 


which I have enumerated, are rarcly 
found united in a single individual. 
How much more rare must it be, that 
two such individuals should meet to- 
gether in this wide world under cir- 
cumstances that admit of their union 
as Husband and Wife. A person may 
be highly estimable on the whole, nay, 
amiable as neighbour, friend, housemate 
—in short, in all the concentric circles 
of attachment save only the last and 
inmost ; and yet from how many causes 
be estranged from the highest pete. 
in this! Pride, coldness, or fastidious- 
ness of nature, worldly cares, an anxious 
or ambitions disposition, a passion for 
display, a sullen temper,—one or the 
other—-too often proves ‘the dead Ay 








THE IMPROVISATORE 


ance are bere rT) 
the most worthless object they could be 
in remembering. 

Ellis, (in answer to a@ whisper from 
Katharine). Toa hair! He must have 
met 2 ne Save me from such 
folks vat tt are out of tl ie question. 

Fri, True! but the same effect is 
produced in thousands by the too general 
insensibility to a very important truth ; 
this, namely, that the misery of human 
life is made up of lange masses, each 
separated from the other by certain in- 
tervals. One year, the death of a child; 
years after, a failure in trade; after 
another longer or shorter interval, a 
daughter may have married unhappily 5 
—in all but the singularly unfortunate, 
the integral parts that compose the sum 
total of the Eciacotuoe of. man’s life, 
are easily counted, and alatinetly re- 
membered. ‘The happiness of life, on 
the contrary, is made up of minute 
fractions-—the little, soon - forgotten 
charities of a kiss, a smile, a kind 
look, a heartfelt compliment in the 
disguise of playfal ry, and the 
countless other tafinitestinals of pleasur- 
able thought and genial feeling. 

Kath. Well, Sir; you have rental quite 

to make me despair of finding a 
‘John Anderson, my Jo, John,’ with 
whom to totter down the hill of life, 





fri, Not so! Good men are not, 


Sey, "was bak in Els rs goncgle 
The made him glad ! 

"a oe 
his earliest wish, 

heart fet Feared 


dish t 
he fale se of his 
‘When his young 


But e’en the meteor offspring of the 
brain 


ickly 
Poor Fivey se meee oe 
Then et i 


His faith ane £9, hie heart all ebb and 
flow } 


Or like a tn in some half-shelter'd bay, 
Above its anchor driving to and fro, 


‘That boon, which but to have possess'd. 
In a belief, gave life a zest— 
Uncertain both what it dad been, 
And if by error lost, or Tuck 3 

And what it wes ;—an evergreen 





WORK WITHOUT HOPE—TO MARY PRIDHAM | 


Which some insidious blight had struck, 
Oransaal Rower, which, past ts blow, 
No vernal spell shall e’er revive ; 
Uncertain, and afraid to know, 
Doabts toss'd him to and fro: 
keeping Love, Love Hope alive, 
tie babes bewildered in a snow, 
That cling and haddie from the cold 
Ih hollow tree or ruin'd fold. 


we ad ling colours, once his boast 
ome by one away, 

aoe the iprtet 

Poor Faney on her sick bed lay; 
Til at distance, worse when near, 
‘Telling ther dreams to jealous Fear ! 
Where was it then, the sociable sprite 
‘That crown’d the Poet's cup and deck’d 

his dish! 

Poor Seri east from an unsteady 
Itself a substance by no other right 
Bat that it is Reason’s light ; 
Te dimm’d bis eye, it darken’d on his 


brow, 
A peevish mood, a tedious time, I trow ! 
‘Thank Heaven ! "tis not so now. 


‘© bliss of blissful hours 1 

‘The boon of Heaven's decreeing, 

While yet in Eden's bowers 

Dwelt the first husband and his sinless 

which, piteous 

Heaven ings 

They bore chip da thro" Eden's clos- 

! 


OF life's ia cone, tide the sovran 


Tose! 
Late aioe that more 


lows 
's flowers all fall or fade ; 
his, in outward 


When 
Wf this were ever 


Or but his own tne love's projected 
shade, 
Now that at length by certain proof he 


‘That whether real or a magic show, 
Whate'er it anes, it zx no longer 50} 





203 


‘Though heart be lonesome, hope laid 
low, 
Yet, Lady ! deem him not unblest : 
The certainty that struck Hope dead, 
Hath left Contentment in her stead: 
‘And that is next to Best! Gay. 


WORK WITHOUT HOPE x 


LINES COMPOSED 21ST FEBRUARY 
1827 


Aut Nature seemsat work. Slugs leave 
their Iair— 

The bees are stirring—birds are on the 
wing— 

And Winter slumbering in the open alr, 

Wears on bis smiling face a dream of 
Spring ! 

And I the while the sale unbusy thing, 

Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, 
nor sing. 


Vet well I ken the banks where ama- 

ranths blow, 

Have traced the fount whence streams of 
nectar flow. 

Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom 
ye may, 

For mee bloom not ! 

freams, away ! 

With tips unbrightened, wreathless brow, 
T stroll 

‘And would you leam the spells that 
drowse my soul? 

Work without Hope draws nectar in a 
siere, 

And Hope without an object cannot 
tive. 187. 


Glide, rich 


TO MARY PRIDHAM 


[AFTERWARDS MRS, DERWENT 
COLERIDGE] 


Dear tho’ unseen! tho” han has been 


my lot 
) And rough my path theo’ life, 1 murmur 


not 


} 





204 


THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO 





Rather rejolce—Hope making a new 
start, 

Since I have heard with most believing 
heart, 

‘That all this shaping heart has yearn’d | 


to 66, 

My Derwent hath found realiz'd in 
thee. 

The boon prefigur'd in his earliest 
wish 

Crown of the cup and garnish of the 


ish f 
The fair fulfilment of his 
When his young heart first yearn’d for 
sympathy ! 
Dear tho’ unseen ! unseen, yet lang por- 
‘uay'd! 
A Father's blessing on thee, gentle 
Maid! §, T. Cougnipcr. 
Grove, Hiaucare, 1504 Octoder 1827. 
MS. 


THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO 


OF late, in one of those most weary 
hours, 
When life scems emptied of all genial 


powers, 

A dreary mood, which he who ne'er has 
known 

May bless his happy lot, I sate alone ; 

‘And, from the numbing spell to win 
relief, 

Call'd on the Past for thought of glee or 


grief. 

In vain! bereft alike of grief and 
glee, 

T sate and cow’r'd o'er my own vacancy ! 

And as I watch’d the dull continuous 


ache, 

Which, all else slumb'sing, seem'd alone 
to wake ; 

© Friend | long wont to notice yet con- 


eal, 
And soothe by silence what words cannot 


ical, 
T but half saw that quiet hand of 





thine 
Place on my desk this exquisite design. 


Boceaccio's Garden and its faery, 
Ts ae the j grees and the gallantry! 
with Boccaccio's spirit warm, 
ath the silent poesy of form. 
Like flocks adown a newly-bathed steep 
Emerging feom 2 mist: or like a 
stream 
Of ‘music ‘sof tint mot sdinpaleretie 
sleep, 
But casts in happier moulds the 
slumberer's dream, 
Gared by an idle eye with silent 
might 
‘The picture stole upon my inward 
A tremolous warmth crept gradual o'er 
my chest, 
As tiuabs oa infant's finger touch'd my 


And on eae {1 know not whence) 
rere bi 


All spirlts of of power that most had stirr’d 
my thought 

In selfless boyhood, on a new world 
tost 

Of wonder, and in its own fancies 
lost 5 r 

Or charm'd my youth, that, kindled 
from above, 

Loved ere it loved, and it a form 
for love: et 

Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan 

Of manhood, musing what and whence 
is man! 

Wild strain of Sealds, that in the sea- 
wom caves 

Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds 


and waves ; 

Or fateful hymn of thee ‘ic maids, 

‘That call’d on Hertha in deep forest 
glades 

‘Or minstrel lay, that eheer’d the baron's 
feast 3 

Or thyme of city pomp, of monk Fs 


priest 
Judge, mye and many a guild in too 
To high-e cee pacing on the great 


‘saint's day, 
And many a verse which to myself I 
sang, 





THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO 


205 





That woke the tear yet stole away the | The brightness of the world, © thon |, 


pang, 

Of hopes which in lamenting E renew'd. 
‘And last, a matroa now, of sober micn, 
‘Yet radiant still and ‘with no carthly 


sheen, 
Whom as a faery child my childhood 
a 


woo! 

Even in my dawn of thought—Philo- 
Sophy + 

Though then unconscious of herself, 

% 

She bore no other name than Poesy ; 

And, like a gift from heaven, in lifeful 
glee, 

That bad bet newly left a mother's 

rattled and play'd with bied and flower, 


‘and stone, 
‘As if with elfin playfellows well known, 
‘And life reveal'd to innocence alone. 


‘Thanks, gentle artist | now I can descry 

‘Thy fair creation with a mastering cyc, 

And aif awake! And now in fix'd gaze 
stand, 

Now Veny through the Eden of thy 

Praise nae Ghee arches, on the Fouts 

See 


Anil with that serviceable nymph I stoop 
The crystal from its restless pool to 


: sop, 
no bonger ! 
Sit on. the 


‘Tis I, that iy "that fate’s Iove-echo- 


shadows of the crossing 


T myself am there, 
and 


the 
ing strings, 
And eg a the maid who gazing 
Or pause Medi tides (to, ihe tinkling 
bells. 
From the 
there she dwells. ~ 
With old Boceaccio’s soul I stand pos- 
sesst, 
And breathe an air like life, that swells 
my chest, 


tower, and think that 





once free, 
And always fair, rare land of courtesy ! 


© Florence! with the Tuscan fields and | — 


bills 

And famous Amo, fed with all their 
rills ; 

Thou brightest star of star-bright Italy ! 

Rich, orate, populous, all) treasures 
thine, 

The golden corn, the olive, and the 
vine. 

Fair cities, gallant 
old, 

And forests, where beside his leafy hold 

The sullen boar hath heard the distant 
hora, 

And whets his tusks against the gnarled 
thorn ; 

Palladian palace with its storied halls ; 

Fountains, where Love lies listening to 
their falls 5 

Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy 


mansions, cast i 


span, 

And Nature makes her happy home 
with man 

Where many s gorgeous flower is duly 


With its own rill, on its own spangled 


And wreathes the marble urn, or as 
its head, 

‘A swiinio morte, that with weil othe 
drawn 

‘Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the 
dawn ; 


Thine all delights, and every muse is 
thine ; 

And more than all, the embrice and 
intertwine 

Of all with all in gay and twinkling 
dance ! 

Mid gods of Grecee and warriors of 
romance, 

See! Boccace sits, unfolding on his knecs |j 

‘The new-found roll of old Maeonides $1 


1 Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of 
having first introduced the works of Homer to 
his countrymen, 


il 





206 


LOVE, HOPE, AND PATIENCE IN EDUCATION 





But from his mantle’s fold, and near the 


heart, 
Peers Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet 


smart t* 100 


O all-enjoying and all-blending sage, 

Long be it mlne to con thy mazy page, 

Where, half conceal'd, the eye of fancy 
views 

Fauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all 
gracious to thy muse ! 


Still in thy garden let me wateh their 


pranks, 

And see in Dinn’s vest between the ranks 

Of the trim vines, some maid that half 
believes: 

The wevtel fires, of which her lover 
grieves, 

With te aly aiyr peeping through the 

raat. 


SONG, ex improviso 


ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A 
LADY'S BEAUTY 


"Ts not the lily-brow T prize, 

Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes, 
Enough of lilies and of roses t 

A thousand-fold more dear to me 

The gentle look that Love discloses,— 
‘The look that Love alone can see! 
Keepsake, 187. x38. 


4 1 know few more striking or more Interesting 
proofs of the overwhelming influence which the 
study of the Greck and Roman clausica exercised 
on the judgments, feclings, and imaginations of 
the literati of Europe at the commencement of 
the restoration of literature, than the passage in 
the Filocopo of Boscaccio:' where the sage lov 
mtructor, Racheo, as seon as the young, prince 
and the beautiful girl Biancofiore had learned | 
their letters, acts them to atudy the Holy Book, 
Ovid's Art of Love. ‘Incomincis Racheo a 
mettere il suo officio in esectzione eon intera 
sollecitudine. FE loro, in breve tempo, insagnato 
& conoscer le lettere, fece Ieggere il santo libro, 
d'Ovvidio, nel quale il sommo poeta mostra, come 
i santi fuochi di Venere si debbono ne’ freddi 
‘cuori accendere.” 


IN MISS E. TREVENEN’S 
ALBUM 


Verse, pictures, music, thoughts both 
‘grave and gay, 
Remembrances of dear-loved friends 


away, 
On spotless page of vingin white dis- 
played, 
Such should thine Album be, for such 
art thou, sweet maid! sBap 


#LOVE, HOPE, AND PATIENCE 
IN EDUCATION} ¢ yyji 


O'mn wejmart childhood would’st thou 
firm rule, 

And sun Spry in the light of hay 

Love, Hope, and Patience, 
be thy graces, 

And in thine own heart let them first 
‘keep school. 

For as old Atlas on his broad neck places 

Heaven’s starry globe, and there sustains 
itj—t0 

Do these upbear the little world below 

of eats — ee Love, and 


Methinke Tce te group'd in seemly 
show, 
‘The straiten’d arms upraised, the palais 


aslope, 
And robes that touching as adown they 


flow, 
Distinctly blend, like snow emboss’d in 
snow. 


O part them never! If Hope eset 
Love too will sink and die, 

But Love is subtle, and doth. derive 

From het own life that Hope is yet alive; 

And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing 


eyes, 

And the soft murmurs of the mother dove, 

| Wooes back the fleeting spirit, and half 
supplies ;— 

Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope 





first gave to Love. 





LINES TO MISS BARBOUR—PHANTOM OR FACT 


207 





‘Yet baply there will come a weary day, 
When overtask’d at length 
Both Love and Hope beneath the load 


give way. 

Then with a statuc’s smile, a statue's 
‘Strength, 

Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing 


loth, 
And both riba does the work of 
1829. 


LINES 


WRITTEN IN COMMONPLACE BOOK OF 
MISS WARNOUR, DAUGHTER OF THE 
MINISTER OF THE U.S.A. TO ENG- 
LAND 


(CHILD of my muse! in Barbour’s gentle 
hand 


Go cross the main: thou scck’st no 
foreign land: 

"Tis not the clod beneath our feet we name 

Our country. Each heaven- sanctioned 
tie the same, 

Laws, manners, language, faith, ancestral 
blood, 


Domestic honour, awe of womanhood -— 
With kindling pride thou wilt rejoice 10 


see 
Britain with elbow-room and doubly free! 
Go seek thy count: and if one sear 
Still linger of that fratricidal war, 

Look ad maid who brings thee from 


Be thou the olive-leaf and she the dove, 
Sere Hee witha. brother's 
S. T. Conenince. 


oman Se Amguit Bay 


LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 
OPPOSITE 


Her eee may differ from yours 
are both of one kind; 


Provided 
But Friendship how tender so ever it be 
Gives no accord to Love, however re- 


4 Sod Rolin Y. 


Love, that meets not with Love, its trae 
nature revealing, 
‘Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs: 
Tf you cannot lift hers up to your state of 
feeling, 
You must lower down your state to 
hers. Takgo. 


NOT AT HOME 


‘Tuar Jealousy may rule a mind 
Where Love could never be 

I know; but ne'er expect to find 
Love without Jealousy, 


She has a strange cast in her ee, 
A swart sour-visaged maid— 
But yet Love's own twin-sister she 
His house-mate and his shade. 


Ask for her and she'll be denied ;— 
‘What then ? they only mean 
Their mistress has lain down to sleep, 
And can’t just then be seen, 
11830. 


PHANTOM OR FACT 
A DIALOGUE IN VERSE 
AUTHOR 


‘A LOVELY form there sate beside my 
bed, 

And such @ feeding calm its presence 
shed, 

A tender love so pure from carthly 
Jeaven, 

That I unnethe the fancy might control, 

"Twas my own spirit newly come from 
heaven, 

Wooing its gentle way into my soul ! 

But ah! the change—It had not stirr’d, 
and yet— 

Alns! that change how fain would I 


forget ! 

That shrinking back, like one that hed 
tmistook ! 

} ‘That weary, wandering, disavowing look ! 








LOVE’S BURIAL-PLACE—TO KAYSER 





Who sits beside # ruin'd well, 
Whee the sy seodaape bask and 
swell; 
Avi now the bangs his aged head 
alent, 
4nd liens “for a human sound—in 
min! 
ed now the aid, which Heaven alone 
can grant, 
Upurns his eyeless face from Heaven to 
gain 
Eren thus, in vacant mood, one sultry 
Roting ‘my eye upon a drooping 
‘With brow Jow-bent, within my garden: 


tower, 
Tate upon the couch of camomile ; 
Asj—whether "twas a transient sleep, 


perchance, 
Fitted across the idle brain, the while 
Teatch’d the sickly calm with aimless 


ta my own heart; or that, indeed a 
‘trance, 
Tum'd my eye inward—thee, O genial 


Love's older sister! thee did I behold, 
‘Drest as a bridesmaid, but all pale and 


cold, 
With roseless cheek, all pale and cold 
and dim, 


Lie lifetess at my feet ! 
Aad then came Love, a sylph in bridal 


Alas! ‘twas but a chilling breath 


‘Woke just enough of life in death 
ei sone, 


envoy 


Tn vain we ‘the Powers above ; 
ee esee ey hae pa 
‘That, nursed in tenderest care, fet fades 


LOVE'S BURIAL-PLACE 


Lady. If Love be dead— 
vet, And T aver it! 
Lady. Tell we, Bard! where Love 
Ties buried ? 

Poet, Love lies buried where twas bom: 
‘Ob, gentle dame! think it no scam 
If, in my fancy, T presume 
To call thy bosom poor Love's Tomb, 
And on that tomb to read the line — 
‘Here lies a Love that once seem'd 


mine, 
But took a chill, as I divine, 
And died at length of a Decline.’ 
833. 


TO THE YOUNG ARTIST 
KAYSER OF KASERWERTH 
Kayser! to whom, as to a second 
Nadine of Nexis ect sOrastey 


Hight Genius, hath dispensed the happy 
skill 

To cheer or soothe the parting friend's 
‘Alas!’ 

Turning the blank scroll to a magic 


glass, 

That makes the absent present at our 
will ; 

And to the shadowing of thy pencil 


gives 
Such seeming substance, that it almost 
lives, 


Well hast thou given the thoughtful 
Poet’s face ! 

Yet hast thou on the tablet of his 
mind 

A more delightful portrait left behind— 

Even thy awn youthful beauty, and art- 
Tess grace, 

Thy natural gladness and eyes bright 

with glee! 

Kayser ! farewell ! 





awa} 
Yn the child bear by gradual set 
decay. ito. 


Be wise ! be happy ! and forget not me. 
33. 
Pp 





210 


MY BAPTISMAL BIRTH-DAY—EPITAPH 





MY BAPTISMAL BIRTH-DAY 
Gon’s child in Christ adopted,—Christ 


my all,— 

‘What that earth boasts were not lost 
cheaply, rather 

Than forfeit that blest name, by which I 
call 

The Holy One, the Almighty God, my 
Father ?— 

Father! in Christ we live, and Christ in 
Thee— 


Etemal Thou, and everlasting we. 

The heir of heaven, henceforth I fear not 
death : 

In Christ I live! in Christ I draw the 


breath 

OF the true life !—Let then earth, sea, 
and sky 

Make war against me ! 
show 

‘Their mighty master’s seal. 


On my front I 

In vain they 
try 

To end my life, that can but end its 


woe.— 
Is that a death-bed where a Christian 


lies ?— 
Yes! but not his—'tis Death itself there 
dies. 1833. 





EPITAPHIUM 
TESTAMENTARIUM 


Te rod "EXTHAE rod émbavods Epitaphium 
testamentarium airéypapor. 
Quee linquam, aut nihil, aut nihili, aut 
vix sunt mea, Sordes 
Do Morti: reddo cetera, Christe ! tibi. 
1826, 


EPITAPH X 


Stop, Christian passer-by !—Stop, child 
of God, 

‘And read with gentle breast, Beneath 
is sod 


A poet ie or that which once seem’d 


O, lift ‘ae thought in prayer for S, T. C. ; 

That he who many a year with toil of 
breath 

Found death in life, may here find life in 
death ! 

Mercy for praise—to be forgiven for fame 

He ask’d, and hoped, through Christ. 
Do thou the same! 


th November 1833. 


DRAMATI 


THE FALL OF 


C WORKS 


ROBESPIERRE 


AN HISTORIC DRAMA 


[First Act by Coleridge: Second and Phind by Southey—s794.1 


ACTI 


Scenr—The Tauilieries, 
Barrere, The tempest gathers—be it 
mine to seck 
A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him. 
But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant’s 
soul 


Sudden in action, fertile in resource, 
And rising awfal “mid impending ruins ; 
tn splendor gloomy, 28 the midnight 


‘That feathess thwarts the clémientsl war. 
‘When last in secret conference we met 
He =r upon me with suspicious 


Making his eye the intnate of my bosom. 
Tiisow be coms me—and I fel, T bate 


‘Yet there bin in him that which makes cs 
ible 1 


trem [Bxit. 


Enter TAUAES and LEGENDRR, 
Tallien, Vt wens Bosrere, Legendre ! 
didst thou mark him? 
Abrupt he tum'd, yet linger'd as he 


went, 

And towards us cast a look of doubtful 
meaning. 

Legensire, 1 maark’d him well. 


bis eye's fast glance ; 
It menac’d not so prouilly as of yore. 


T met 


Methought he would have spoke—but 
that he dar’d not— 
Such agitation darken’d on his brow. 
"Twas. all -distrusting guilt 
that kept from bursting 
Th’ imprison’d secret struggling in the 
face : 
Even as the sudden breeze upstarting on- 
wards 
Hurries the thundercloud, that pols’d 
awhile 
Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous 
burthen. 
Legemire, Perfidious Traitor ! — still 
afraid to bask 
In the full blaze of power, the rustling 


serpent 
Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant’s 
greatness, 
1 prepared to sting who shelters hi 
thought, each action in himself 


converges + 
And love and friendship on his coward 
heart Yr 
Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice; 
To all attach'd, by turns deserting a 
Cunning and dark—a necessary ‘ill 
Taliien. Yet much depends upon him 
—well you know 
With plausible hnrangue ‘tis his to paint 
| Defeat like victory—and blind the mob 
With troth-mix'd falsehood, They led 
on by him, 








212 


THE FALL OF ROBESVIERRE 


act r 





And wild of head to work their own 
destruction, 

Support with uproar what he plans in 
darkness, 

Legendre, O what & precious name i 

Liberty 

To scare or cheat the simple into 
slaves | 

Yes—we must gain him over: by dark 
hints: 

We'll shew enough to rouse his watchful 


fears, 
Till the cold coward blaze n patriot. 
© Danton! murder'd friend | assist my 
counsels— 
Hover around me on sad memory’s wings, 
And pour thy daring vengeance in my 
heart. 
Tallien ! if but to-morrow’s fateful sun 
Beholds the Tyrant living—we are dead! 
Taltien. Yet his keen eye that Saahes 
mighty meanings— 
Tégeuids: Year toteoot sath as (8 
alternative, 
And seek for courage e’en in cowardice— 
But see—hither he comes—let us away ! 
His brother with him, and the bloody 
Couthon, 
And high of haughty spirit, young St. 
Just. [Bxeunt. 


Exter Ronrsvinenn, Covrios, 
St. Just, amd RORESPIERRE JUNIOR. 


Robespierre. What? did La Fayette 
fall before my power? 
And did T conquer Roland's spotless 
virtues ? 
The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud’s 


tongue? 
And Brissot’s thoughtful soul unbribed 
5 and bold? 

Did sealot armies baste in: nin to save 
them ? 

Wise cid i" asmasin' ager lis Ys 
point 

Vain, as a dream of murder, at my 
bosom ? 

And shall T dread the soft luxurious 
Tallien ? 





Th’ Adonis Tallien? banquet-hnnting 
‘Tallien? 

Him, whose heart flutters at the dice- 
box? Him, 

Who ever on the hatlots’ downy pitlow 

Resigns his head impure to feverish 
slumbers ! 

St. Just, 1 cannot fear him—yet we 

must not scorn him, 

Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus, 

Th’ Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony? yo 

The state is not yet purified : and though 

The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom. 
lies 


i 

The thick black sediment of all the fac- 
tions— 

It needs no magic hand to stir it up t 

Coutkon. O we did wrong to spare 

them—fatal error f 

Why lived Legendre, when that Danton 
died ? 

And Collot d’Herbois dangerous in 
crimes? 

J’ve fear’d him, since his iron heart 
endu 

To make of Lyons one vast human 
shambles, 

Compared with which the sun-ecoreht 
wilderness 

Of Zara, were a smiling paradise, 

St. Just, Rightly te judgest, Cou 

thon! He is one 

Who flies from silent solitary anguish, 

Secking forgetful pence amid the jar 

Of clements. The howl of manine up- 


roar 
Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself, 
A-calm is fatal to him—then he feels 

The dio ptollgy of the storm within 


A tiger ved’ wilt Siva eee Tea 
dread 

The fierce and restless turbulence of 
guilt, » 

Robespierre, Ts not the Commune ours? 

‘The stern tribunal ? 

Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and 

Louvet? 

Henriot ? We'll 

hundred, nor 


And denounce an 





art 


THE PALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


213 





Shall they behold. to-morrow’s sun roll 
westward. 


Ribcpierre Junior, Nay—I am sick 
4f blood ; my aching heart 

Reviews the long, long” ‘of hideous 
horrors 

‘That stil have gloom’d the rise of the 
Republic, 

Taboatd tae died before Toulon, when 


Becaine the the patriot ! 
~ Most unworthy wish ! 
He, ag sickens at the blood of 


Wout tet ee tetor, were be not 
‘Coward congenial souls alone 
ae ton of sorrow for each other's 
Sisaect brave, my brother ! and thine 
oe 
an firmly shines amid the groaning 
batthe— 
‘Yer in = heart the woman-form of 
Shania tee Tange m share, an ill-timed 
Where is unsoundness in the state—To- 
morrow 
Stall se it clean’ by wholesome mas. 


“psa Beware! already 
jo the sections murmur— 
*O the Saeed, glorious patriot, Robes. 


RRaleiraed Geertiew of the ‘country’s 
rts 


Couthon. "Twere folly sure to work 
eeds 1 


great by halves 
‘Moch T suspect the darksome fickle heart 

Of cold Barrero! 
Tsee the villain in him! 


Sobers Junior, Wf he—if all for- 
sake thee—what remains? 


Robespierre. a Mee the steel-strong 
And ees ‘sublime 


‘mid circling 


Tn git Vie Victories my counsels form’d 
beth aii urvend mo wils eon gitering 
plemes, tee 





Bidding the darts of calumny fall point 


Tess, 
[Bxxeunt cater’. Manet Covrnon. 
Couthon (solus), So we deceive our- 

selves! What goodly virtues 

Bloom on the poisonous branches of 

ambition | 

Robespicrre | thou’lt guard thy 

country’s freedom 

To despotize in all the patriot's pomp. 

While Conscience, ‘mid the mob’s ap- 
plauding clamours, 

Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispere—blood- 
stain'd tyrant | 

Vet hh pa Conscience ? 


Sul, 


Superstition’s 
Making cE deep impression on our 


‘That long th’ awaken’d breast retains its 
horrors! Po 
But he returns—and with him comes 
Barrere. [Exit Cournon, 


Later Roursvinnen and Barrens. 


Robespierre. There is no danger but 
in cowardice. — 
Barrere ! we made the danger, when we 
fear it. 
We have such force without, as will 
suspend 
The cold and trembling treachery of 
these members, 
Barrere, "Twill be a pause of terror, — 
Robespierre, But to whom ? 
Rather the short-lived slumber of the 
tempest, 
Gathering its strength anew. 
tard traitors | 
Moles, that would undermine the rooted 
oak | 
‘A pause |—a mament's pause ?—'Tis = 
their life. 
Barrere. Yet much they 
plausible their speech. 
Couthon’s decree has given such powers, 
that— 
Robespierre. That what? 
Barrere. The freedom of debate— 
Robespierre, ‘Transparent mask | 


The das- 


talk — aad 





214 


THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


acry 


‘They wish to clog the wheels of governs ] oe ee eee 


ment, 
Forcing the hand that guides the vast 
‘machine 
To bribe thom to their duty—Zngiish 
' 


poem een ue cera eee 
Black all around us? In our very 


ate 
Works not the king-bred poison of re- 
‘bellion ? 


Say, what shall counteract the selfish 
Sysco old oF eat nor awed by. 
Of him, whose power directs th’ eternal 
Tenor ef eoe-aping gold?) The 
Sarre Seen es ante 


And to the virtuous patriot rendered light 
By the necessities that gave tt birth = 
‘The other fouls the fount of the republic, 
Making it flow polluted to all ages : 
Tnoculates the state with a slow venom, 
‘That once imbibed, must be continued 


ever, ie 
Myself incorruptible I ne'er could bribe 
them 


Therefore they hate me. 
Barrere, Axe the sections friendly ? 
‘There ace who wish my 
ruin—but I'll make them 
i old for the crime in blood ! 
Nay—but I tell thee, 
Boating art too fond of slaughter—and the 


right 
(UF right 4 be) workest ‘by most fou 
means | 
._Selfcentering Far | bow 


‘well thou canst ape 
Too Le slaughter {matchless pees 
1 


‘Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Dan- 


ton died? 
Thought Barrere so, when through oe 
streaming streets 
Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'er ret 
Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood ? 





Sik wy ed o'er putrid hills of 
Didit thon not ‘Bercely laogh and: bless 
ays Si Re Le a a 
And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for 
murder! Now 
ee 
Or, ke « "ghd child behind its 
idest thy pale face inthe skits of— 


Barrere, "0 prog of loc 
rs 


Denounce wice—and twice saved is 


ery hs a 
them—there's the point ! 
Not ba Ao ne ee 


Yet he is sudden in jo more t 
Ye: een venge—¥ [Ext 


Scene changes to the house of ADELAIDE. 
ADELAIDE entérs, ipeating tg a Servant. 
Adelaide. Didst thou present the letter 
that gave thee? ape. 
Did Taltlen answer, he 
return? 
Servant, He ts in the -Thuilleries — 
with him Legendre— 
Tn deep eer they seem'd + asd 


approach" 
eters! his Mendes ee ee 





THE FALL OF 


ROBESPIERKRE a5 





‘Thou didst rightly. 

[2-cit Servant. 
© this new freedom! at how dear a price 
We've bought the end good! The 


pescefal vir 
And every ‘landishment of private life, 
The father’s cares, the ‘mother's fond 


endearment, 00 
Allmetice to ery’ 
Seat hoe 


Languid' ant Seleed eng hehe ow cours 


wild riot. 
‘scatter’d roses 


And shake big gall-drops from their 
beavy wings. 
But T will steal away these anxious 


thoughts 
By the soft languishment of warbled airs, 
Ut haply melodies may lll the sense 
Of sorrow for a while. [Soft music. 


Enter TALLIES. 


Tallien, Music, wy love? O breathe 
‘again that air! 
Soft nurse of pain, it sooths the weary 
‘soul a10 
OF care, sweet as the whisper'd breeze 
of evening 
‘That plays Rel ia lat throb. 
‘bing temples. 


sonct 
‘Tell me, om what holy yom? 


Pes state, 


Tn a cottag’d a ae La 
List'ning to the Sabbath bells! 
Still around her steps are seen, 
Spollns booor’ moeker mien, 
Love, the sire of pleasing foars, 
Sorrow smiling through hee tears, 


1 Thie Song was reprinted in Coleridge's 
Poems of 379, and later under the title of 
Te Dowestic Perce wed will be found ia the 

division of the peesent volume, p. 33— 


And conscious of the past employ, 
Memory, bosom-spring of joy. 


Tallin. 1 thank thee, Adelaide! 
“twas sweet, though mournful. 
But why thy brow c'ercast, thy cheek so 
wan? 
Thou look’st as a lorn maid beside some 
stream 
‘That sighs away the soul in fond de- 


spalring, ay 

While sorrow sad, like the dank willow 
near her, 

Hangs o'er the troubled fountain of her 


eye. 
Adelaide. Ah! rather let me ask 
what mystery lowers 
On Tallien's darken’d brow. Thou dost 
me wrong— 
Thy soul distemper'd, can my heart be 
tranquil ? 
Tallien. Tell me, by whom thy 
brother's blood was spilt? 
Asks he not tengeance on these patriot 
murderers? 
It has been borne too tamely. 
and curses 
Groan on our midnight beds, and e’en 
our dreams 
‘Threaten the assassin hand of oes 
pierre, 
He dies !—nor has the plot escaped his 
fears. 
Adelaide. Yet —yet—be cautious t 
much I fear the Commune— 
The tyrant's creatures, and their fate 


Fears 


with his 
Fast link'd in close indissoluble union, 
‘The pale Convention— 
Tullien. Hate hirw as they fear him, 
Impatient of the chain, resolv'd and 


ready. 
Adeiaide, Th’ enthusiast: mob, con- 
fusion's lawless sons— 
Tallien. They are aweary of his stern 
morality, 
The fairmask'd offspring of ferocious 


pride, 249 
‘The sections too support the delegates: 





All—all is ours! e’en now the vital air 





216 


Of Liberty, condens'd awhile, is bursting 
(Force irresistible!) from its compress: 


ere— 
‘To shatter the arch chemist in the ex- 
plosion ! 


Enter BULAUD VARENNES cond 
Bourpon tOise 


[ApELAtne retires, 

Bourdon P Oise. Tallien! was this a 
time for amorous conference? 

Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted crea- 


ture, 
Marshals the force of Paris: The fierce 
th 


fi 

With Vivier’ at theie head, in loud ac- 
claim 

Have sworn to make the guillotine in 


Float on the scaflold.—But who comes 
here? 260 


Enter Banners abruptly. 


Barrert. Say, are ye friends to free- 
dom? Jam her's! 
Let us, forgetful of all common feuds, 
Rally around her shrine! E’en now the 
tyrant 
Concerts a plan of instant massacre! 
Bilfzued Varennes. Away to the Con- 
vention ! with that voice 
So oft the herald of glad victory, 
Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in 
their ears 
The names of tyrant, plunderer, ase 
sassin 
The violent workings of my soul within 
Anticipate the monster's blood ! 270 
[Cry from the street of—No Tyrant! 
Down with the Tyrant! 
Tallien. Hear ye that outery ?—If 
the trembling members 
Even for a moment hold his fate sus- 
pended, 
I swear vy the ‘holy poniard, that stabbed 
‘Covsa 


This dagger cies his heart ! 
[Bxeunt omnes, 





THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


ACT IT 
ScENE—7he Contention, 


Robespierre mounts the Tribune, Once 
more befits it that the voice of 
Trath, 

Fearless in innocence, though leaged 


By Bava tes baicel eaeae 
Be heard amid this hall; once more 
Tl ie hose prophetic oft 
he patriot, wl p lic eye 5 

Has pierced thro’ faction’s veil, to flash 


‘on crimes 
Of deadliest import. Miouldering in the 


Capa i daring 
|| Sleeps Capet's caitiff corse; my dari 
hand 


Levelled to veal his blood-cemented 


throm 

My voice declared tla pelt ana sted 
up France 

To call for vengeance, 1 too dug the 


Brave 

Where ey the Girondists, detested 
band ! 

Long with the shew of freedom they 


abused 

Her ardent sons. Long time the well- 
turn'd phrase, 

The bight sentence and the lofty 


Of dedatation® thunderd in this hall, 
‘Till reason midst a labyrinth of words 
Perplex'd, in silence seem’d to yield as- 


sent, 

I durst oppose. Soul of my honoured 
friend, 

Spirit of Marat, upon thee T call— 2» 

‘Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with 
what warm zeal 

I urg’d the cause of justice, stripp'd the 

ke 


mas! 
From faction’s deatlly visage, and de- 
stroy’d 


roy" 
Her traitor brood. 
hurl'd down 
Hébert and Rousin, and the villain friends 
Of Danton, foul apostate! those, who long 


Whose patriot ann 





er 


THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


217 





Muk'd treason's form in liberty’s fair 

Leng France with blood, and 
durst defy 

1 bet I it seems am false! 

Tema traitor too! I—Robespierre! 3 

It whose name the dastard despot 

Look pale with fear, and call on saints 
to help them ! 

Moses accuse me? who shall dare 


My spies mame? Speak, ye accom- 
ice band, 
Or wil a Taccus'd ? of what strange 
me 
Ts Maximilian Robespierre accused, 
Bat rong this hal the bus of aiscon- 


Patriot tongue 
Who. was it 


ung’ 
be yf to tyrants that aceurst decree, 
Whose influence brooding o'er this hal: 


lowed hall 
TEMPS cach Vengo to ince? Who 
The freedom of debate, and carricd 


‘The fatal law, that doom’d the dele- 


w before their equals, to the bar 
Where aay sat throned, and murder 


With her Dumas cocqual? Say—thou 
man 


surged it—T propos'd— 
of France assembled in hee 


sons 
Assented, thongh the tame and timid 
eg Sg marmur'd. 
Ui Tt was wise and 
Barrere. Oh, wonderous 
 PROEE COMVEREEAt too! 


T adyis’d that 


‘wise and 





Lhave long mark’d thee, Robespierre— 
and now 
Proclaim thee traitor—tyrant ! 
[Lond applauses. 
Robespierre. It is well, 
Lam a traitor! ob, that I had fallen 
When Regnault lifted high the murder- 
ous knife, 
Regnault the instrument belike of those 
Who now themselves would fain a 
sinate, 
And legalize their murders. I stand re 
An isolated patriot—hemmed around 
By faction’s noisy pack ; beset and bay'd 
By the foul hell-hounds who know no 
escape 
From Justice’ outstretch'd arm, but by 
the force 
‘That pierces through her brenst. 
(Murmurs, amd shouts of ~Down 
with the Tyrant! 
Robespierre, Nay, but I will be heard, 
There was a time 
When Robespicrre began, the loud ap- 
plauses 
Of honest patriots drown’d the honest 
sound, 
But times are chang'd, and villainy ie 
vails, 
Collot d'Herbois, No—villainy shall 
fall. France could not brook 
A monarch’s sway-—sounds the dictator's 
name 
More soothing to her car? 
Bourdon U Oise. Rattle her chains 
More musically now than when the hand 
Of Brissot forged her fetters; or the 


crew 
Of Hébert thundered out their blas- 
phemies, 
And Danton talk'd of virtue? 
Robespierre. Oh, that Brissot 
Were here again to thunder in this hall, 
‘That Hébert lived, and Danton’s giant 
form ny 
Scowl'd once again defiance ! so my soul 
Might cope with worthy foes. 
People of France, 
Hear me! Beneath the vengeance of 
the law, 





THE FALL OF ROBESPIERKE 


‘Traitors have perish’ countless ; more 
survive : 
Her front, and feultfal from her 
wounds, 
Canlions Gon pub defi, contrive new 
Against the CR densa 
Tallien, ‘reedoms lives | 
prea tr Ree he 
Heeb! Biker oe Who traitor-like 


ites Rat ot of lo save op. 
ft egal the venal 
Scape 
D’Eglantine? 
jerré, 1 did—for I thought them 
And Heaven forefend that Vi ere 
should strike, es 
Ere justice doom’d the blow. 
Barreré, ‘Traitor, thou didst. 
Yes, the accomplice of their dark d 
Awhile didst thou defend them, when 
the storm 

Lower’d at safe distance. When the 
clouds frown’d darker, 

Fear'd Se and left them to their 


‘Oh, pe reign vi 
Seen uy on i eese Yes, tema 
Self-willd "dletator o'er the realm ‘Ot 
The vengeance thou hast plann'd for 


Falls on thy head, Look how thy 
‘Wrother's deeds 
Dishonour thine! He the firm patriot, 
‘Thou the foul parricide of Liberty ! 
Robespierre Junior. Barrere—attempt 
‘not meanly to divide 
Me from my brother, T partake his 


guilt, 
8 1 partake his virtue, 
jerre. Brother, by my soul, 
Mae dear I hold thee to my heart, that 
thus 





With me thou dar’st to tread the danger- 
Lit the 
tec that Nature twined her 
‘Of kindred round us. 
Barrere. 


‘Ves, allied in guilt, 
‘Even as in blood ye are, ©, thou worst 


wretch, 
TT Sse ees eae 


back 

‘Conlon, ben: proudly! on. bar capsbia 
towers 

w'd the ? or 

ae English flag? or fought 

With merchant wiles, when sword in 
hand I led 

Your troops to conquest? fought I mer- 
hant-like, 


E 
Or barter'd 1 for victory, when death 
Strode o'er the recking streets with giant 


And shook i ‘von plumes, and sternly 
ook hi 5 


Amid the bloody inte 


Tks eae 
Sade 1 ke x merchant the 

on n patince| patience 
‘tow this younger 


tyrant 
Mouths out defiance to us! even so. 
He ae = on the armies of the 


‘Tit once. pos the plains of France 
were drench'd 
With her best blood. 
Collet #’Herboic. Tilt ones again lie 


Lycen fot dopey tail ent 





THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


219 





The minister of wrath, whilst slaughter by 
Hed tatbed bathed in human blood. 

Dubois Cramcé. No wonder, friend, 

That we are traltors—that our se 

mest fall 
Bena the ase of death when Cesar 
Reigns Robespierre, ‘tis wisely done to 
deom 


The fall of Brutus. Tell me, bloody man, 
thou not parcell'd ‘out deluded 


France, 
As it had been some province won in 


Between your curst triumvirate? You, 
Coat 


thon, 
G with my brother to the southem 


plains 
&. Just, be yours ppeerer fb north; 
Mean time I rude at Paris. 
Robespicrre. ‘Matchless knave ! 
ree ome blush of conscience on 
cheek— 
Not a blush of pak. 1 most likely 


! 
That I who ruined Brissot’s towering 


TE who discover'd Hebert's impious wiles, 
And sharp't for Danton’s recreant neck 


the axe, 
Should now be tmitor! had I been so 
‘minded, 


Think ye I had destroyed the very men 
‘Whose plots resembled mine? bring forth 


| Your prools 

Of this deep treason. Tell me in whose 
‘breast 

Found ye the fatal scroll? or tell me 


father 
‘Who forg’d the shameless falschoot ? 
Collet d'Herbois. Ask you proofs? 
what proofs were ask’d 
when Brissot died ? 16 
What proofs adduced you 
when the Daston died ? 
When at the imminent peril of my life 
T rose, and fearless of thy frowning brow, 
Proclaim’d him guiltless ? 


Robespierre, TE remember well 
Whe fatal day. Ido repent me much 





That I kill Caesar and spar’d Antony. 
But I have been too lenient. I have 


spared 
‘The stream of blood, and now my own 
must flow 
To fill the current. [Loud applauses. 
Triumph not too soon, 
Justice may yet be victor. at 


Enter Sv. Just, and mounts the 
Tribune, 

St Jest, T come from the Committee 

—charged to speak 

Of matters of high import. T omit 
Their orders. Representatives of France, 
Boldly in his own person speaks St. Just 
What his own heart shall dictate, 

Tallier. Here ye this, 
Insulted delegates of France? St. Just 
From your Committee comes — comes 

charg’d to speak 

Of matters of high import—yet omits a79 
‘Thele orders! Representatives of France, 
‘That bold man I denounce, who disobeys 
The nation’s orders. —I denounce St. 

[Loud applauses. 
Hear me! 

[Violent murmurs, 
Robespierre. He shall be heard ! 
Bourdon Must we contami- 

nate this sacred hall 

With the foul breath of treason? 

Collet ’ Herbois, Drag him away ! 
Hence with him to the bar. 

Couthon. Oh, just proceedings ! 
Robespierre prevented liberty of speech 
And Robespierre is a tyrant! Tallien 

reigns, 

He dreads to hear the voice of inno- 
cence 
And St. Just must be silent ! 

Legendre, Heed we well 
That justice guide our actions. Nolight 

import ot 

Attends this day. I move St. Just be 
heard. 

Frevon, Tnviolate be the sacred right 

of man, 

The freedom of debate. 
( Pistent applanses. 


ust. 
St. Just. 





THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


‘St, ust. T may be heard then ! much 
the times are changed, 
When St. Just thanks thie hall for hear- 


ireeeteee cat tyres Men of 
Judge not too soon. By popular dis- 
content 


Was Aristides driven into exile, 
Was Phocion murder'd. Ere ye si 


Robesplere ts gully, tifa ye wel 
Consider who accuse him. Tallien, 
Bourdon of Oise—the very men de- 


nounced, 
For tab their dark intrigues disturb’d 
or veaie Legendre the swom 
of Daieey fall’a apostate. Dubois 
Crane, ae 


He who at Lyons spared the royalists — 
Collot d'Herbois— 
Bourdon Oise. What—shall thetraitor 


rear 
His a. amid our tribune—and blas- 
Each oan? shall the hireling slave of 


faction— 30 
St. Just, Tam of no one faction. 1 
contend 


Against all factions. 
Tuition. 1 espouse the cause 
Oftruth, Robespierre on yester morn. 
nced 


pronoui 
Upon his own authority a 
To-day St. Just comes down. St. Just 


ang 
From his own will, © citizens of France 
T-weep for you—1 weep for my poor 


1 tremble Ske the cause of Liberty, 
When individuals shall assume the sway, 
And with more insolence than kingly 
pride an 
Rute the Republic, 
Billaud Varennes. Shudder, ye repre- 
sentatives of France, 


pot eer 


Suan'd with the a a feces 
Who toa expec eve the high com- 


Wha Ste ota toe sis oa 
thief? 

Who cast in chains the friends of 
Liberty? 

Robespierre, the self-stil'd patriot Robes- 
pierre— 

Robespierre, allied with villain Dau. 


Robesplerre, the foul arch-tyrant Robes- 
Bourdon Oise, We talks of virtue— 
of morality— 
Consistent patriot he Daabign's fiend 
Hats ae 


‘virtuous atta 
virtue, 
‘Yet league with villains, for with Robes- 


Vilains alone ally. Go) 
T stile thee tyrant, 


Pi 


Tallien. nga ti re tahoe 
stands appal'd— 

Guilt’s iron fangs engrasp his shrinking 
‘soul— 

He hears assembled France denounce his 
crimes! i 

He sid oe mask tom frouy his secret 


Te ‘enehtead ‘on the precipice of fate. 
Fall'n guilty tyrant! murdered by thy 


How many an anocent Witla bhasd 
has stain'd arte 
Fair freedom’s altar! Sylla-like thy hand 





acrint 


THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


221 





Matk’d down the virtues, that, thy focs 
removed, ast 

Perpetual Dictator thou might’st reign, 

Aad vans Pe France, and call it 

long heey oF ‘tui guilt the traitor 

‘ad 

His fearfal wiles—success emboldened 
sin— 

And siretch’d arm had grasp’d the 

Exe now, bat that the coward’s heart re- 
‘coal’ 

Lest France awak’d should rouse her 
from her dream, 

And Eas ‘aloud for vengeance. 

With vt one ‘arged on his ee 


He, like 


Even to ies summit of ambitious ates 
And deem’d the name of King alone was 


Was kor 
down? 


wre burl’d proud Capet 
Is it for this we wage cternal war 
sees the t horde of murderers, 
cockatrices whose foul 
venom 
Infeets all Europe? was it then for this 
Is not yet sunk so low. The glowing 
fame 370 
‘That animates ench honest: Frenchman's 
heart 
Not yet extinguish’ I invoke thy 
fen ri Brutus! I too wear a dagger; 
And if the representatives of France, 
‘Through fear or favour, should delay the 


Of: ‘Tallien emulates thy virtues: 
Tike Brutus, tits the avenging 


arm; 
‘Tallien shall save bis country. 


(Folent applarres. 
Billaud Varennes, I demand 
‘The arrest of all the traitors. Memorable 


Will be this day for France. 





Kebespierre. Yes! Memorable 
This day will be for France—for villains 
triumph. ar 
Lebas, Twill not share in this day's 
damning guilt, 
Condemn me too. 
[Great ery—Down with the Tyrants | 
(Thetwo Roursrirennes, CouTHox, Sr, 
Just, and Lenas are led off.) 


ACT TIT 
SCENE CONTINUES. 


Collot d Herbotr, Caesar is fall’ 1 The 
baneful tree of Java, 

Whose death distilling boughs dropt 

isonous dew, 

Is rooted from its base. 
Cromwell, 

‘Theaustere, the self-denying Robespierre, 

Even in this hall, where once with terror 
mute 

We listen’d to the hypocrite’s harangues, 

Has heard his doom. 

Billzud Varennes. 


This worse than 


‘Yet must we not 
suppose 

‘The tyrant will fall tamely, His swom 
hireling 

Henriot, the ds daring desperate Henriot, 

‘Commands the force of Paris, T a 
him, 

Freron, 1 denounce Fleuriot too, the 

mayor of Paris. 


Enter Duwors Cranck. 


Dubois Crancé, Robesplerte is rescued. 
Henriot at the head 
Of the arm’d force has rescued the fierce 


tyrant. 
Collet d' Her bois. Ring the tocsin—call 
all the citizens 
To save their country—never yet has 
Paris 
Forsook the representatives of France, 
Taltien. Vt is the hour of danger, 1 
propose 
‘This sitting be made permanent. 
(Loud applanses. 





Coliot @Herbois. The National Con- 
vention shall remain 
Firm at its post. © 
Enter @ Messenger, 


7, Robesplerre has reach’d | 


‘the Commune. espouse 
‘The tyrant’s cause, St. Just is up in 


arms | 
St. Just—the young ambitious bold St. 
just 
the mob, The sanguinary 
Smee 
‘Thirsts for your blood, [acsin rings, 
Tallien, These tyrants are in arms 


‘inst the Jaw + 
Outlaw the rebels. 


Eater Mextin or Dovay. 
Merlin. Wealth to the representatives 
epost bs pct Cicongh ia sepa 
t this moment # a 
re force 


They ask'd my name—and when they 
heard a delegate, P 
‘Swore I was not the friend of France, 
Collet d' Herbois, The tyrants threaten 
us as when they turn'd 
‘The eannon's mouth on Brissot. 
Euter another Messenger, 
Second Messenger. Vivier harangues 
the Jacobins—the Club 
Espouse the cause of Robespicrre. 
Enter another Messenger, 
Third Mesenger, All's lost—the tyrant 
triumphs. Henriot leads 
‘The soldiers to his aid. —Already I hear 
‘The rattling canoon destined to surround 
This sacred hall, 
Taltien. Why, we will die like men 


then, 
‘The representatives of France dare deuh, 
When duty steels their bosoms, 


Tallien (addressing ppd ‘pellet Cit 
zens ! 
France is insulted in her delegates— 





Fourth Messenger, Wensiot is taken} 

ap pauses. 

‘Three of your brave soldiers 

pur aeeme 
Or aaen Ashe: 

uit Par string =— 


‘They seiz’d [Applawses. 
hand Pace wales 
brave mea 


Live ey, furure day. 
Enter BOURDON L'O15R, sored in hands 


blade 
ee The timid 


o T met the, 
win 


ee 
In dark fe dungeons by his lawless 
Of knaves eae teva hi otering 
1 colof Liberty, Tk tone bat 
Canght the warm flame. ‘The genes 
shout burst forth, 
‘Live the Comet ties with 
(hot fh Dh 
Talticm. 1 hea, T hear the soul-inspt- 
ing sounds, <i 





wor ate 


THE FALL OF 


ROBES?! RE 223 





a besaved ! her generous sons 
Tt Rs h 

‘o ‘not persons, spurn the idol 
They aceneeyRH once! Yes, Robesplerre 


caper at Oh! never let us <n 

Tat France shall crouch beneath 
tyrant's throne, 

‘That the almighty people a have broke 

On their copper heat the oppressive 


” 
win on cer api their fetters! casier 
To burt the iat mountain from its 
Than force the bonds of slavery upon 


men 
Determined tobe free! [Applasses, 
Enter LAGEXDRE—a fittol in one hand, 
hays iin the other, 


Legendre | flinging down the keys). So 
—let the mutinous Jacobins meet 


now 
In the open air, [Loud applanses. 
A factlous turbulent party 
Lording it o'er the state since Danton 


And within the Cordeliers. —A hireling 

Of loud-tongued orators controull’d the 
Club, ft 

‘And baile them bow the knee to Robes- 

Viviet has ‘seaped me. Curse his coward 
: - his cowar 
heart — 

This fate-frught tube of Justice in my 


T rush'd into the hall. 
eye 

bie ahd its patriot anger, and flash'd 

With desth-denovnclog meaning. "Mid 


He mark’d mine 


Let servile i might shed the innocent 

ea eS [Applauses, 

Preven. me my ticket 
of admission — 


T pursued—but stay’d my 


Exped me from ther sittings —Now, 


forsooth, ” 
Humbled and’ trembling re-insert my 
name, 
But Freron enters not the Club again 
*Till it be purged of guilt -—'till, purified 
‘Of tyrants and of traitors, honest men 
May breathe the air in safety. 
[Shouts from without. 
soit Pisce means this uproar! 
yrant band 
Should | ‘om ‘the people once again to 


We are. as rdnad ! 
And wherefore fear we death? 


Hipparchus’ breast the 
s 100 
| And. died phant? Cxsar should 
fear death, 
Brutus must scorn the bugbear. 
(Shouts from without—Live the Conven- 
tion !—Down with the Tyrants !) 
Tallin, Hark ! again 
‘The sounds of honest Freedom | 
Enter Deputies from the Sections. 
Citizen. Citizens! representatives of 
France ! 
Hold on your steady course, The men 
of Paris 
| Espouse your cause, ‘The men of Paris 
ee ae 
‘They will defend thedelegates of Freedom, 
Tallien, Hear ye this, Colleagues? 
hear ye this, my brethren ? 
And does no thrill of joy pervade your 
Dreasts? 
My bosom bounds to rapture, I have 
seen 110 
‘The sons of France shake off the tyrant 
yoke $ 
I have, as much as lies in mine own arm, 
Hurl'd down the nsurper.—Come death 
when it will, 
1 have lived long enough. 
[Shouts twithout, 





Barrere. Hark t how the noise ine 





THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


Of the still evening—harl 
Rings the tocsin ! the di 
‘Thonders 


ye 
through Paris— 
[Cry without— Down with the Tyrant t 
Enter Lecorrer. 
cena, fa sue? ‘eternal justice 
or Fre 0 eee all the tyrant 
As Robenione has perish'd ! Citizens, 
Cwsar is taken. 
[Loud and re} 
IT marvel not that ‘with ach fo less front 
He braved our vengeance, and with 
a 
Sawer eed ihe hall defiance. He 
relied 
On Henriot's aid—the Commune’s villain 
é Shere re 
And Hensiot's bougiten succours. Ye 
have heard 
Tow Menriot rescued him—how with 
‘open arms 
‘The Commune welcom'd in the rebel 


tyrant— 

How Fleurlot aided, and seditious Vivier 

Stirr’d up the Jacobins. All had been 
lost 


‘The representatives of France had 
Preeom eS aR ak 
or ti fea pares, tat that. be 
tpi ithe men of Paris, Henriot 


‘To Psat ha vain, whilst Bourdon’s 
riot voice 


patriot 
Breathed eloquence, and oer the Jaco 
Legendre own'd dismay. The tyrant 


They reach’d the Hotel. We gather'd 
round—we call’d 


For vengeance! Long time, aaa 


despair, 
With Knives they hack'a around them. 


“Till foreboding 





‘The sentence of the law, the clamorous 


Forbade to esexpe- The self-will'd 
dictator 

Plunged often the keen knife in his dark 

Yet impotent to die, He lives all 
mangled 

By bis own tremulous hand! All gash’d 
and 10 

He lives to taste the bitterness of 
death. 

Even now they et oe doom. The 

a 

‘The fierce St. Just, even now attend 
their tyrant 

To kal ont: beneath the axe. I saw the 


Fuk tn theories dreadful light— 
Ciaw thats et ee 


Bach tt eee then wih dt 


in 

‘Tramples on the oppressor. When the 
tyrant 

Nurl'd ipa nee blood.cemented throne, 


Of the a ita meets the death 
He pum ‘Oh! my 


Has sual SHS aan haa 
woes 
Of my brave ‘crowded o'er my 
country 





acT ut 


THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE 


225 





In ghastly nembers—when assembled 


Drage’d from their hovels by despotic 
power, 
Ras er er frontier, plander'd her 


10 
And sack’d her populous towns, and 
drench’d with blood 
‘The reeking fields of Flanders —When 
within, 
Upon Bex vitals peey’@ the rankling 


of aes eae oppression, giant form, 
Tamplog: ‘on freedom, left the alterna- 


orate or of death. Even from that 
‘When, ae ity 
The doom of cm fed 
Her nated hi head amongst us. ay 
preach’d 
Of mercy—the exorious dotard Roland, 
‘The woman "d Roland durst aspire 
To ors france; and Petion talk'd 
And Vergnixed's eloquence, like the 
tongue 
Of ame sot Syren wooed us to destruc- 
‘We triumphed over these. On the same 
scaffold 
Where the last Louls pour’d his guilty 
blood, 
Fell Brissot's head, the womb of dark- 
some treasons, 
And Orleans, villain kinsman of the 


And Hébert’ atheist crew, whose mad- 
dening hand 


1 I pronounced 
ance, has faction 





Hurl'd down the altars of the living God, 

With all the infidel’s intolerance, 198 

‘The last worst Sd triumphed — 
triumph’d lon; 

Secur'd by raat itlainy—by turns 

Defending and deserting each accomplice 

As interest prompted. In the goodly 


Of Fresiom, the foul tree of treason 
strack 

Its deep-fix’d roots, and dropt the dews 
of death 

On all who slumber'd in its specions 
shade, 

He wove the web of treachery. He 
caught 

The listening crowd by bis wild tlo- 
quence, 

His cool ferocity that persuaded founder, 

Even whilst it spake of mercy !—never, 
never 

Shall this regenerated country wear 

The despot yoke. Though myriads 
round assail, 

And with worse fury urge this new 
crusade 

Than savages have known; though the 
teagued despots 

Depopulate all Europe, so to pour 

‘The accumulated mass upon our coasts, 

Sublime amid the storm shall France 
arise, 

And like the rock amid eae 
waves 

Repel Misr rustling occ tha aalt 
wield 


ie 

The thunder-bolt of vengeance—she 
shall blast 

The despot's pride, and liberate the 


world! 





WALLENSTEIN 


A DRAMA IN TWO PARTS 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK SCHILLER 
"7991820 


THE PICCOLOMINI 
Ok THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN 
A DRAMA LN FIVE ACTS 


PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR 


Iv was my intention to have prefixed a 
Life of Wallenstein to this translation ; 
but I found that it must cither have 
occupied a space wholly disproportionate 
to the nature of the publication, or have 
been merely 2 meagre catalogue of events 
narrated not more fully than they already 
are in the Play itself, The recent trans- 
lation, likewise, of Schiller's Zistory of 
the Thirty Years’ War diminished the 
motives thereto, In the translation 1 
endeavoured to render my Author /iter~ 
ally wherever I was not prevented by 
absolute differences of idiom ; but Iam 
conscious, that in two or three short 
passages I have been guilty of dilating 
the original ; and, from anxiety to give 
the full meaning, have weakened the 
force. In the metre I have availed my- 
self of no other liberties than those which 
Schiller had permitted to himself, ex- 
cept the occasional breaking-up of the 
line by the substitution of a trochee for 
an iambic ; of which liberty, so frequent 
in our tragedies, I find no instance in 
these dramas. S. T. Coneniper. 


Friedland. 
Tue Counress TEertsky, Sister of the 
Duches: 


5s 
Lapy Neusrunn.t 


Ocravio Picco.omint, Ldewtenant- 


fidant. 
IsoLant, General of the Croats. 


Burixn, an /rithman, Commander of « 
it Dragoons. 


4 Not mentioned in D.P, 180, 





SCENE T 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


227 





eee 
NEUMANN, cera: Cavalry, Aide- 


The War 7 sete ‘Von Quesren. 

BERO, Jorperial a 
GENERAL WRANGEL, Emey. 
‘Sweprsis Carraix,? 


COLONELS AND GENERALS.? 
PAGES AND ATTENDANTS longing fo 
Valieresteis,* 


ATTENDANTS Axp Hondtsts ddonging 
to Tertshy? 
uasrexor ‘THE CELLARS f0 Count 


Vauer DE CHAMBRE of Count Piccolo 
mini? 


Corpassies, Dracoons, Skrvants.' 


THE PICCOLOMINI, ETC. 


ACTI 
Scene 1 


An old Gothic Chamber in the Council 
House at Pilsen, decorated with Colours 
and other War Insignia, 


Tito with Buttes and IsoLant. 


Bia Ya Nave come Yato—bat ye wre 
come! The distance, 
‘Count Isolan, excuses your delay. 
Fislani. Add this too, that we come 


Transporting a rich cargo of provisi 
Abamiaretentnatwaggens, This ty 


4 Not mentioned in D.P. 1800. 
% Not menticaed in D.P. after 1800. 
* A tows about t2 German miles NE. of Ulm. 





Plunged down upon and seized, this 
weighty prize !—— 
We bring it hither — 
Hilo. ‘Just in time to banquet 
‘The illustrious company assembled here. 
Buter, "isa alive tiring scene 


Tsslant, Ay 
The very iets ee all full of sldlee 
[Casts his eve round. 
And in the Council-house, too, I ob- 
serve, 
You're settled, quite at home! 
well ! we soldiers 
‘Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 
ilo, We have the Colonels here of 
thirty regiments. 
You'll find Count Tertsky here, and 
Tiefenbach, 
Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, 
The Piccolomini, both son and father— 
You'll meet with many an unexpected 


Well, 


greeting 6 
From many an old friend and acquaint- 
m 


ance. ly 
Galas is wanting still, and Altringer. 

Butler, Expect not Galas, 

Ills (hesitating). How 302 Do you 
know—— 

Tsolani (interrupting him). Max Pic- 
colomini here?—O bring me to 
him. 

I see him yet, (‘tis now ten years ago, 
We were sngsged with Mansfeld hard 


by Dessai 

Isee an oat in my mind's eye I sce 
im, 

Leap his black war-horse from the bridge 
adown, 

And t'ward his father, then in saseia 
peri 

Beat up against the strong tide of the 
Elbe, 

The down vas scarce upon his chin! T 

Hie has made good the promise of his 
youth, 

And the fall hero now is finished in him. 


Mo. You'll see him yet ere evening. 
He conducts 





228 

The Duchess Friedland hither, and the 
Princess! 

From Carnthen, We expect them here 
at 


noon, 
Butler. Both wife and daughter does 
the Duke call hither? 
‘He crowds in visitants from all sides, 
Ssolari. Hm! 
ee better! eecdiscd 


Sri dheeeot ought du-rertike etreac 


stance, 
Of marches, and attacks, and aps 
And lof the Duke provides, that some- 


thing too 
Of gentler ort, and lovely, shoold be 


Mla (who Phe standing in the at- 
titude of meditation, ts Butler, 
whom he leads a little on one side). 
And how came you to know 

‘That the Count Galas joins us not? 

Butler, Because 

He importuned me to remain behind, 
‘Milo (swith swarmth). And you?—You 
hold out firmly? 
[Grasping his hand with 
Noble Butler! 
Butler, Afer the obligation which the 
Duke 2 


Had layed so newly on me— 
Tila. Thad forgotten 
A pleasant daty—Major General, 
1 os you tn Wha 
you mean, of his regi- 


gers 

I hear, too, that to make the gift still 
sweeter, 

‘The Duke has given him the very same 

In which he first saw service, and since 


then, 
Worked dike step by step, through 
ch preferment, 
From te ans eee And verily, 
A precedent of hope, a spur of action é 
1 The Dukes in Germany being always reign: 


Ing powers, their sous anit daughters are entitled 
Princes and Princesses. 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





ACT 


To the whole corps, if once in their 
remembrance 


An old deserving soldier makes his way. 
Butler. Tam perplexed and doubtful, 
oar itis jeer congratulation. 
T dare u 
The pre bot eee 


Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers! 
‘a. Ay, iE we would. it 39 eons 
it 
If we would all of us consider it so! 7 
The Em + gives us nothing ; from the 
uke 
Comes all—whate’er we hope, whate'er 
we haye. 
Tsolani ml i ‘My noble brother! 
you how 
‘Th Die wil sly sey 
‘Will be himself my banker for the future, 
Make me once more a creditable man }— 
And this is now the third time, think of 
that ! 
‘This kingly-minded man has rescued me 
From acute ruin, and restored my 


Kio, a hirer bt het 
Why, tn "hed give the whole warld 
is soldiers. 
Bat at Wien ‘brother ! here's the griev- 
1 hat pole schemes 1a Inept 
His arm, and, where can, 
—~ 
Then these new dainty requisitions? 
these, ss 
Which thi i 
ee Questenberg brings 
“Tiede teoulitons of ha aioe 
I tn ive head about them ; but 1 
‘The btrecby not dmw back a single 





SENEU 


THE PICCOLOMINT 


229 





24k, Not from his right most surely, 
unless first ~p 
—Erom office! 


Biatler (ehovhed and 
you aeght then? Nance 


Peolani (at the same tinve with Butler, 
gad: iu a hurrying voice). We 

“pa, abd bene everyone of us! 

No more! 

roe I sce our worthy friend? ap- 


~rin the "Lietomt. Genera Piccolo- 


Butler (shaking his head significantly). 
Tfear wo shall not go hence as 
we came, 


Scene ID 


Enter Ocravio Picconostns and 
Qurstensenc. 


Octavio (till in the distance). Ay, 
1 more still! Still more new 


ors ! 
Acknowledge, friend ! that never was a 


camp, 
Which held at once so many heads of 
heroes. [Approaching nearer. 
Welcome, Count Eyolani 
Eoteni, My noble brother, 
ae 


Rad Coton Butler—trust 
oe tesbise 


to renew Pee remake with a man 
Whose worth and services I know and 
honour. 
‘See, see, my friend! 
a 


iit Bat of Wars Whole trade and 3 


ee Qersrmames,. freenting 
BOTLRK amd ISOLANT at the 


Questenberg (to Octavio), And lot 
betwixt them both experienced 
Prudence! 

Odtevis (presenting Questenbere te 
Butler and fsolant), The Cham- 
Derlain and War-commissioner 
Questenberg, 

‘The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 
The long-tried friend and patron of all 
soldiers, 
We honour in this noble visitor, 
(Universal silence. 

Milo (moving towards Quertenberg). 
‘Tis not the first time, noble 
Minister, 

You have shewn our camp this honour, 

Questenberg. ‘Once ‘fore 

I stood before these colours. 

Ufo, Perchance too you santacibet 
where that was. 

Tt was at Zniim? in Moravia, where 
You did present yourself upon the part 
Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke 
‘That he would straight assume the chief 


‘command, 
Questenterg. To supplicate? Nay, 
noble General f 
So far extended neither my commission 
(At least 10 my own knowledge) nor my 


eal. 

Well, well, then—to compel 

him, if you chuse. 

I can remember me right well, Soe 
‘Tilly 

Mad ie {otal rout upon the Lech. 

Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, 

Whom there was nothing to delay from 
pressing 

‘Onwards into the very heart of Austria. 

At that time you and Werdenberg ap- 


ila, 


peared 
Before our el storming him with 


And pias the Emperor's displeasure, 
Unless he took compassion on this 
wretchedness, 
Looland (steps up t0 them), Yes, yes, 
"tis comprehensible enough, 
+ A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on 
the high road from Vienna to Prague. 





THE PICCOLOMINT 


‘Wherefore with your commission wei 
day 
Tou were not all $o0'willingtbo waaxeaaber 


Syeenaheg, Why ee 
Qwestenbers, not, Count Isolan? 
No a sure exists between 


Ppa atgeecer y ryrerr en 

To snateh Bavaria from her enemy’s hand; 

And my commission of to-day instructs 
me 

To free her from her good friends and 
protectors. 

ile, A worthy office! After with 
our blood 

We have wrested this Bohemia from the 

To be swept out of it is all e 

‘0 ou it our 
thanks, 

‘The sole reward of all our hard-won vic- 
tories. 


suffer 
Only a change of evils, it must be 
Freed aoe Heap cette 


thio. ‘Wat etree dra 


Can anne fdh demands ety, 
e 
i udtstiasccen EX, ents ana rueaing: 


Zsolani, The war maintains the war. 
Are the Boors ruined, 
‘The Emperor gains so many more new 


Questenberg. And is the poorer by 
even so many subjects. 
Zvlani, Poh! We are all his sub- 


With profitable industry the purse, 
‘The others are well skilled to vagy it. 
‘The sword has made the Emperor poor ; 
te Ree) eee a 
lust reinvigorate his resources. 
Tsolani. 


ees ot. yots0 bal, Mesias 1 


[Examining with his oe the 
drezs and ormaments of QUES- 
‘TENRERG. 
Good store of gold that still remains un- 
coined. 


Questenterg. Thank Heaven! that 
primp 


Son ite om the ge fhe Coin 
ceria The Stawata and the 


‘On whom rhe opr bp i 
“To the heart buh of all Bohe- 
burning good 
‘Those minions of court favour, those 
court harpi 
Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens 
‘Driven from their house and home—who 
reap no harvests: 
Save in the calamity— 
Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and 
mock 


‘The desolation of their country—these, 
er pe 


Soconstantl nah eager, 
Who cannot = a benefice fall, 


Snap Toes dog’s hunger—they, for- 
soot 
f | Would Pap tha Ce. ‘bread, and 


cross his reck 
Jolani. My life long will it anger 
me to ti 
Hon when 1 eat St eas 
To ne hoa new heres ean 


Fon fom che aitechanene another” 
‘Thy disque i Sessa 


‘To. kick wy ee tera ee 
Feast-fattened slaves, as if I had come 
thither 








THE PICCOLOMINI 


23h 


A mendicant suftor for the crumbs of | Qmestemlerg, cares feelings 
favour all ranks share alike, 


fae eg tables. And, at 

gra eeclnd aaa 
‘began to muster up 

gerig pe mateo 

paseo ‘man, this Capuchin, ied 


Lo 
And I was forced at last to quit the 


field, 
‘The business enaccomplished. After- 
STi obec retical ine fe tione day 
‘Could not obtain im thirty at Vienna, 
. Vos, yes! your travel- 
soon found their way to 
oo wall Liaw we have si accounts: 


Spier eerie mins, ave 


smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, 
‘Dfaith, we shoeld wait long.— 


A il ae perplexed ‘what shall I 


eed Pi cunt econ 
Ay, doubles ei true: 





Nor will he offer one up to another, 
solani. And therefore thrusts he us 
into the deserts 
As beasts of prey, that so he may pre- 


serve 
‘His dear sheep fattening in his fields at 
home, 
Questenters (with a seer), Count, 
this comparison you make, not I. 
Bwtler. Why, were we all the Court 
supposes tts, 130 
‘Twere Faercceny, sure, to give us 


pret h You have taken liberty 
—it was not given you. 
And therefore it becomes an urgent duty 
To rein it in with curbs. 
ind addressing 


Octavio (interposing 
Quetenderg), My noble friend, 

This is no more than a remem! 

That you are now in camp, and among 


boldness constitutes his 


warriors, 
The a 


freedom, 
Could he act daringly, unless he dared 
Talk even so? One runs into the other. 
The boldness of this worthy officer, 140 
inting to BUTLER. 
Which now has but mistaken in its 


mark, 
Preserved, when nought bat boldness 
could preserve it, 
To the Emperor his capital city, Prague, 
In a most formidable mutiny 
Of the whole garrison. 
[Military music at a distance, 
Hah! here they come ! 
Bila, Fong sentries are saluting them ; 
this 
Announces the arrival of the Duchess. 
‘Octavio (fo Questenterg). Then my son 
Max too has returned. "Twas he 
Fetched and attended them from Carn- 
then hither. 150 
Siolané (to Jile). Shall we not go in 
‘company to greet them ? 
Mle, Well, let us go.—Tio ! Colonel 
Butler, come. 





232 


7 
[To Ocravto. 


You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we 
meet 
The noble Envoy at the General's palace. 
[Bunt all but Questexserc 
and OCTAVIO. 


Scenx II 
Quesrennenc emi Octavio. 


Questenberg (with signs of aversion 
‘and astonichment). What have I 
not been forced to hear, Octavio! 

What sentiments ! what feroe, uncurbed 
defiance ! 
And were this spirit universal— 

Octavio, Hm! 

You are now acquainted with three- 
fourths of the army. 

Questemberg. Where must we seck then 
for a seeand host 

To have the custody of this? That 


Ilo 

‘Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. 
And then 

‘This Butler too—he cannot even con: 
ceal 

‘The passionate workings of his ill inten- 
tions. 


Oxtevia, Quickness of temper—irri- 
tated pride s 16 
"Twas nothing more. 1 cannot give up 
Butler. 
I know a spell that will soon dispossess 
The evil spirit in him. 
Queitenberg (walking up and down in 
evident disyuiet). Friend, friend 1 
O1 this is worse, far worse, than we had 
suffered 
Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. ‘There 
We saw it only with a courtier’s eyes, 
Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the 
throne. 
We had not seen the War-chief, the Com- 


mander, 

The man all powerfl in his camp. 
lere, here, 

"Tis ie another thing, Ps 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





ACT 


Here is no Emperor more—the Duke is 
Em 


jperor. 
Alas, my friend | a 
This walk which you have ta'en me 
through the camp 

Seas, my hopes prostrate. 

Octavio. Now you see yourself 
Of what a perilous kind the office is, 
Which you deliver to me from the Court. 
The least suspicion of the General 
Costs me my freedom and my life, and 


woul 
But hasten his most desperate enterprise. 
Questenberg. Where was our reason 
sleeping when we trusted > 
This madman with the sword, and 
placed such power 
In sucha hand? Ttell you, he'll refuse, 


Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial 
rd 


orders. 

Friend, he can do’, and what he can, 
he will. 

And then the impunity of his defiance— 

1 what a proclamation of our weak- 


ness ! 
Octavio. D'ye think too, 
brought his wife and daughter 
Without a purpose hither? 
camp t 
And at the very point of time, in which 
We're arming for the war? That he a 


taken 
These, the daa pledges of his loyalty,” 
Away from out the Emperor's domains— 
This is no doubtful token of the near 
ness 
Of some eruption ! 
Questenberg. How shall we hold foot- 


ing 

Beneath this tempest, which collects 
itself 

And gies us from all quarters? The 
ene 

Of the te: on our borders, now 
already 

The master of the Danube, and still 
farther, 

And farther still, extending every hour ! 

In our interior the alarum-bells 2 

Of insurrection—peasantry in arms—— 





SCENE MT 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


233 


All onders discontented—and the army, | To hide my genuine feelings from him, 


{65 inthe moment of ont expectation 

OF aidance from it—lo! this very army 

ran wild, Jost to:all Ailing 
rent asunder from 


Sedtaced, 
Poorly and the 
Ame fon their sovereign, the blind 
On theme daring of kind 
mankind, a weapon 
OE fearfal ma which at his will he 
wields f 
Octavio. Nay, nay, friend t let us we 


neni eatrion ens * 


are ever bolder than thelr 


deeds : 
fXcod many a resolute, who now appears 
anie 2, to all extremes, will, on a 
wadden 


ed hls trou heart he wot 


Re tues ona man speak on 
THe tne name of his cre Remesié 

~w. sch fd wy wBolly aprotic 
‘Counts Altringer and Galas have main- 


ang little faithful to its duty, 
becomes mare numerots yo 


pecan falegieed by surprize : you 
a 
Whate'es he does, is mine, even while 

sad bot instantly T hear it 


‘Yea, his own mouth discloses it 
Tis quite 


Questenbers. 
Tacomprehensible, that he detects not 
‘The foe so near! 
Octavio. Beware, you do not think, 
Fe lace pam 
isy, have skulked into his graces: 
Ceeiaeas dl re 
fessions & 
Nourish his all-confiding friendship ! 
Sevan by prudence, and that 
Which we all owe our country, and our 
‘sovercign, 





yet 
Neer have I duped him with base 
counterfeits $ 
Questendorg. It is the visible ordinance 
of heaven. 
Octavio, 1 know not what it is that 
$0 attracts 
And links him both to me and to my 


son. 

Comrades and friends we always were— 
long habit, 

Adventurous deeds performed in com- 
pany. 

And all those many and various incidents 

Which store a soldier's memory with 
affections, 

Had bound us long and early to each 
other— 

Yet 1 can name the day, when all at 
once 

His heart rose on me, and his confidence 

Shot out in sudden growth. It was the 


morning 
Before the memorable fight at Liitzner, 
Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him 
out, 
To press him to accept another charger, 
At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 
T found him in a sleep, When I had 
waked him, tor 
And had related all my bodings to him, 
Long time he stared upon me, like « 


man 

Astounded ¢ thereon fell upon my neck, 

And manifested to me an emotion 

‘That far outstripped the worth of that 
small service, 

Since then his confidence has followed 


me 
With the same pace that mine has fled 
from him. 
Questenderg. You lead your son into 
the secret? 
Octavio, Not 
Questenderg. What? and not warn 
him either what bad hands 140 
His lot has placed him in? 
Octave, I must perforce 
Leave him in wardship to his innocence, 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Hush !—There he comes ! 


Scene IV 


Max Piccotomint, Ocravio Picco- 
LOMINI, QUESTENERRG, 


Max, Via there he is himself, Wel- 
come, my father ! 

[Ae embraces hit father. 
turns round, he 
Qursranuers, and draws 
back with a cold and reserved 


air. 
You are engaged, I see, I'll not disturb 


As he 
observes 


this visitor 5 
Attention, Max, an old friend merits— 
Revere 


noe 
Ta ea pons sen Amaia 


Max a Von Questenberg !— 
Welcome—if you bring with you 
juarters. 


Your hand away, Count Piccolomini ! 
Not on i ‘own account alone I seized 


And aothing common will I say there- 
with, (Zinking the hands of och 

Octavio—Max Piccolomini t 

© saviour ‘names, and fill of happy 
omen! 

Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn 
from Austria, 


7 
While two such stars, with blessed in- 
fiuences 





Beaming protection, shine above her 
Mox, Heh !—Noble minister! You 

Yo pooh be heasl wei 
‘ou came not here to act = 

You're sent, I know, to find fault and to 


scold us— 
T must not be beforehand with my com- 
rades. 


Well for acscren pagel 

‘Who makes himself what natore destined 

‘The pause, the central point to thousand 

Stands re nae stately, tke a firm- 
built column, 

eer may pee wit Joy and: om 


‘Now such a man is Wallenstein ; cai 
Another better suits the court —no 


But such a one as he can setve the 
army. 
QuestensSerg. The army? Doubtless ! 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


235 





ike winger ‘every day.—But in the 

ae makes itself 
“The personal must command, the actual 
Examine, If to be the chieftain asks 


lives, 
‘He must invoke and question—not dead 
Not — not peared 
Octasion My ‘Myson! of those old keto 
ordinances 


Let us not hold too lightly. They are 
Of pled vale, which oppresed man- 
Tied to the volatile will of their 


For always formidable was the league 
And emetic of free power with free 


Bey atcioesent otinanes though i 
‘Ts yet no devions way, Straight forward 
‘The path, and straight the 
Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and 

rapid, Pa 





Shattering that it may reach, and 
shattering what it reaches. 

My son! the road the human being 
travels, 

‘That on which blessing comes and a 
doth follow - ie 

‘The river's course, the valley's playful 
windings, 

Curves nina the the corn-field and the hill 
of vines, 

Honouring the holy bounds of property 

And thus secure, though late, leads to 
its end. 

Questenberg. O hear your father, noble 

youth ! hear him, 

Who is at once the hero and the man. 

Octavio, My son, the nursling of ~ 

camp spoke in thee ! 

‘A war of fifteen years 

Hath been thy education and thy school. 

Peace hast thou never witnessed | There 
exists 

An higher than the warrior’s excellence. 

In war itself war is no ultimate pur- 


pose. 
‘The vast and sudden deeds of violence, 
Adventures wild, and wonders of the 
moment, 
‘These are not 


generate 
The Calm, the Blissful, and the enduring 
an 


they, my son, that 


lighty | % 
Lo there ! the soldier, rapid architect ! 
Builds his light town of canvas, and at 


once 

The whole scene moves and bustles 
momently, 

With arms, and’ neighing steeds, and 
mirth and quarrel 

‘The motley market fills ; the roads, the 
streams 

Are crowded with new freights, trade 
stirs and hurries ! 

But on some morrow morn, ail suddenly, 

‘The tents drop down, the horde renews 
its march. 

Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard 

The meadow and down-trodden seed- 
plot lie, 

And the year’s harvest is gone utterly. reo 





236 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


acTd 





Max. cosy eh ied ied or 

Mos. gly woul give the Moot 
‘stained Iaurel 

For em ee violet! of the leafless 

Huh the gut elds where 1 


Odaie, What ale thes? ‘What so 
‘moves thee all at once? 

Max. Peace have I ne'er beheld? 1 
have beheld it, 

From thee aT some ihr oO: 


that sight, 
It Gane still before me, like some 
Jandscay 
Left yer the = tance sme delicious 
My zon Sonate me through countries 


My venerable father, Life has charms 

Which we have ne'er experienced, We 
have been 

But voyaging along its barren coasts, 

Like some poor ever-roaming horde of 


pirates, 
That, erties in the rank and narrow 


sl 

‘House on the wild sea with wild 

Nor know aught of the main land, 
the bays: 

‘Where safeliest they may venture a 
thieves' landing. 

Wise psa e alacant et 


Of Git and eaquisiis, O11, nothing 
nothi 
of that in our rade 


voyage. 
Octavio (attentive, with an appearance 
fa uneasiness). And $0 your 
journey has revealed this to you? 
‘Mes FTwes,the: Git teleare: of sry 
life, © tell me, 
4 In the original, 
‘Den blutgen Lorteer, geb ich bin, mit Freuden 
FOrs erste weilchen, das der mers uns bringt, 
Das duftige Pffand der neuverjOngten Erde. 





‘What is the meed and purpose of the 
t 
The painful toil, which robbed me of 
ms 
Leh mani bane ansenli dino mating) 
A spirit uninformed, unornamented. 
For the camp's stir and crowd and 
ceaseless larum, 
The neighing war-horse, the air-shatter- 
Tho uamasied, stlcretaraiog Ibgursot 
Word of command, snd exercise of 
arms— 
‘Then nating vey een eneseoae 
sly th her he pig het 
Mere bustling nothingness, where the 
soul is not— 
This cannot be the sole felicity, 
‘These cannot be man's best and only 
onal es 
son, in this short 
Max. O1 day thrice lovely! when at 
th the soldier 
Returns home into life; when - 
‘becomes 


{x flow an among his fellowmen. 
‘The colours are unfurled, the cayal- 


c 

Thee a ee 

With vest men and women, that 
send onwards 


Kisses and welcomings the air, — 
Which they make breesy with nffceticaate 


gestures, 
From en es 





THE PICCOLOMINI 





Tive joyous respers of a bloody day. 
© Ahappy man, O fortunate ! for whom 
Thre well-known door, the faithful arms 


are open, 
The Gitta tender arms with mute 
‘embracing. 
Quastenterz (apparently much affected). 
O1 that you should speak 
DE wh 2 distant, distant time, and 


fot 
“SA the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 
Max (turning rownd to Bivs, guick and 
Acsiemes Where lies the fault 
bat on you in Vienna? 160 
deal opesily with you, Questen- 


Bust now, a5 first I saw you standing 


= ww 


re, 
‘©1'l own it to you freely) indignation 
“Stomled and pressed iny inmost soul 


together. 
"Tis ye that hinder peace, ye !—and the 


It is the warrior that must force it from 
you. 

Ve Get the Generals ie out, Wacken 

Held him ‘up as a rebel, and Heaven 
‘knows 

What else still worse, because he spares 
the Saxons, 

And tries to awaken confidence in the 
enemy = 

Which yet's the only way to peace: for 
if 

War intermit not during war, how 
then 

And) whence can peace come?—Your 
own fl on you ! 

Even as I love what's viriuous, hate 1 
you. 

And here make I this vow, here pledge 
myself; 

My blood shall spurt out for this Wallen- 

‘And my heart drain of, drop by drop, 
ere ye 

Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his 





Scene V 
QuesTENDERG, Ocravio PiccoLomint. 


Questenterg. Alas, alas! and stands 
it so? 

[Then in pressing and impatient tones. 

What, friend | and do we let him go 


away 
In this delusion—let him go away? 
Not call him back immediately, not 


open 

His eyes upon the spot ? 

Octavio (recovering himself out of a 
deep study). He has now opened 
mine, 

And I see more than pleases me, 
Questenterg. What is it? 
Octavio, Curse on this journey t 
Questenberg. But why so? What is it? 
Octavio, Cerne, come along, friend! I 

must follow up 

The ominous track immediately, Mine 

eyes 

Are opened now, and I must use them. 

Come t » 

[Draws QUESTENBERG on with Aine, 

Questenberg. What now? Where go 
you then ? 

Octavio. To her herself. 

Questenberg. To 

Octavio (interrupting him, amd cor 
recting Kimsef), To the Duke. 
Come, let us go—'Tis done, ‘tis 
done, 

I see the net that is thrown over him, 

O! he returns not to me as he went, 
Questewberg. Nay, but explain your- 

self, 


Octavio, And that T should not 
Foresee it, not prevent this journey ! 
Wherefore 
Did T keep it from him?—You were in 
the right. 
T should have warned him t 
too late. 
Questenberg, But what's too 
Bethink yourself, my friend, 
‘That you are talking absolute riddles to 
me. = 


Now it ts 


late? 





238 


Octavio (more collected), Come !—to 
the Duke's. "Tis close upon the 


hour 
Which he be appolntea you for audience. 
ee curse, upon this 
: de leads QUESTENUERG off, 


Scene VI 


Changer to a spacious chamber in the 
house of the Duke of Friedland, 
—Servants employed im putting the 
tables and chairs in order. During 
this enters Sent, like an old Malian 


it! Make an See re T hear the 
sentry call out, ‘ Stand toyaintaatt 
They will be there in a minute. 
Second Servant, Why were we not 
par Tere Noth eee 
jothing i—no 
orders—=no instructions— 
ae Servant. Ay, and why was 
cose -chamber countermanded, 
na with the great worked carpet ?— 
there one. can look about one. w 
First Servant. Nay, that you must ask 
the mathematician there. He says it 
is an unlucky chamber. 
Second Poh ! stuff and non- 
sense! ‘That's what I calla hum. A 
chamber is a chamber ; what much can 
the place signify in the affair? 
Soui (with gravity). My son, there's 


nothing insignificant, 

"hac th But yet in every earthly 
q 

Fie and ‘wort. princlpal Ta place and 
time. 


Mma 


staat ee‘ hdex Bava “ile oon 





THE PICCOLOMIN] 


First Servant. Ey! let him alone 
though. I like to hear tim 5 there is 


Wallenstein, You went then throngh 

T in oe 

‘o tl fungary 

Duchess, Yes, and to the Empress 
too, 





SORE VIL 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





And by both Majesties were we ad- 
mitted 
Te kiss the hand. 
‘EVallenstein. And how was it received, 
Tha eases Selancesd Saagher 
Reon feresagriaretis thee? 
I did even that 
WS hich you commissioned me to do. I 
a told them, 
TS cu had determined on our daughter's 
ME eet eee eres pent, oto the 
Eo shew the elected husband his be- 


trothed, 
Wallenstein. Nod did they guess the 


then 
And in all else, of what kind and com- 


reception at the court ? 
7 [Tae Ducusss casts her ever on 
the ground and remains silent. 
Hide nothing from me. How were you 
> received ? 
Duchess, O' wy dear lord, all is not 
‘it was. 
A cankerworm, my lord, a canker. 
worm 7 
‘Has stolen into the bud. 
Wallenstein, Ay! is it so! 
eee aT led of the 
respect? 
ire aly ea No honours 


No cath ouay ‘but in the place 
eee: Confiden tial Kind 


ee teed etree fhaes were given 





Only these honours and that solemn 
courtesy. 
Ah! and the tenderness which was put 


on, 
It was the guise of pity, not of favour. 
No! Albrecht’s wife, Duke Albrecht's 


princely wife, 30 
Count Harrach’s noble daughter, should 


not so— 
Not wholly so should she have been 
received, 
Wallenstein, Yes, yes; they have 
ta’en offence, My latest conduct, 
They railed at it, no doubt. 
Duchess. © that they had! 
Ihave been long accustomed to defend 


you, 

‘To heal and pacify distempered spirits. 

No} no one tailed at you. They 
wrapped them up, 

O Heaven ! in such oppressive, solemn 
silence !— 

Here is no every-day misunderstanding, 

No teint + pique, no cloud that — 


Someting most luckless, most tates 
able, 
Has taken place. The Queen of Hun- 


gary 
Used formerly to call me her dear aunt, 
And ever at departure to embrace me— 
Wallenstein, Now she omitted it? 
Duchess (wipiny away her tears, after 
@ pause). She did embrace me, 
But then first when I had already taken 
My formal leave, and when the door 


already 
Mad closed upon me, then did she come 


out 
In haste, as she had suddenly bethought 
herself, 
And pressed ‘me to her bosom, more 
with anguish Ps 
‘Than tenderness. 
Wallenstein (seizes her hand sooth- 
ingly), Nay, now collect your- 


self, 

And what'of Eggenberg and Lichten- 
stein, 

And of our other friends there? 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


To ‘80 warmly for me 2— 
Doe: Silent, Silent ! 


I 
Duchess, And were it—were it, my 
dear lord, in that 
Which moved about the court in buzz 
and whisper, 
Bat in the country let itself be heard 60 
ei that which Father Lamor- 


In sondte th hints and—— 
Wallenstein (eagerly). Lamormain ! 
what said he? 
Duchess. That you're necused of hav- 
ing daringly 
peseree the powers entrusted (o you, 


With traitorous contempt of the Em- 


peror 
And his supreme behests, The proud 


0, 
He and the Spaniards stand up your 


accusers— 
‘That there's a storm collecting over you 
Of far more fearful menace than that 


former one 
Which whirled you headlong down at 


ission, 
Wallenstein. Tale they? 
[Strides across the chamber in 
swhemwent agitation. 





You know it !~The swift growth of our 
good fortune 

Tt hath but set as up, a mark for hatred. 

‘What are we, if the grace and 
favour 

Stand not before us! 


Scene VIIL 


qo | Eater the COUNTESS 


Countess. So need ‘What already 
[Ohriee mtenamce of the 


And tsloen Oracle 
Ere he has gladdened at hs child: “The 


Monet to. ae ‘Here, Fried- 
a Ps 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


pledge of greater 
bret ee little child when 
oa pt et yf Em- 


And Ana ats ‘the close of the campaign, 
Serene home out of Fame 


‘Your: seater a endl already in the Sesiveat 
‘Wherein tbe tas rena’ till now. 4 

The while 
wet the here gave our cares and 


Sometabinret ea it hera free wa} 
Tole ten ly Et, lo! sand 


Within he pce silent convent walls 
‘Has done her part, and out of her free 


grace 
‘Hath she bestowed on the beloved child 
‘The godlike; and now leads her thus 


To mest ber splendid fortune, and my 
Duchess (fe Thekta). Thou wouldst not 


mother ! 
wy father is not 


before me, falsities 


The thar stands 
Area recee teat bath lived 
within me! 


‘iat wel me and of my prosperous 
fortune, 
c 





2yt 


And re-illume my soon extinguished being 

Ina proud line of princes. 

I wronged my destiny. Here upon this 
head 


So lovely in its maiden bloom will T 
Let fall the garland of a life of war, 
Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it 
Transmitted to a regal ornament, 
Around these beauteous brows. Py 
[Ae clasps her in his arms as 
PICCOLOMINI enters, 


Scene IX 


Enter MAX PICCOLOMIN], amd some time 
after COUNT TERTSRY, the others re- 
maining as before, 


Countess, There comes the Paladin 
who protected us. 
Wallenstein. Max! Welcome, ever 
welcome! Always wert thou 
The be nen star ateiy best joys ! 
My General 
Walienstin ‘Till now it was the Em- 
peror who rewarded thee, 
1 but the instrument. This day thou 
hast bound 
‘The father to thee, Max! the fortunate 
father, 
And this debt Friedland’s self must pay. 
Max. My prince! 
You made no common hurry to transfer 
it 
T come with shame: yea, not without a 


pang | 

For scarce have I arrived here, scarce 
delivered 

The mother tal the-denghtes to your 


But there Fa brought to me from your 


uerty 
A splendid tichly-plated hunting dress 
Soto remunerate me for my troubles—— 
Yes, yes, remunerate me! Since a trouble 
It must be, a mere office, not a favour 
Which I leapt forward to receive, and 


which 
Tame already with full heart to thank 
you for. 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


No! feo) not so intended, that my 
business 
Sl ee toe oF 
[TeRTsky enters, amd deltvers let- 
erie the Duxn, which he 


open hurryingly. 
careening Remmeraie your 
trouble! For his joy 
Sawer isc eames tis not un- 


Bo beae oe Peeled ts feet 
So tenderly—my brother it hexeems 
Re eae ae See great and 


make he Then toomust have scruples 
of his love 

For his “wait hands did ornament 

Kixe yet the father's heart had spoken to 


me. 
Max. Yes; "tis his nature ever to be 


And ill, hoes ig 


Mewar the hand of the Ducn- 
with still increasing 


attire 
How my heart pours out 
Itsall of thanks to him : TO low Teen 
To utter all things in the dear name 
Friedland. 


and. 
While I shall live, so long will I remain 
‘Thecaptife of shia nae in it shall 


‘My every fortune, every lovely cas 

Inextricably as in some magic 

Tn this name ve my , destiny 2 charm: 
bound me 


Pocniat cule pares this time has 
watching the Duke, 
peered 


Come, 
Wallace tures bisefronmd pict 
collects himself, and with 
‘10 the Duchess). 
Once more I bid thee welcome 
to the camp, 
‘how a the hoster of thi cou. oe 


will administer your old. 
Wee parm the nveigns bak 
ess here, 


Wallenstein (in deep fe him 


). She hath all things 
an =a 
squares completely. ee 


Hes thee sae ing wt 


pe "wow dca te eat 


et Peace ee 


[as riage rounded ahaa 
ett ond gives him a 


Count Alin will have himself ex- 
‘And Galas to—I like not this 1 4 
‘Thou loiterest Jonger, all will fall away, 
One illowing taeda 
Walle Altringer 
Is master of the Tyrole passes. I must 
forthwith 
Send a ‘one to him, that he let not 


‘The Spaniards on me from the Milanese. 
——Wall, and the old Sesin, that ancient 


trader 
Ta contraband negociations, he 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Ein sens Shoal eguof fae. i 
brings he 
Fron the Count Thor? 
EP communicates, 
Exe and tthe the Swedish chancellor 
oe iberstadt, where the convention's 
—<—s 
~ parapets ith 
© with you, 
Wallenstein, 


‘And why so? 


Tertsty, He says, you are never in 
‘carest in 


your 
ieee a Swedes—to make 
"fools of 
i cenit with ‘Saxony against 
ind at last peers youre a riddance of 
With Nae sam of money. 
So then, doubtless, 
Yeu doable, this same modest Swede 
expects * 
‘That I shall yield him some fair German 
tract 
ents that ourvelves at 


On our own soil and native territory, 
Sarnia Fee oar own lords and 


steak sca No, no! They 


test be off, 
Off, off | away | we want no such neigh- 
bours. 
Tarts, Moy, qield hem them up that dot, 
1 goes ot fom your orion If you 


The game wht ten Io you who 


Wallin Of with hem, of! 


‘Thos understand’st not this. 
Never shall it be said of me, I parcelled 
‘My native land away, dismembered Ger- 
ore 
‘Betrayed it to a foreigner, in 
To pre Panis ted, ard and filch 
REINS Ue peste Never! 
pever — 





243 


No foreign power shall strike root in the 


empire, 

And least of all, these Goths! these 
bunger-wolves { 

Who send such envious, hot and greedy 
glances 

‘wards the rich blessings of our Ges 

lands ! 
Ti eres aise to al mah tev oy 


nets, 
Bat nota single fh ofall the draught 
Shall they come in for, 
Tertshy, You will deal, however, 
More fairly with the Saxons? ‘They lose 


patience 

While you shift ground and make so 
many curves. 

Say, to what purpose all these masks? 
Your friends 

Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led 
‘astray in you. 

There's Oxenstein, there's Armheim— 
neither knows 

What he should think of your procras- 
tinations. 

And in the end I prove the liar; all 60 
through me. I have not even 
your hand-writing, 

Wallenstein, 1 never give my hand- 
writing ; thou knowest it. 

Tartsky, But how can it be known 
that you're in earnest, 

If the act follows not upon the word ? 

You must yourself acknowledge, that inall 

Your intercourses hithertowith the enemy 

‘You might have done with safety all you 
have done, 

Had you meant nothing further than to 
gull him 

For the Emperor's service. 

Wallenstein (after a pause, during 
which he looks narrowly on 
Tertsky), And from whence dost 
thou know 

That T'm not gulling him for the = 
peror's service ? 

Whence knowest thou that I'm not gull. 
ing all of you? 

thou peasy me so well? When 

made I thee 


Dost 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


‘My inmost thoughts to thee. The Em- 
peror, it is tme, 
Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I 


would, 
Tcoutd repay him with usurious interest 
For the evil he hath done me. It de- 


Tights me 
aaa ie Sire ae 
Of hat sald tae ong ta thx 
No wince then hy fellows 

Tertsty. So hast thou always played 


thy game with us. 
Enter ti10, 


Scene XI 
Into, WaLLenstEIN, TertsKy. 
baci How stand affairs with- 


Are ty 
Sika, Youtt ae them it [igre oleens 
They sow do about the Emperor's requisi- 
ions, 
And are tumultuous. 
Wallenstein How hath Isolan 


’s, both soul and body, 
his Faro-bank, 


Deodate 
ile, What Piccolomini does, that they 


do too. 

Wallenstein, You mean then 1 may 
‘venture somewhat with them ? 10 

Mie, Af yon sre aware othe Piccolo 


Wallesstein, Not more assured of mine 
own self. 
Tertsky, And yet 
1 would you trusted not so much to 


‘The fox 
Wallenstein. Thou teachest me toknow 
fy man? 





‘To this 
If therefore 
rest 
ilo, There is among them all but this 
‘one voice, =» 
You argies lay down the command, 
They mean to send a deputation to 
you. 
Wallens(tin, If Y'm in aught to bind 
myself to them, 
oy ae must bind themselves to me. 


Zertsty. Devotion unconditional: 
The saeco of their duties towards 
Theyilsiweys plssraneeg Umea 
Wi eee es 

alestein (ehaking, his, head, an 


unconditional 
No premises, i 

iis, eee 
Docs not Count Tertsky give us a set 
‘banquet 


To, “dod it LE brig i to. you, black 
‘hat all 2 eases wha poe 





sos xt 


yout con- 


Give themselves tp to you, 
ition 5 

‘Sy, will you then—then will you shew 
ese 


Beit dips fom you "Seldom comes 
be ites wich 
ee addon possible, 


* indeed sublime and 


May Rea Contec be enforced to 
‘Time ioe enough for wisdom, though 
Far, eRe ARE a tae So coats and 
This baci rpaccnene See, our army 
Our soaker our ea are assembled 
Their irc Teader ! 
The sage Marval whieh here your 


‘On your nod 


Particular 
‘Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy po 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





245 


Of each man with the whole, 
to-day 
Taal ima forced onward with the 


He, who 


Will beoome sober, sing but himsel 
Feel only his own weakness, and with 


spt 
Will face about, and march on in the old 
High road of duty, the old broad-trodden 


‘And seek but to make shelter in good 
light, 
Wallenstein, The time is not yet come. 
Tertshy. So you say always, 
But when will it be time? 
Wallenstein, When T shall say it, 
Mo, Yow wait upon the stars, and 
on their hours, Bo 
Till the earthly hour escapes you. O, 
believe me, 
In your own bosom are your destiny's 
stars. 
Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, 
‘This is your Venus ! and the sole malig- 
nant, 
‘The only one that harmeth you is Doubt. 
Wallenstein. Thou speakest as thou 
understand’st. How oft 
‘And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter, 
That lustrous god, was setting at thy 
birth. 
Thy visual power subdues no mysteries ¢ 
Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow e 
the earth, 
Blind = pune subterrestrial, who. with 


Lead.coloured shine lighted thee into ie. 
The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest 


se, 

With serviceable cunning knit together 

‘The nearest with the nearest ; and therein 

T trust thee and believe thee! but what- 
ear 

Full of mysterious import Nature weaves, 

And fashions in the depths—the spirit's 
ladder, 

That from this gross and visible world of 
dust 

Even to the starry world, with thousand 
rounds, 180. 





246 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


act 





Builds itself up; on which the unseen 
powers 

Move up and down on heavenly minis- 
teries— 

‘The circles in the circles, that approach 

‘The central sun with ever-narrowing 
orbit— 

‘These see the glance alone, the unsealed 


sys, 
Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre, 
[He walks across the chamber, then 
returns, and standing still, 


proceeds. 
The heavenly constellations make not 


merely 

‘The day and night, summer and spring, 
hot merely. 

Signify to the husbandman the seasons 

Ofsowing and of harvest. Human action, 

‘That is the seed too of contingencies, zr: 

Strewed on the dark land of faturity 

In hopes to reconcile the powers af fate. 

Whence it behoves us to seek out the 
seed-time, 

To watch the stars, select thelr proper 


jours, 
And trace with searching eye the heavenly 
houses, 
Whether the enemy of growth and thrive 
in 


ing 

Hide himself not, malignant, in his 
corner. 

‘Therefore permit me my own time. Mean- 
while 

Do you your part. As yet I cannot say 

What T shall do—only, give way I wil 
not. 

Depose me too they shall not: On these 
points 

You may rely. 

Pige (entering), My Lords, the Gene- 


rals, 
Wallenstein, Let them come in, 


‘Scene XII 


Waturxsters, Tertsky, 1:10.—7e 
them enter QuesteNnnes, OCTAVIO, 
and Max Piccotomint, Burirr, 
IsouANt, MARADAS, and’ three other 





the others follow, arranging presses 
according to their Rank, There reigns 
@ momentary Silence. 


Wallenstein. 1 have understood, "tis 
true, the sum and impart he 
Of your oo Questenberg, have 
oe eighal them, eet 
retes my final, absolute resolve ; 
Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals 
Should hear the will of the Emperor from 
your mouth, 
May't please you then to open your com- 
mission 
Before these noble Chieftains. 
Questenberg. Tam ready 
To obey you; but will first entreat your 
ighness, 
Andall these noble Chieftains, to consider, 
‘The Imperial dignity and sovereign right 
Speaks from my mouth, and not my os 
presumption. 
Wallenstein. We excuse all ee 
Questenderg. When his Majesty 
The Emperor to his armies 
Presented in the person of Dake Fried- 
land 


‘A most experienced and renowned com. 


mander, 
He did it in glad hope and confidence 
To give thereby to the fortune of the war 
A rapid and auspicious change, The 


onset 

Was favourable to his royal wishes. © 

Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons, 

The Swede’s carcer of conquest check 
‘These lands 

Began to draw breath freely, as Deke 
Friedland 

From all the streams of Germany forced 
hither 

‘The scattered armies of the 

Hither invoked as round one circle 

The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, 
Oxenstirn, 

Yea, and that never-conquered King him- 
selfs 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


247 





Here finally, before the eye of Niirnberg, 
‘The fearful game of battle to decide. 
siaeeaig ‘May’'t please you to the 
Guedes, In Nurmbrgs cay the 
‘Swedish monarch 
His fame—in Liltzen’s plains his life. 
Bat who 
‘Stood not astounded, when victorious 
After as day of tdumph, this proud 
Marched toward Bohemia with the speed 


Meet see chs cites of war 


‘While the young Weimar hero forced his 


way 
Into Franconia, to the Danube, like 
‘Some cy irs Lo stream, which, 


Makes itsown, haan! + with such sudden 

speed ” 
He marched, and now at once ‘fore 
‘Stood to of all good Catholic 


‘Then did Bavaria’s well-deserving Prince 
Entreat swift aidance in his extreme 


‘the need ; 
eee haem to 
Seamnesmensiveere- sends he. with, 


the entreaty : 
‘Hee superadds bis own, and supplicates 
Where as the sovereign lord he can com: 


mand, 

In vain bis sapplication! At this mo- 
ment: 

‘The Duke hears only his old hate and 


Ts itso! 
To beat out 





‘The Swedes and Saxons from the pro- 
vince. 
Wallenstein. True. 
In that description which the Minister 


gave 
T seemed to have forgotten the whole 
war. 

(7e Qursrexuerc. 

Well, but proceed a little. 
Questemberg. Yes ! at length 
Beside the river Oder did the Duke 6 
‘Assert his ancient fame. Upon the 


Is 
Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down 
their arms, 
Subdued without a blow. 
with others, 

The righteousness of Heaven to his 


And_ here, 


avenger 
Delivered that long-practised stirret-up_ 
Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch 
And kindler of this war, Matthias Thur. 
But he had fallen into magnanimous 


hands; 
Instead of punishment he found reward, 
And with rich presents did the Duke 
dismiss n 
The arch-foe of his Emperor. 

Wallenstein (laughs), I know, 
I know you had already in Vienna 
Your windows and balconies all fore- 

stalled 
To sce him on the executioner's cart. 
I might have lost the battle, lost it too 
With infamy, and still retained your 
graces— 
But, to have cheated them of a spectacle, 
Oh! that the good folks of Vienna never, 
No, never can forgive me. 

Questenderg. So Silesia 
‘Was freed, and all things loudly called 
the Duke 

Into Bavaria, now pressed hard on all 
sides. 


And he did put his troops in motion: 
slowly, 

Quite at his ease, and by the longest road 

He traverses Bohemia ; but ere ever 

He hath once seen the enemy, faces 
round, 





248 


THE PICCOLOMINT 





Breaks up the march, and takes to winter 

qnarters. 
Wallenstein, 

destitute 

Of every necessary, every comfort. 

The winter came. What thinks his 
Majesty 

His troops are made of? 
men ? subjected 

Like other men to wet, and cold, and all 

‘The circumstances of necessity ? 

O miserable lot of the poor soldier ! 

Wherever he comes in, all flee before him, 

And when he goes away, the general 
curse 

Follows him on his route. 


‘The troops were pitiably 


» 
An’t_ we 


All must be 


seized, 
Nothing is given him, 
to seize 
From every man, he’s every man's = 
horrence. 
Behold, here stand my Generals. Karafia! 
Count Deodate! Butler! Tell this man 
How long the soldiers’ pay is in arrears. 
Butler. Atready a full year. 
Wallenstein, And "tis the hire 
That constlates the hireling’s name and 


And compelled 


‘The sober pay isthe soldier's covenant. 
Onertenbery. AW! this Is « far other 

tone from that 

In which the Duke spoke eight, nine 
years ago. 

Wallenstein. Yes ‘tis my fault, T 
know it: I myself 

Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging 
him, 

Niso'years ago, daring the Danish war,” 

I raised him up a force, n mighty force, 

Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him 

OF his own purse no doit. Through 
Saxony 


4 The original is not translatableinto English z 
Und sein soda 
Mus dem so“daten warden, darnach heist er, 
1h might perhaps have been thus rendered : 
“And that for which he sold his services, 
‘The soldber must receive,” 
But a false or doubtful etymology is no more 
than a dull pun. 





The fury goddess of the war marched 
‘en to the surf-rocks of the 
bearing 
The terrors ot his name. “That was == 


time 

In the whole Imperial realm no nai 
like mine 

Honoured with festival and celeb 

And ae Wallenstein, it was th 
tit 

Of the third jewel in his crown ! — 

But at the Diet, when the Princes met 

out, 

There "twas laid open, there it was made 

known, 


Out of what money-bag I had paid the 


And wat was now my thank, what had 


In 
‘That I, afaithfal servant ofthe Sovereign 
Had loaded on myself the people's 


curses, 

And let the Princes of the empire 

‘The expences of tals was: thataggenala 

The Emperor alone—What thanks bad 
T! 


! » 
What? T was offered up to their com- 
plaints, 
Dismissed, degraded 
Questenberg. But ob bine ns 
What little freedom he possessed of action 
In that disastrous diet. 
Wallenstein, Death and hell t 
T had that which could have procured 
him freedom. 
No! Since "twas proved so inapspicions 
to me 
To serve the Emperor at the empire's 


I have cad taught far other trains of 
thinking 

Of the empire, and the diet of the 
empire. 

From the Emperor, doubtless, 1 a 
this staff, 

But Eee Thold it as the empire's gue’ 


For tae common weal, the universal 
interest, 





SChxn xt 


Amu no more for that one man's ag: 


grandizement ! 
Bat to the point. What is it that's 
desired of me? 
Gastoebary Fie his, imperial Ma- 

h willed 


Eat wheat of delay the a 
"Ss ASetonnen bene diem 


‘To the enemy. 
resolves, that Regenspurg 
from the Tt ere Easter, 
“That Luthermnism may be no longer 


preached a8: 
An that cathedral, nor heretical 4 
‘Defilement desecrate the celebration 


"Tis not possible. 
Pat - eur Ei 
1@ Em| 
Alteady hath Saco pee ‘Suys 
‘To advance toward 


Stands it 
thos 
With my asthority? Is this the obedi- 
ence 
Due to my office, which being thrown 
aside 
No war can be conducted? Chieftains, 
iT 
You be the Is! 
Judges, general 


ee enh neglectful 
‘of contempt of orders? 


What 


Death, 

(raising Ais voice, as all, 

but Ilo, had remained silent, and 
seemingly scrupulous). Count 
Piccolomini! what has he de- 
served? "~ 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





249 


Max Piccolomini (after a long pause), 
According to the letter of the law, 
Death. 
fsolani. Death. 
Butler, Death, by the laws of war. 
[QUESTENDERG rises from hit seat, 
WALLENSTEIN follows ; all 
the rest rist, 
Wallenstein, To this the law con- 
demns him, and not I. 
And if I shew him favour, "twill arise 
From the reverence that I owe my 
Emperor, 
Questenberg. If so, Lean say nothing 
further—here ! 
Wallenstein. 1 accepted the command 
but on conditions ! 
And this the fiest, that to the diminution 
Of my authority no human being, 
Not even the Emperor's self, should be 
entitled 
To do aught, or to say aught, with ee 
army. 
If I stand warranter of the event, 
Placing my honour and my head in 


pledge, 
Needs must I have full mastery in all 
‘The means thereto. What rendered this 
Gustavus 
Resistless, and unconquered upon earth ? 
‘This—that he was the monarch in his 


army ! 
A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch, 
‘Was never yet subdued but by his equal. 
Bat to the point! The best is yet to 
come. 390 
Attend now, generals t 
Owestenserg. ‘The prince Cardinal 
Begins his route at the approach of Gea 
From the Milanese ; and leads a Spani 
army 
Through Germany into the Netherlands. 
That he may march secure and unim- 


peded, 
‘Tis the Emperor's will you grant him a 
detachment 
Of eight horse-regiments from the army 
here, 
Wallenstein, Ves, yes) understand | 
—Eight regiments! Well, 





‘SCENE XIE 


‘Til we bave met and represented to 
(Oar joint n remonstrances.—Nay, calmer! 
I hope all may be yet set right 

Tertshy. Away! let us away! in the 


Find we the others. [They go. 
Butler {to Questenterg). Uf good coun 


Due ke from your wisdom, my 
‘You will be ses how you shew 
In public for some hours to come—or 
‘Will that ‘key protect you from oa 


[Commetions Aeard from without. 

Wallenstei, A salutary counsel— 
‘Thou, Octavio! 

Wilt answer for the safety of our 


Farewell: Vou Questenberg | 
[Quesrunuer fs abows fo speak. 
‘Nay, not a word. 


Not one word more of that detested 
subject ! 

You have performed your duty— We 
know how 


To separate the office from the man. 
[4 re, is going of 


general? 
Titfenback (at the same time), What 
are we forced to hear? That thou 
‘wilt leave us ? 
Kolatto (at the same time). We will 
live with thee, we will die ao 


Wallerstein (sith fs hates cad point, 
ing to Its). There the Field- 
Marshal knows our will. [Zxit. 
(White all are going off the stase, 

the curtain drops. 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


ACT IE 
Scene l 
Scene—A small Chamber, 
Ito and TERTSKY. 


Tertiky, Now for this evening's busi- 
ness! How intend you 
To manage with the generals at the 
banquet ? 
Attend! We frame a formal 
declaration, 
Wherein we to the Duke consign ourselves 
Collectively, to be and to remain 
His both with life and limb, and not to 


spare 
The last drop of our blood for him, pro- 
vided 


So doing we infringe no oath or duty, 

Wemay beunder tothe Emperor.—Mark! 

This reservation we expressly make 10. 

In a particular clause, and save the 
conscience, 

Now hear! This formula so framed and 
worded 

‘Will be presented to them for perusal 

Before the banquet, No one will find in it 

‘Cause of offence or scruple, Hear now 
further 

After the feast, when now the vap'ring 
wine 

‘Opens the heart, and shats the eyes, we let 

A counterfeited paper, in the which 

‘This one particular clause has been left 


How? think you then 

That they i alleve themselves bound by 
a 

Which m tad tricked them into by a 


juggle? 
Tilo, We shall have caught and caged 
them! Let them then 
Beat their wings hare against the wires, 
and rave 
Loud as they may against our treachery, 
At court their signatures will be believed 
Far more than thelr mest holy affirma- 
tlons. 





as2 


Traitors they are, and mist be; there- 
fore wisely 
Will make a virtue of necessity. 
Tertsky. Well, weil, it shall content 
me; let bat something Pes 
Be done, let only some decisive blow 
Set us in motion. 
Tie, Besides, "tis of subordinate im- 


portance 
How, of how far, we may thereby propel 
The ‘generals. "Tis enough that we 
persuade 
The Deke, that they are his—Let him 
Tn his Sern mood, ax if be had 
dle sila then. Whep-be 
plunges in, 
He makes a whirlpool, and all stream 
down to it, 
Tertsky, His policy is such » fay: 


rinth, 
That many 4 time when T/have thought 


mysel 

Close at his side, he’s gone at once, and 
left me 

Ignorant of the ground where 1 was 
‘standing. 

He lends the enemy his ear, permits 


me 

To write to them, to Arnheim; to 
Sesina 

Himself comes forward blank and wndis- 


guised ; 

Talks with us by the hour about his 
plans, 

ihnd when, 1 think Dave him—off at 
once— 

He has slipped from me, and appears as 
if 


He had no scheme, but to retain his 

place. so 
ite," give up is old plans 1 

tell you, friend ! 

His soul is occupied with nothing else, 

Even in his sleep—They are his thoughts, 
his dreams 

‘That day by day he questions for this 
nu 


purpose 
‘The motions of the planets—— 


THE PICCOLOMINT 





actin 


Tertoky. Ay! you know 
This ee that is now coming, he with 


buts awelf up in the astrological 


tower 
To make joint observations—for I hear, 
Tt is to be a night of weight and crisis; 
And something greet, at of long 


expectation, 
Is to make its in the ane, 
Mle, Come ! be we bold and make dis- 
patch. The work 


Tn this next day or two must thrive and 


More then i hes for’ years: MAG et 

bat only 

Things first tum up auspicious here 
below — 


Mark what I say—the right stars too 
will shew themselves, 
Come, to the generals. All is in the 


glow, 
And must be beaten while 'tis malleable. 
Yertsky. Do you go thither, To. 1 
must stay 
And walt heee (or the Countess ‘Tertaky 
Know » 
That we too are not idle Break one 
string, 
A second is in readiness. 
ito, Yes! Yes! 
T saw your Lady smile with such sly 


meaning. 

What's in the wind? 
Tertiky, A vecret. Hush} she comes, 
[Exit Tuo, 


Scene IT 
The COUNTESS Hgpe ent from a Clavet, 
Count and Countess TRETSRY, 


Tertsky. Well—is she coming?—1 
can keep him back 
No longer. 
Countess. She will be there instantly, 
You only send him. 
Tertshy. Tam not quite certain 
T must confess it, Countess, whether or 
not 





THE PICCOLOMINI 





‘We are earning the Duke's thanks here- 
tty. You know, 

Norayhasbrokeoutfrom himon this point. 

‘You have o’er-ruled me, and yourself 

know best 

How far you dare . 

Countess. I take it on me. 


[Talking to herself, while she is 
advancing. 
Here's no need of full powers and com- 
missions— 
My cloedy Duke! we understand each 
other— 


x0 

And without words. What, could I not 
unriddle, 

arate daughter should be sent 


Why firsthe, andnoother,should be chosen 
‘To fetch her hither! This sham of be- 


trothing her 
Toa bridegroom! when no" one knows 
—No! no t—— 


Seen aS abla 


Reig cs, to draw a card 
Atsuchagame. Not yet!—It all remains 
delivered up to my finessing— 
‘Well—thoa shait not have been pleted 
Dake Friedland ! 
‘In her who is thy sister —— 
‘Serwant (enters). The commanders ! 
Tertshy (to the Countess), Take care 
heat bis fancy and affections— 
Palen bm. shh severe, and send him, 
Absent and dreaming, tothe banquet; that 
He may not boule at the signature. 
Countess. you care of your 
cas send him hither, 
All fests upon his under- 


ing him). Go to 
Go— 


guests! 
‘Tilo Gomes back). Where art staying, 
? 29 

The house is full, and all expecting you. 


the marriage should ot take place til years 
aherwards. 





Tertsky. Ynstantly! Instantly! 
[To the Countess. 
And let him not 
Stay here too long. It might awake 
suspicion 
In the old man— 
Countess. Atrucewith your precautions! 
[Zxcunt Texrsxy and ILLo. 


Scene IIT 
Counriss, Max Prccovostxt. 


Max (peeping in on the stage shily). 
Aunt Tertsky? may I venture ? 
[Advances to the middle of the 

stage, and looks around him 
with smeasiness. 
She's not here ! 
Where is she? 
Countess, Look but somewhat narrowly 
In yonder comer, lest perhaps she lie 
Conceal'd behind that screen. 

Max. There lie her gloves ! 

[Snatekes at them, but the CounT- 

E33 fakes them herself: 
You unkind Lady! You refuse me this— 
You make it an amusement to torment me, 

Countess, And this the thank you give 
me for my trouble? 

Max. O, if you felt the oppression at 
my heart ! 

Since we've been here, soto constraint 
myself— 
With ate poor stealth to hazard words 
and glances— 10 
Theos, thede sre Hot my habits 1 
Commters. You bave still 
Many new habits to acquire, young friend! 
But on this proof of your obedient temper 
I must continue to insist ; and only 
On this condition can I play the agent 
For your concerns. 
Max, But wherefore comes she not? 
Where is she? 

Countess, Into my hands you must 

place it 
Whole and entire. 

find, indeed, 
More zealously affected to your interest ? 


Whom could you 





THE PICCOLOMINT 


‘No soul on earth must know it—not 
‘your father. 2. 

‘He must not above all. 
Max. Alas! what danger? 
ah Meme hoa T might con- 


Alle ear nate up within me 
© Lady! tell me, Is all changed 
? 


around me 
Or is it only 1? 
I myself, 
strangers! Not a trace is left 


I was not discontented. Now how fiat! 

How stale! No life, no bloom, no 
flavour in it! ” 

My comrades are intolerable to me. 

My father—Even to him I can say 
nothit 


ores 


Dee tel 
T must entreat it of your condescension, 
‘You would pigicnne iin ASK seam ees 
and favour 
With one short glance or two this poor 
stale world, 
Where Rate now much, and ea 


are such 


Te he ve of competion, 
Max, 


Something, 
Nagata Ses eh ane 


I see it yatta crowding, driving on, 
In wild uncustom: 
In due time, doui 


even me, 
Where think you I have been, dear Indy ? 


a 
No rie aie turmoil ofthe camp 
Me 8] gt ‘acquain tance! in, 

The pointless jest, the empty com tess Se 

Oppress'd and stifled me. I gasped for 
ait— 

T could not breathe—1 was constrain'd 
to fy, » 


L 





To seck a silence out for my full heart 5 
And a pare spot wherein to feel my 


oh she ome In the charch 
was 


That Iwas seckinginthismoment, Alby 
an beheld that glorious 


ae ‘mid ecstatic worshippers ; 
Yet alt rooved ‘me not! and gis 
once 


How bs have I 


How long may it be since you declared 
your passion ? 
Mex, This morning did I hazard the 
first word. 


1 Tam doubtful whether this be the dedication 
of the cloister of the name of one of the city 
gates, near which it stood, 1 have translated: 
it in the former sense; tur fearful of baving 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Theaafe-guard which the Duke had sent 


us—heavy 
The inguietade of parting lay upon me, 
Asd trembling ventured [at length these 


ion wre tl eke maiden, 

& 

To-day I must take leave of my good 
fortune. 

A few hours more, and you will find a 
father, 

Will sce. yourself surrounded by new 
friends, 

And I henceforth shall be but as a 


stranger, 
Lost in the many—‘Speak with my 
aunt Tertsky 1? 
‘yoice she interrupted me, 
She alee T beheld a fing red 
Possess her beautiful cl and from 


ground 4 
Raised slowly up her eye met mine—no 


Did I control myself. 
“> ar precariale gone 
the door, emd remains 
eter observed by the 
enh mat By Di 

COLOMINI. 
a ee) 
icine my mout! 

‘touched her's 


“There was a rustling in the room close by: 


Ga fr po swith @ stolen 


glance at And is it 
Paantsascoacay 
Or are you so incurious, hat pod dont 
Ask me too of my secret? 
‘Of your secret? 
‘Countess. Why, yes! When in the 
instant after 


PERNA tha Yon, 20d foun’ my 
‘What sbe in this first moment of the 
heart 


Taven with surprise— a 
Max (swith eagerness). Welk? 





255 


‘Scene 1V 


THEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, 
Max Piccoromtns. 
Thekla (to the Countess), Spare your- 
self the trouble: 
That hears he better from myself. 
Max (stepping backward), My Prin- 


cess 
‘What have you let her hear me say, 
aunt Tertsky ? 
Thekla (to the Countess), Has he been 
here long ? 
Countess. Yes; and soon must go. 
‘Where have you stayed so long? 
Thekla. ‘Alas ! my mother 
‘Wept so again ! and I—Isee her suffer, 
Yet cannot keep myself from being 
happy. 
Max, Now once again I have courage 
to look on you. 
Today at noon I could not. 
The dazzle of the jewels that play’ 
round you 
Hid the beloved from me, 
Thekla. ‘Then you saw me 
With your cye only—and not with your 
heart? 


Max, This morming, when I found 
you in the circle 
Of all your kindred, in your father’s 


arms, 

Beheld ‘myself an alien in this circle, 

O! what an impulse felt I in that 
moment 

To fall upon his neck, to call him 
father 4 

But his stern eye o'erpower'd the swell 


ing passion— 

Tt dared St be alent, 
brilllants, 

‘That like a crown of stars enwreathed 
your brows, © 

They scared me too! O wherefore, 
wherefore should he 

At the first meeting spread as 'twere the 
ban 


And those 


Of excommunication round you, where- 
fore 
Dress up the angel as for sacrifice, 





‘And cast mpon the light and joyous | Lo 


Fe gaceny er 


‘The mournful burthen of his station? 
Mey ee ke 
splendour 
Might none but monarchs ‘venture to 
Thedta, Wush! not a word tore of 
‘this mummery. 
Rosie how soca the berlin eae 


[Ta the Cownress. 
He is not in spirits, Wherefore is he 
not? 
‘Tis. you, aunt; that have made him all 
‘80 gloomy ! 
He had quite another nature on the 


journey— 
So calm, so bright, s0 joyous eloquent, 
[7 Max. 
It was my wish to sce you always 50, 
And never otherwise 1 


Mas. You find yourself 
In your great father's arms, beloved 
! 


lady 
Ail in a new world, which does homage 


to you, 
Lad whic wesley id Hayelly, 


Delights your eye. 
Thebla. Yes; I confess to you 
‘That rece Lad delight me here = 2 


Ths nly sage of wai, which 


So manifold the image of my fancy, 
And binds to life, binds to realey, 
‘What hitherto had but been present to 


me 
Asa sweet dream | 

Max, Alas ! not so to me. 
It makes a dream of my reality, 
Upon some island in the ethereal belghts 
T’ve lived for these last days. This mass 

of men 

eet ttete to earth Tt is a 


- 

‘That, reconducting to my former life, 
Divides me and my heaven, 
Thekla, ‘The game of life 


when one carries in 


more 
‘Back to my deeper and bliss, 


[Breaking off, and in a sportive tone, 
peshnsios that D've been present 
What oe things have I not 


Aye thy all st ge place to the 


That this same sanctuary, whose access 
Is to all others so impract 


And eats hairs, whose gracious 
services Pp 
‘Were mine at fit sight, opened sna the 
Max, a he ee 
Thatle, He yuoaenel Sale ee 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Te was a strange 

Seuntion that came o'er me, when at 
first 

Yeon the broad sunshine I stepped in; 

oa and now 

titrowing line of dayslight, that ran 
after 

Tedabog door, was gone; and all 

"wore sod dusky night, with many 


Retateally os cast. Here six or seven 
Colowel statues, and all kings, ace 


round me 

Isatalf-circle. Each one in his ae 

bore, and on his head a star ; 

And in the tower no other light was 
there 

Tatfrom these stars ; all seemed to come 
from them. 

‘There are the planets,’ said that low 
old man, 

‘They govern worldly fates, and for that 
cause 

Are imaged here as kings. 


from you, 
Spiteful, ain cold, an old man melan- 


He farthest 


cboly, 
With bent amd yellow forehead, he is 
‘Saturn. 


He opposite, the king with the red light, 
4a 4 io for the battle, that 2 


And sa these being but little luck ‘o 


Ba his side a lovely lady stood, 
sine tipon her head was soft and 


And that Re Vanity the bright star of 
joy. 
On the left hand, lo! Mercury, with 


wings. 
Quite in the middle glittered silver-bright 
A cheerful i and with a monarch’s 





At ai wu Jupiter, my father’s star: 
side J saw the Sun and 


And at 
pated 
Max. O mever rudely will [ blame his 
faith 


c 


In the might of stars and angels 
not mere! 

The human being's Pride that peoples 
space 

With life and mystical predominance ; 

Since likewise for the stricken heart of 
Love 

‘This visible nature, and this common 
world, 

Is all too narrow : yea, a deeper import 

Lurks in the legend told my infant years 

Than lies upon that truth, we live to 
learn. 

For fable is Love's world, his home, his 
bitth-place = 

Delightedly dwells he "mong fays and 
talismans, 120 

And spirits; and delightedly believes 

Divinities, being himself divine. 

‘The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 

‘The fair humanities of old religion, 

The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 

That had her haunts in dale, or piny 
mountain, 

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly 
spring, 

Or chasms and wat'ry depths ; all these 
have vanished, 

They live no longer in the faith of 
reason ! 

But still the heart doth need a language, 
still 130 

Doth the old instinet bring ‘back the ald 
names, 

And to yon starry world they now are 


gone, 

Spirits or gods, that used to share this 
earth 

With man as with thelr friend ;* and to 
the lover 

Yonder they move, from yonder visible 


sky 

Shoot influence down: and even at this 
day 

"Tis Jupiter who brings whate’er is great, 


1 No more of talk, where God or Angel Guest 
With Man, as with bis friend, familiar used 
‘To sit indulgent. 

Paradise Lott tx. ey 


s 





Skog ve 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


259 





Fer her own peace of mind we must 
preserve it 
Avecret from ber too. 


Max. any secret ? 
Tiove not secrets, Mark, what I will 


Tl throw me at your father's feet—let 
him 


Decide upon my fortunes !—He is true, 
He ea seask—he hates all crooked 


%° 
He is so ch so nob 
Thekia (falls ow 4 ci). That are 


ates You knew him only since this 
mom; but I 
Have livid ten years already in his 


presence, 
And who knows whether in this very 


moment 
He & not merely waiting for us both 
Joves, in order to unite us. 


‘You look at me with such a hopeless. 
What lave 4 
We you to object against your 
father? 
hela. V2 Nothing. Only he's so 


» 
He has no leisure time to think about 
‘The of us two, 
[Tuhing Ais hard tenderly, 
Follow me! 
Let us not place too great a faith in men. 
‘These Tertskys—we will still be grateful 


Fe Ve kindness, bet h 

‘or every not trust them 
farther 

‘Than, they deserve ;—and in all else 


On our own bearts | 
Max. Ot shall we e'er be happy? 
Theklo, Bore Me tarry bow? Art 

thou not mine? 
SE ped ‘There lives within my 


» 
comrage—'tis love gives it me! 
Seti cere ongty: eo bide 


ee from thee—-so decorum 





But where in this place could’st thou seek 
for truth, 
If in my mouth thou did’st not find it? 


Scene VI 
To them enters the Countess TERTSRY. 


Countess (in a pressing manner), Come t 
My husband sends me for you-It is now 
‘The latest moment. 

[They not appearing to attend 0 
what she says, she steps 
detsweere them, 

Past you t 
Thekia. O, not yet t 
It has been scarce a moment. 
Countess, Aye! Then time 
Flies swiftly with your Highness, Prin- 
cess niece | 
Max, There is no hurry, aunt. 
Countess. ‘Away ! away ! 
The folks begin to miss you. Twice al- 
ready 
His father has asked for him, 
Thehla, Ha! his father? 
Countess. You understand that, niece | 
Theta. Why needs he 
To go at all to that society ? = 
*Tis not his proper company, ‘They may 
Be worthy men, but he's too young: for 
them. 
In brief, he suits not such society. 
Countess. You mean, you'd rather 
keep him wholly here? 
Thebla (with energy). Yes) you have 
hitit, aunt! That is my meaning. 
Leave him here wholly! Tell the com- 


pany— 

Countess, What? have you lost your 
senses, niece ?— 

Count, you remember the conditions. 
Come ! 

Max (to Thekia), Lady, 1 must obey. 
Farewell, dear lady! 9 
[THRKLA farms assy from dine 

swith a guick motion. 
What say you then, dear Indy ? 

Thekia (without looking at kim). No- 

thing. Go! 








SCENE vir 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


261 





Countess, You hold your game for won 
already, Do not 
‘Triumph too soon |— 

Thekla interrupting her, and attempe- 
img to soeth her.) “Nay now, be 
friends with me. 

Countess, Wt is not yet vo far gone, 

Thehkla, I believe you, 

Cowntess. Did you suppose your father 
_ had Laid out , 
His most important life in toils of war, 
Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, 
slumber from his tent, 


devoted 
His noble head to care, and for this only, 
To makea happy pairof you? At length 
Te draw you from your convent, and 


t ° 
its own accord. 

my friendly and affectionate fatc, 
his fearful and enormous being, 
‘but the joys of life for me~ 

Countess. seest it with a love- 

Jorn maiden’s eyes 
‘Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who 


thou art. 
Tntono hoaseof: ‘hast thoustepped, 
For no Sse find the walls 
Deck’d out, no guests the nuptial garland 


‘wearing. 
‘Here is no splendour but of arms. Or 
think’st thoa » 
“That all these thousands are here con- 
‘To lead up the long dances at thy wed- 
2 
‘Thou see’st thy father's forehead full of | 


Thy mot! eye in tears: upon the 


Lies the destiny of all our house. 
ekat ene puny wish, the girlish 





Q thrust it far behind thee} Give thou 
proof, 
Thou'rt the daughter of the Mighty 
—his 
Who where he moves creates the won- 
derfal. o 
Not to herself the woman must belong, 
Annexed and bound to alien destinies. 
But she performs the best part, she the 
wisest, 
‘Who can transmute the alien into self, 
Meet and disarm necessity by choice ; 
And what must be, take freely to her 
heart, 
And bear and foster it with mother’s love. 
Thekia. Such ever was my lesson in 
the convent. 
Thad no loves, no wishes, knew myself 
Only as his—his dagghter—his, the 
Mighty ! 
His fame, the echo of whose blast drove 
to me 7 
From the far distance, wakened in my 
soul 
No other thought than this—I am ap- 
pointed 
To offer up myself in passiveness to him. 
Countess. That is thy fate. Mould 
thou thy wishes to it. 
Land thy mother gave thee the example, 
Thekla. My fate hath shewn me him, 
to whom behoves it 
‘That I should offer up myself. In glad. 
ness 
Him will I follow, 
Countess. Not thy fate hath shewn 
him! 


‘Thy heart, say rather—'twas thy heart, 
my child | 
Thetia, Fate hath no voice but the 
heart's impulses. to 
Tam all his! His Present—his alone, 
Ts this new life, which lives in we, He. 
hath 
A right to his own creature. What was I 
Ere his fair love infused a soul into me? 
Countess, Thou would’st oppose thy 
father then, should he 
Have otherwise determined with thy 
person? 








SCENE IX 


THE PICCOLOMINT 


263 





set out, at which eight Generals are 
sitting, among whom are Octavio 
PICCOLOMIN!, TERTSKY, ai! MARA 
DAS, Right ard left of this, bt 
Sarther back, two ether Tables, at cack | 


open, 

a Fourth Table, 

Nunider of Persons. 

stands the sideboard. 

of the Stage ts kept | 

Pages and Servents in 
AU ts i 

jc Relonging to Tertsky’s | 

acrest the Stage, ard | 


(ited 


‘Tektsky, Isotani, Max Piccoromisi. 


Lrolani, Here brother, what we love ! 
Way, where hast’ been ? 

Of to thy place—quick! Tertsky here 
has given 


gi 
‘The mother's holiday wine up to free 





booty. : 
Here ft goes on as at the Heidelberg 
castle. 


Already hast thou lost the best. ‘They're 


ving ; 
DR Raset aie deat rowan be siares 
There's Sternery’s lands and chattels 

ase put 
With 


up, 
fs, Stawata’s, Lichten- 


is, 
And all the great Bohemian feodalities. 
Be nimble, lad! and something may 


tern up rs 
¥or thee—who knows? off—to thy place! 
giick Tasch | A 
Tiefentack and (eal? out from the 
wcomt and third tables), Count | 
Piccolomini ! ee | 
Tertsky. Stop, ye ave him in 
is Read 


sn instan | 
‘This oath here, whether as 'tis here set 
forth, 


‘The wording satisfies you. ‘They've all 


it, 
Each in his turn, and each one will sab- 
scribe 
‘His individual signature, 
Max (reads). * Ingratis servire nefas.’ 
Jsolani, That sounds to my ears very 
much like Latin, 
And being interpreted, pray what may't 
mean? 
Tertshy, No honest man will serve a 
thankless master. 20 
Max. * Inasmuch as our supreme Com- 
mander, the illustrious Duke of Fried- 
land, in consequence of the manifold 
affronts and grievances which he bas 
received, had expressed his determina- 
tion to quit the Emperor, but on our 
unanimous entreaty bas graciously con- 
sented to remain still with the army, 
and not to part from us without owe 
approbation thereof, #0 we, collectively 
and cack in particular, in the stead of 
an oath personally taken, do hereby 
oblige ourselves—likewise by him hon- 
ourably and faithfully to hold, and in 
nowise whatsoever from him to part, and 
to be ready to shed for his interests the 
last drop of our blood, 40 far, namely, 
as cur cath to the Eoperoy will permit 
(These last words ave repeated by 
1.) In testimony of which we 
subscribe our names." ” 
Tertsly. Now !—are you willing to 
subscribe this paper? 
Siolané. Why should he not? 
officers af honor 
Can do it, aye must do it,—Ten and ink 
here! 
Tertsky. Nay, let it rest till after meal. 
hrolani (drawing Max ateng). Come, 
Max, 
[Both se: 
table, 


All 


themseloes at their 


Scese 1X 
Trersky, Neumann. 
Tertily (beckons ts Newmann whe és 
waiting at the side-table, and 








SCENE xi 


THE PICCOLOMIN 


265 





Start sot at what I say, sir Generals! 
ly real ten peg! concern not you. 
Abel yom yourselves, I trust, could not 
expect 
That this your game had crooked my 
jadgment—or 
That ies aeons hood, or such 
Has sine mth ok ‘old man from the track 
ta trodden.—Come, 
yy friends t 
Pry mat "hero determined with less 


Beemer Tisew and lave leoked steadily 
= which 1 have aa ee 


AS wat a we ey 
« 
Bute A fen 1 give you here ny 
hand! I'm your' 
in pa I have, “ay ‘only men, but 
“itt the Dak Dake want.——Go, tell him, 


te sins! 
Tve earned snd laid wp somewhat in his 


Mieis my heir. For me, 1 stand alone, 
Here ia the woes nought kiow 1 of 


the feeling 
That binds the husband to a wife and 
children. 


P 
‘My name dies with me, my cxistence 


Is 
ile, "Tis nor your money thar he 
neods—a beart 


Like your's mets u 

meres Te came a Pause a walaler’s boy 
frows Ireland 

To Pragee—axd with a master, whom I 


Peace cs I climbed up, 
Sch was the fate of war, to this high 


The plaything of a-whisnsical good for- 
tune. 


sof gold down, 





And Wallenstein too is a child of luck, 
T love a fortune that is like my own. 6 
ii, AN powerful souls have kindred 
with each other. 
Butler. This is an awful moment! to 
the brave, 
To the determined, an auspicious mo- 
ment. 
The Prince of Weimar arms, upon the 
Main 
To found 2 mighty dukedom. 
Halberstadt, 
That Mansfeld, wanted but a longer life 
To have marked out with bis good sword 
a lordship 
That lene LenS his courage. 


He of 


Who 


yak oe "Fredland ? there is nothing, 
nothing 6 
igh, but he may set the ladder to it ! 
Yertsky, That's spoken like a man! 
Butler. Do you secure the Spaniard 
and Italian— 
Vill be your warrant for the Scotchman 
Lesh 


Come! to he company 
Tertehy, Where is the master of the 
cellar? Hot 
Let the best wines come up. 
cheerly, boy ! 
Luck comes to-day, so give her hearty 
‘welcome. 
[Bxeunt, eack to his tobe, 


Ho! 


Scene XID 


The Master of the Cellar adtwacing with 
NEUMANN, Servants Asssing back- 
soaree aed forwards, 


Master of the Cellar, The best wine ! 
O} if my old mistress, hhis lady mother, 
could but see these wild goings on, she 
would turn herself round in her grave. 
Yes, yes, sir officer ! ‘tis all down the 
hill with this noble house! no end, no 
moderation! And this marriage with 
the Duke's sister, a splendid connection, 
a very splendid ‘connection! but I tell 
you, sit officer, it bodes no good. to 








SCENE XU 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


267 





‘ounsellors, Martinitz and Stawata were 
hurled down head over heels. ‘Tis even 
“Ot there stanils Count Ther who com- 
Bands it, 1 

[Runner taker the servive-cup and 
of with it. 

Of the Ceffar. © Vet me never 
SSeere bear of that day, It was the three 
Sat twentieth of May, in the year of our 

‘one thousand, six hundred, and 

Tt stems to me as it were 

Sexxy yesterday—from that unlucky day it 

SEX began, all the heart-hes of the 

Since that day It Is now six- 

[Sen years, and there has never once 
een peace on the earth. 

[Health drank alowd at the second 


sabe 
‘The Prince of Weimar! Hurra 
(At the third end fourth tate, 
Long live Prince William! Long 
Waive Duke Bernard! Hurrat 
[Msi strikes up. 
First Seroant. Wear em! Hear'em ! 


at 
‘The Swedish Chief 


jer 
First Servant (speaking at the same 
time). The Latheran | 
‘Second Servant. Just before, when 
Count Deodate gave out the Emperor's 
Health, they were all as mum as a nibbling 


mouse. ak 
Maiter of the Cellar. Po, po! When 
‘the wine goes in, strange things come 
good servant hears, and hears 
be nothing but eyes 

‘when you are called 


Jie 


“fark of wine, 
the Master of the Cellar, 
hit and the Rusmer). 
“Thomas | before the Mester of 
(Cellar suns thix way—'vis 2 flask 


oy 





of Frontignac?—Snapped it up at the 
third table.—Canst go off with it? 48 

Runner (hides it in his pocket), All 
right! [Eat the Second Servant. 

Third Servant (astde to the First), Be 
‘on the hark, Jack! that we may have 
right plenty to tell to father Quivoga 
—He will give us right plenty of absolu- 
tion in return for il 

First Servant, For that very purpose 
fam always having something to do 
behind Illo’s chair.—He is the man for 
speeches to make you stare with! x39 

Master of the Cellar (te Newosann). 
Who, pray, may that swarthy man be, he 
with the cross, that is chatting so con- 
fidentially with Esterhats? 

Neworann. Ay! he too is one of those 
to whom they confide too much. He 
calls himself Maradas, a Spaniard is he. 

Master of the Cellar (impatiently), 
Spaniard! Spaniard !—T tell you, friend; 
nothing good comes of those Spaniards. 
All these out-landish * fellows are little 
‘better than rogues. 169 

Newsann. Fy, fy! you should not 
say 80, friend, “There are among them 
‘our very best generals, and those on 
whom the Duke at this moment relies 
the most. 

Master of the Cellar (taking the flask 
onit of the Runner's pocket). My’ son, 
it will be broken to pieces in your 
pocket. 

[(Tertsxy juries in, fetches away 
the paper, and calls to a Ser- 
vant Jor fon amd ink, and 
goes €2 the back of the stage, 

Master of the Cellar (to the Servants). 
‘The Licutenant-General stands up.—Be 
‘on the watch.Now! They break u 


‘Off, and move back the forms, io 


' There is x humour in the’ original which 
‘cannot be given in the translation. * Die we/> 


| sohew alle,’ ete., which word in clamical Ger» 


man means the Ztalians alooe 5 but in. its first 
sense, and at preseot in the wmiger use of the 
sword, signifies foreigners in general. Our word 
swall:nuts, I suppose, means outlandin’ nute— 
‘Wallas nuces, in German * Welschontisee,"=T, 











cmp, and is extremely 

drinking: GOETZ aud BUTLER 

hime, emdeazouring to kecp hhine 

Hite, What do you want? Letme go, 
Goetz and Butler. Drink no more, 


ing fo him), Art in 
‘or heaven’s sake zy 
you Inia 
Hie (aloud, What do you wean ?@— 
‘There are none but friends here, are 


you, Butler ! 

Butler (to Tif), Field. Marshal | a 
word with you, 

[Leads im to the shleboord. 

Hls (cordiaily). A thousand for one 
Fill—Fill it once more up to the brim.— 
To this gallant man’s health ! 

Tsolani (to Max, who all the while has 
been staring on the with fired but 
warrant eyes). Slow and sure, my noble 
brother !—Hast parsed it all yet?—Some 
words yet to go through ?—Ha? 

Max (waking as from a dream). 
What am I to do? 


k 





‘Tertsky (sod at the sance time Iceland. 
Pe Octavio drat hit rn hin 
with intense 


wards the Duke, the 
one knows —what need. 


rom 


‘ic te 
to hi eon rat 


“Tole ( ait, bitter: laugh) Wine 
wai ath ite enh ” 








THE PICCOLOMINI 


‘enemy 
UC PpaeelagmA know 
Expect Drie th. 
to hear it 1y mou! 
Outavie. ‘That mouth, 
From which thou hearest it at this present 


moment, 
Doth warrant thee that it is no Priest's 
fax. How mere a maninc they sup- 


pose the Duke t 

What, he can meditate ?—the Duke ?— 
can dream 

‘That he can lure away full thiny 
thousand 


‘Tried troops and true, all honourable 
More than a thousand noblemen amony | 


From caths, from duty, from their | 
honour lure them, 
And male them all unanimous to do 
‘A deed that brands them scoundrels ? 
Octavio. Such a deed, 
With such a front of infamy, the Duke 


te 
And Tie Siteerees tas Bia porec batcs 1 


Therefore th the Doke—the Duke will 


force him to it, 


An of the Empire will he pacify, 
CAS ie hi Meow wil rctamn in pay: 


ment 
(What be has already in his gripe)— 
Bohemia? 


Max. Hix he, Octavio, merited of us, 
we—that we should think so vilely 
of hin ? 
Octavig, What we would think is not 
here. 


the question 
| Wihe aliir speaks for itself—and clearest 


proofs é 
Wear ee, my son—'tis not unknown to 
Y 


thee, 
Va what fil credit with the Court we 
stand, 


c 





273 


Bat little dost thou know, or guess, what 


Ticks, 

What base intrigues, what lying artifices, 

Have been employed—for this sole end 
—to sow 

Mutiny in the camp! All bands are 

Loosed all the bands, that link the 
officer 

‘To his liege Emperor, all that bind the 
soldier 

Affectionately to the citizen. 

Lawless he stands, and threateningly 
beleaguers 

The state he's bos 
such a height 

‘Tis ie ‘that at this hour the Em. 


wl to guard, 2 


‘or 
| Before ti armies—his own armies— 
Nes 5 
is capital, his palace, fears 
iards, and is meditating 
To hurry id and hide his tender off- 


410 
An ine 


oy 
and bore Iso- 
tat 

the best troops, 


T 





Mex, Likewise to both of us. 
Octavio, ‘Because the Duke 
Sac secured us—means to 


‘Still farther did promises. 
eee ‘the princedoms, 


Seine and too plain I see the 


With whi he doubs no to eth he, 
Max. No! not 
T tell thee—no t 
Ontavio, yet thine 
And to. eee at pene tak pets 
1» 
Hither to ius? 2oto avail himself 
Of our advice ?—O when did Friediand 


ever 

‘Need our advice?—Be calm, and listen 
to me, 

To sell pecreates are we called hither, 


Decline we that—to be his hostages. 
‘Therefore doth noble Galas stand aloof ; 
Thy father, too, thou would’st not have 


seen here, 

If higher duties had not held hint 
fettered. 

Max, We makes no secret of it— 


needs make none— 
“That we're called hither for his sake—he 
owns it, we 
He mot our aldance to maintain him- 
He did so much for us; and ‘tis. but 


fair 
That we too should do somewhat now 
for him, 
Octavio. And kaow’st thou what it is 
which we must do? 
‘That Tllo’s drunken mood betrayed it to 
thee. 


Bethink thyself—what hast thou heard, 
what seen? 

‘The counterfeited paper—the omission 

of ne eee clause, so fall of 


Does Fis not prove; that they would bind 
us down 


‘To nothing good ? 





To urge and hurry all things to the 
extreme. 

Tap opti Dea eee 

And fondly ay ik to serve him, when 


‘The breach” plete ‘Trust me, 
father, 
‘The Duke knows nothing of all this: 
Octavio. i 
‘That 1 must dash to earth, #1 
shatter 


me 
Tmust 
Ate ea ee 

pare thee | iho 


For this i not a tme for tener 

‘Thou must take measures, speedy ones 
—must act. 

I therefore will confess to thee, that all 

Which: rerentamted ima 


Which ee to thee so unbelievable, 
Toate t ren thee—(a pemse}— 


{by other socame=-himenlt come 

‘That "twas i settled plan to Lt 
Swedes 

Aas a the a of he nied ar 


te nies is passionate. 
‘The Court mut bas stung hin See Se 


With ifs and affronts; and in x 


Of tnitaion, what ihe, fe ented 
Forgot hime? He's an iimpetnous 


Octavio. vn Nay in cold blood he did 
fess this to met 
And hese canstsiadl oy aonlchsiost 





THE PICCOLOMINT 


Into seruple of his pawer, he shewed 
me 

Mis written evidences —shewed 
tet 


ters, 

Both from the Saxon and the Swede, 
that gave 

Vroniite of aidance, and defin'd the 
amount, 

Max. Tt cannot be !—can xof be! 

cour mot be t 

Dost thou not sev, it cannot 

Thow oe of necessity have shewn 


‘Such si such deep loathing—that or 


Had taken thee for his better genius, or 
Thou stood'st not now a living man 
‘before me— 
Octavio. U have laid open my objec- 
tions to him, r= 
Dimendea a with) pressing camest- 


1 
me 


‘But my paoerence, ‘the full sentiment 
Of my whole heart—that 1 have still 


sacred 
To my own consciousness, 
Max. And thou hast been 

‘So treacherous? That looks not like 
my father t 

I trusted not thy words, when thou 
idst tell me 

Evil of him; much less can 1 now 
‘do it 


it, 
“That thee calumniatest thy own self. 
Octavio. 1 did not thrust myself into 


Ma es ited: hi 

fax, merit jis con- 
fidence. sd 

Octasis, He was no longer worthy of 
Mocerity, 

Mas Dissnntation, sure, was sill 





Which the voice teaches in our inmost 
heart. 

SUll in alarum, for ever on the watch 

Against the wiles of wicked men, e'en 


‘irtue 210 
Will sometimes bear away her outward 
robes 


in the wrestle with Eniquity, 
This i is the curse of every evil deed, 
‘That, propagating still, it brings forth 
evil. 
I do not cheat my better soul with 
sophisms : 
I but perform my orders ; the Emperor 
Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest 


Far better were it, doubtless, if we all 

Obeyed the heart at all times; bat so 
doing, 

In this our present sojourn with bad 


. 30 

We must abandon many an honest object. 

"Tis now our call to serve the Emperor, 

By what means he can best be secved— 
the heart 

May whisper what ft will—this is onr 
call ! 


Max. It seems a thing appointed, that 
torday 
I should not comprehend, not understand 


thee, 

The Duke thou say’st did honestly pour 
out 

His heart to thee, but for an evil pur- 


pose 5 

And thou dishonestly hast cheated him 

For a good purpose! Silence, I entreat 
thee— ca 

My friend thou stealest not from me— 

Let me not lose my father ! 

Octavio (suppressing resentment), As 

yet thou know'st not all, my son. 
Thave 


Gave Thima cause | Yet somewhat to disclose to thee. 


To entertain Lace of my honour? 
Max, That he did not, evinced his 


confidence. 
Octavio. Dear son, it is not always 
‘Still to preserve that infant purity 


(After a pause, 

Duke Friedland 

Hath made his preparations. He relies 

Upon his stars. He deems us unpro- 
vid 


| And thinks to fall upon us by surprize. 





276 


Nor esl empeliadle al Fa 


‘he golden chee io his band. ‘He errs. 
We too have been in action—he but 


thoe—no precipitation ! 

Ot SOPEN is neta 

And ght of tat bath Vengeance se 

‘Unica hsiesittd aeely, Gack Ect 
him— 

But ene step more—he shudders in her 
grasp! 

Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. 
it 

‘Thou knovskt bot Nts ndhenaibe oom 

mission ; 
He brought with him a private one, me 
! 


son 
And that was for me only. 

Max. ‘May I know it? 
Octania (seises the patent). Max! 


[A passe. 
Hn, this disclosure place I in thy 


The Empire's wélareand thy father's lie, 
‘Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein: 
A powerful tle of lave, of veneration, 

Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest 


youth. 

‘Thou nourishest the wish.—O let me still 
Se a 
c thou to knit ¢ 

Yet closer to him—— 
Max, Father-—— 
Octavio, O my son! 
or eub tp Batam I 
Sess thy collectedness? 262 
t thou be able, with calm countenance, 
To enter this man’s presence, when that I 
pamper eine be wine Sie 


According 
a 
crime, 





THE PICCOLOMINT 


I know. 
Ht ee 
will comet tl bis able the Tmipedat 
ae 
Ani shatter, in his wrath, the work of 
darkness. 

The Bosporeeil hath true servants fil 
Here in the Pes 
“ inate bets Perper _, 
Wo fo the ge wi fight gal- 
‘The faithful have ‘been aeeenbe 
svc the, Tt th it 

And 


(Ocravio fakes & 
Paarl otyigt 8 atti! | manediaety? 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


277 





i 


punish, not the wish, 
eh, notte w 
Duke hath yet his destiny in his 


BERK Pe 


z 
i 


‘Than punishment. But the first open 
fe fallaet thoss buch a step? 
A wicked step | 
Never will he take ; but thou mightest 


But who the judge? 


Octavio. Thyelf. 
Max. For ever, then, this paper will 
dig kdle. 
Ostevis. Too soon, 1 fear, its powers 
mast all be 
ise of this 
Bet be Bat ee doo nse” 
0 Spe 
sentiment 
He bath a pera ‘proof in that petition | 
Which thou delivered’st to him from the 
en: 
Add this too—I have letters that the 


his route, and travels by 
marches 
‘To the Bohemian Forest. 


‘Remains unknown; and, to confirm sus- 
picion, 


is no tyrant. 


What this | 


This night a Swedish nobleman arrived 
here. 


Jax. Uhaye thy word. Thou'lt not 
to action 
Before thou hast convinced me—me my- 
self, 
Octarvo, Is it possible? Stilt, after 
all thou know’st, 
Canst thou believe still in his innocence ? 
Max (with enthusiasm), Thy judg- 
ment may mistake ; my heart can 
not. 0 
(Moderates his vice and manner. 
These reasons might expound thy spirit 
or mine; 
But they expound not Friedland—T have 
faith = 
For as he knits his fortunes to the stars, 
Even so doth he resemble them in secret, 
Wonderful, still inexplicable courses t 
‘Trust me, they do him wrong, All will 
be solved. 
‘These smokes, at once, will kindle into 
flame— 
‘The edges of this black and stormy cloud 
Will brighten suddenly, and we shail 





view 
‘The Unapproachable glide aut in splen- 
"e 


dour. 
Octavio. T will await it. 
Scene IT 


fore, To them 
amber. 


OcTAVIO em? MAX at 
the Valet of the 


Octavio, How now, then? 
| Foie. Acdispatch is at the door. 
Ortavio, So early? From whom comes: 
| he then? Who is it? 
=| Valet. That he refused to tell me. 
Octavio. Lead him in: 
| And, hark you—let it not transpire. 
| [Bxv¢ Valet—the Comet steps in, 
noe Ha! Comet—is it you? and 
from Count Galas? 
Give me your letters. 
Cornet, ‘The Lieutenant-General 
‘Trusted it not to letters, 
| Octavio. 


And what is it? 





278 


Cornet. We bade me tell you—Dare t | 
here? 


Whom ? 
‘Sesina, 


Octavio (eagerly), Pretend And you have him ? 
in Hass Bohenian Forest Cap- 


Cornin M 
Fonda tesa tin yester morning 


And m cc were dispatches for the 


ous “And the dispatches— 
Cornet. ‘The Lientenant-General 
‘Sent them that instant to Vienna, and 


‘That fellow is a precious casket to us, 
Enclosing weighty things —Was much 
found pee us with 
Cornet, 1 think, six packets, 
Count Tertsky's arms. 
Litaasced ome in the Duke's con 


Cre Not that I know. 

Octavio, And old Sesina ? 

Cornet. He was sorely frightened, 
When it was told him he must to 


Vienna. 
But the Count Altringer bade him take 
eart, 
Would he but make a full and free con- 
ion. 

Octavio, Is Altringer then with your 

Lord? I heard 
That he lay sick at Linz, 

Cornet, These three days past 
He's with bse master, the Licutenant- 
Ai PRs ee Atroniy hips thay 

sixty 
Small companies together, chosen men ; 
Respectfully they greet you with assur- 


ances, » 
That they are only waiting your com- 
mands. 


t 


THE PICCOLOMINT 





ACT ttt 


Octavio. In x fow 
aha eee 


‘The Capuchins, as usual, let me in. 
Octavio. ogee re tient limbs, r= 
{tla ible, iets yer ere 
att ee ae ee 
poll, aie: 
Of this affair approaches: ere 
That even now is dawning in the heaved, 
Ere this eventful day elie 


That must decide our fxm 
drawn. [Suit Saeet 


Seenx IIT 
Ocravio amd Max Prccotomtst, 


For all, I'm certain, went through that 
‘Seana. 


Max (who through the whole of the 
scene has been in a oto- 


that I shall act 
A A part in this thy play—— 
‘Thou hast miscalculated on me griev- 
My ways yin eight on Tie wil 


False ah oe heart=T ay nets bane 








fo 


THE PICCOLOMIN? 


ACTIV: 


‘That I must bear me on in iny own way, | And shoots down now her stropgest in- 
fluences. 


All must remain pure betwixt him and 
me; 

And, ere the day-light dawns, it must be 
need 


A 
Which I must lose—my father, or my 
friend. 


[During Ais exit the curtain drops. 


ACT IV 
‘Scene 1 


Scene—A opp as 
Labours, and 
Charts, with 
tants, ant other mathematical Fustru- 


Figures, which may de dropped, and 
conceal there on 

[Ju the Fifth Scene of this Act it munst be 
dropped ; but in the Seventh Scene, it 
rust be again drawn sp wholly or én 


1 
ben eradt aie at @ Mack Table, on which 
A is described 
‘with Chalk, Sexi is tabing Obdserva- 
tions through a window, 


Wallenstein, AV well—and now let it 
be ended, Seni.—Come, 
‘The dawn commences, and Mars rules 


x 


ur, 
‘We must give o'er the operation, Come, 
We know 

Send. Your Highness must permit me 
Just to contemplate Venus, She's now 


rising | 
Like as a sutl, 40 shines she in the east. 
Wallenstein. She-is at present in her | 
perigee, 


Sheth el Ughnings ag tary 
‘Their ‘Neel influences and sweet 


Now they have conquered the old enemy, 
And bring him in the heavens a prisoner 
to me, ” 
Sent whe has come dorm from the 
aed And in a corner house, 

of that £ 


of That cas eat fauos of oe 


Walken, And sun and moon, too, 


it 
Soper 
Bold be lan, execution. 
agg if beth te anighty Lamina 
Maleficas affronted. Lot Saturwes, 


im ocuous, powerless, in cadente Domo, 
“Walintai atc ee 


ig 
re oe 


trivance 5 et oa 
For Jupiter, the | lustrous, “ROW, 
And the dark work, e 

tion, 
He draws by force into: af 
Now must we hasten on 








SCENE Ut 


‘The scheme, and most auspicious positure 
Parts o'er my bead, and takes once more 

fee Sight 5 ” 
For the heavens journey still, and sojourn 


pot. 
[Tiere are knocks at the door. 
‘There's some one knocking there. Sec 


Wallenstein. Aye—'tia Tertsky. 
that is there of such urgence? We 


are busy. 
Tertiky | from swithowt), Lay all aside 


"Open, Seni ! 

[White Sexi opens the doors for 
Terrsky, WALLENSTEIN 
draws the eurtein over the 


figures. 
Tertehy (enters). Vast thou already 
beard it? He is taken. ” 
Galas has given him up to the Emperor. 
[SENS draws of the lack table, 
and exit, 


‘Seanez ID 
Watzensretx, Count Tentsky. 


Msaigeiee (t@ Tertsey), Who has 
2—Who Is given up? 
ine man who knows our 

‘secrets, who knows every 
Negociation with the Swede ait Saxon, 
ba whose hands all and every thing 


has passed — 
Wallenstein (drawing back}. Nay, not 
Sexina?—Say, No! I entreat 


thee. 
Tertely, Ail on bis road for Regens- 
‘parg to the Swede 
‘He was plunged down upon by Galas’ 


agent, 
Who hal Beco! ong iv ambush Loring 


‘Tharé mecat bave ‘ase found on him: iy 
whole 
To Thur, to isk, to Oxenstirn, to 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


All this is in their hands; they have 
now an insight 

Into the whole—our measures, and our 
motives. 


| 
| Serene Wt 


To thems enters V1.0, 


Hike (to Tertsky). Has he heard it? 
Tertihy. He has beard it, 
iile (to Wallenstein), Thinkest thou 

still 

To make thy peace with the Emperor, 

to regain 

His confidence ?—Even were it now thy 

wish 

To abandon all thy plans, yet still they 


know 
What thou hast wished; then forwards 
thou must press y 
Retreat is now no longer in thy power. 
Yertely. They have documents against 
us, and in bands, 
Which shew beyond all power of contra- 
diction— 
Wallenstein. Of my hand-writing—no 
iota. Thee 
I punish for thy fies 
Mio, And thou believest, 
‘That what this man, that what thy mers 
husband, 
Did in thy ‘name, will notsstand) on hy 
| reck’ning ? 
His word must’ pass for thy word with 
the Swede, 
| And not with those that hate thee at 
Vienna, 
| Tertety. In-writing thou gav'st nothing 
—But bethink thee, 
How far thou ventured’st by word of 
mouth 
| With this Sesina? 
silent? 
If he can save himself by yielding up 
purposes, will he retain 


And will he be 





Zils, "Thyself dost not conceive it pas- 
sible ; 





: 


And since they now have evidence 
authentic 


ee ee ee 
—telll us 
What art thou waiting for? thou canst 


no longer 
Keep ate eatiod jaca beyond hope 
of rescue 
anosirt Ieee if thou amet ie 


army 

ret osterseri ‘The army vill ot 

‘Abandon me. Whatever they may know, 

Acs alge and they must gulp. 
it down— 

And substitute I caution for my fealty, 

‘They must be satisfied, at least appear 
Loa » 

dtl, The army, Duke, is thine now— 

for this moment— 

‘Tis thine = but think with terror on the 
slow, 

The quiet power of time. From open 

violence 
The meshes of thy’ soldiery secures 


fared -morrow ; but grant'st thou 
them a respite, 


Uaheeed unseen, they'll undermine that | 


On which thou now dost feel so firm a 
With aera will draw away from 
thee 


One after the other— 
Wallenstein, "Tis a cursed accident ! 
ES cll at mia 


If ktworkea thee as it ought to do, 
Hurry thee on to action—to decision. 
The Swedish General—— 

‘ebsepserein He's arrived! Know'st 


Silat be cmniiaton foo 
Tile. _ ‘To thee alone 
Will he entrust the purpose of his 


coming. 
Wallenstein, § cursed, cursed acci- 
dent! Yes, yes, 
Sesina knows too much, and won't be 
silent. 


and rebel, 
His nock 4s forfelt, Can he save binsself 
As th ct hk ow Ne A er 


An ithe pt hin th tte, 
Wa her that dase have be 
ing, strengt 

Wa Ui oe eee 


And I may ecabat TdT tall 
se are resale oe GA their thought 
A traitor to my country. How sincerely 
‘Soever I return back to my duty, 

va eee hae 

Hla, 


‘That it will dot “yess 
Thy os will be tc Tne st 


Walon (pail (Ancing wp est enes 
extreme agitation). What! : 


C 
| Accursed he who dallies with a devil 1 
And must I-—I must realize it now— 
Now, while I have the power, it mest 
take place? 
Mo, Now—now—ere thy ean ward 
and itt 


Wal nie at a i et 


Have | sent: 206: 15 | Sie os aaa 


Andopsaly the Impeia odere 
ie yee 

Believe miey thos wit 
more easy 








SCENE V 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


285 





Whe haltic Neptune did assert his free: 
dom, 
Theva and land, it seemed, were not 
to serve 
‘One ned the same. 
Wallenstein (makes the motion for kim 
to take a seat, and seats himself). 
And where are your credentials ? 
‘Coxe you with full ne 
: ‘Sir al? 
Hrareged, itkereises paiwsany scruples 
yet to solve—— 
does (having read the ereden- 


departed Sovereign's own idea 
Tex helping me to the Bohemian crown, 
BWrangel, He says pa ae Our 
great King, now in heaven, 
ee Neo sr 
Grace's 


sense and military genius 44 

= always the commanding intellect, 
Xe said, should have command, and be 

the King. 
Yes, he might say it 
ses mites 

hand affectionately, | 
‘Come, Als = areal mo, I was | 


awa 
A. Ewedeat bear. Hy! that dia you 


‘experience 
‘Both in Silesia and at Nuremburg + 
1 had ps ‘often in my power, and let 


Alea ip out by some back door or 

"hr hich the Court can ne’er 

Which drives me ‘as to this present “rs 
Orit nc dcion, 


have a thorough confidence 
{tbe other. 





Wallensteiw, The Chancellor still, T 
see, does not quite trust me 5 

And, I confess—the gain does not lic 
wholly 

To my advantage—Without doubt he 
thinks ae 

If can play false with the Emperor, 


Who is my Sovreign, 1 can do the 
like 


With the reneony) and that the <ne too 
were 

Sooner to be forgiven me than the other, 

Is not this your opinion too, Sir 


ve here an office merely, 


Wallenstetn. The Emperor hath urged 
me to the uttermost, 


pute th fo 
Who was not forced to it. 
[After a panse. 
What may have impelled 
ess In this wise to 


Toward your Wane gn Lord and Emi: 
peror, 

Beseems not us to expound or criticize, 

The Seeiak ia fighting for his good old 


opportunity, isin our favour, 
And all advantages in war are lawful. 
‘We take what offers without questioning 5 
And if all have its due and just propor- 
tions—— 
Wallenstein. Of what then are ye 
doubting 2 Of my will ? 
Or of my power? I pledged me to the 
Chancellor, & 
Would he trast me with sixteen thousand 


men, 
‘That I would instantly go over to them 
With eighteen thousand of the Emperor's 
troops. 





286 


Wranget. Your Grace is known to be | Such a 
; hief, 


2 
To be a second Attila and Pyrrhus, 
"Tis talked of still with fresh astonish- 


ment, 
Mow some years past, beyond all human 


You called an army forth, likea creation : 
But yet-—— 

Wollevsteite, Vint 

Wrangel. Thistlehaesorbish 
Tt might yet be an easier thing from 


Mp call forth, iaty thenisanicanen ae 
battle, 

Than to perunde one sinteth port of 

Wallenstein. What now? Out with 


it, friend ! 
Wrangel. To break their oaths. 


Waltenstein. And he thinks 90 ?—Ie 


your 

About the cause and with your hearts 
you follow 

Your anners.—Among you, whoeer 


deserts 
To the enemy, hath broken covenant 
With feo} posh a at one time. — We've za 


rane een Gol in Haven 
we then the people here 
No house and home, no fire-side, no altar? 
Wallenstein. 1 will explain that to 
you, how it 
The Austrian has a country, ay, and 
loves it, 


it, 
And has sigeon cause to love it—but this 
That ee itself the Imperial, this that 
Here in "‘Boberala this has pone—no 


country 5 
‘This is an outcast of all foreign lands, 
aaa rae or tribe, to whom 


Notion ee the universal sun. go 
Wrangel. Bot then the Nobles and 
the Officers? 





THE PICCOLOMINT 


Te & without itt eae Sey Lord Duke, 
history. 


In the world’s 
Wallenstein. ‘They are all mine— 
Mine unconditionally—mine on all 


march from here 10 
With be sr thousand men, abd only 
For ote proceed and join your 
Thos odes 1 ive you, immediately 

‘Wallenstein. What: asks the: Chane 
Wrongel emsiderselh Twelve Reg 
ieee man © Swelonat 
‘The’ wareaty-—end ol sight ania 
Oni fue play— 
‘Wallenstein (starting). Sie Swede! 
Wrangel{ calmly precedents 
1" insist thereon, wey that haan fon 


Irrevocably break ney the 
Else not f Swede is toned eo De 





SCENE 


Wellenstein. amend t 


bs Cra tleag ee in common 
‘But pigee Sarichizala— cies, Sir 
General, i 
Ree rapt nee 
We doubt it not. 
Paes Uapmectocter ee 


‘Our sole concer, We want security, 
‘That we shall not expend our men and 


Werangl. Avi til we are indemnified 
so long 


bone ri ao 
enone ‘Then trust you us so 
Wrangel (rising). The Swede, if he 
+1 eters | erm, 
lust keep a sharp out, 'e hav 
‘been called ee 
‘Over the Baltic, we have saved the 
empire 1p 
‘From muiip—with our best blood have we 

seal'd 
A truth. 


faction 
ger felt, the load alone is felt. — 


ae Hf 

in to our old forests, 
‘No, not ied Lord Duke ! no !—it never 
For Judas’ pay, for chinking gold and 
That we di leave our King by the Great 
No, not fr gold and shor have there 


1 A great stone near Lowen, since called the 
‘Stone, the body of their great King hav- 
of 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





287 


i} _ So many of our Swedish Nobles—neither 


| Will we, with empty laurels for our pay- 
ment, 

Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens 

Will we remain upon the soil, the which 

Our Meanrch conquered for himself, and 


Watton. Help to keep down the 
common enemy, 
And ih fais Border land must needs be 


Wrai onal Nite tied ue eee 

enemy lies yanquished, 190 

Who knits together our new friendship 
then? 

We know, Duke Friedland § though pers 

the Swede 

Ought not & have known it, that you 
carry on 

Secret negociations with the Saxons. 

Who is our warranty, that we are not 

The sacrifices in those articles 

Which ‘tis thonght needful to conceal 
from us? 

Wallenstein (rises). Think you of 
something better, Gustave 
Wrangel ! 

of Bregue no more, 
vrangel. Were my commission ends. 

Hees ‘Surrender up to you my 
capital ! 

Far liever would I face about, and te 
Mack to my Emperor, 
rangel. Uf time yet permits— 

H4 Yallenstein. That lies with me, even 
now, at any hour. 

Wrangel, Some days ago, perhaps. 
To-day, no longer, 

No longer since Sesina’s been a prisoner. 
(Watlenstein is struck, asd silenced, 
My Lord Duke hear me—We believe 
that you 
At present do mean honourably by ts. 
Since yesterday we're sure of that—and 


now 

This paper warrants for the troops, 
there's nothing 

Stands in the way of our full confidence, 


Prague shall pot part us, Hear! The 
Chancellor a 





Contents himself with Albstadt, to your 
Gree 
He gives up Ratschin and the narrow 


But Egra above all must open to us, 

Ere we can think of any junction. 
Waltenstein. 

You therefore must 1 trust, and you “af 


negociation, my 
Crept “a into the second year. 


ae 
Is eae this time, will the Chancellor 
Consider it as broken off for ever. 
Wallenstein. Ye press me hard, A 


apy sucl = this, 
it to 1 
hay ut think of this too, 
‘That sudden action only can procure it 

Success—think first oi ae High- 


ness. WRANGEL, 


‘Scene VI 
WALtensteis, Tentsky, aad Tito 
on Ts all right ? as 
regs Are you com; ? 
"This Swede 
Wat smiling from you. Yes! you're 
compromi 
oe ae yet is nothing settled : 
[well weighed) 

T feel oe inclined to leave it 40, 
Tertehy. How? What is that? 
Wallenstein, Come on me what will 

come, 

The doing evil to avoid an evil 

! 


Cannot be 
Terteky, Nay, but bethink you, Duke? 


Wallenstein. To live upon the merey 
of these Swedes ! 





Tite, Goest thou as fugitive, ay 
ingest. hae ot them than 
a ‘not more to 

thou reoekvest ? 


Scene VIL 
Ta there enter the Counress TERTSKY. 


T hope not. 
Wallenstein, Set not this tongue upon 
me, I entreat you. 
You know it is the weapon that destroys 
me, 
Tam ronted, if a woman but sitack me, 
of words 


tile. cies with you now. ‘Try. For 
When fk begin t alle to me of con- 
science, 
And of fidelity. 


Cosentert. ‘then, when all 
Lay in the ‘scot ances when the road 
Sueichad sat bel Nie 


Then east es! courage and resolve ¢ 
and now, 





‘SCENE VIE 


‘And with saccess comes pardon hand in 
band 


3 
For all event is God's arbitrement, 
Servant (enters), The Colonel Piccolo- 


Countess (hastily).— Must wait. 

Wailenstein, 1 cannot see him now. 
Another time. 

Seroant, Bat for two minutes he 
entreats an audience. 

OF the most urgent natare is his business. 

Wallenstein, Who knows what he may 
bring as? Twill hear him. 0 

Courstess (laughs), Urgent for him, no 
doubt ; but thee mayest wait. 


Wallenstein. in? 
Coser ‘Thou shalt b be informed here- 


Fit 1a the Sole ad te te cn 
{Exit Servant, 
Wa 7 man there were yet a 
aloes ‘if yet some milder 
LG bende ‘escape were possible—I still 
Will chose it, and avoid the Inst extreme. 
Countess, Desit’st thou nothing further? 


‘Socha way 
aati thee Send hia Weng 
psi nocd oa thy old hopes, cast far 
Rate pie Net deters to commence 


Anew one. Virtue hath her heroes too, 
As well as Fame and Fortune.— To 
Vienns— 


‘Thou did'st but wish to prove thy fealty; 
‘Thy whole intention but to dupe the 


Ulla, For that too "tis too late. They 
know too much, 
‘He would but bear his own head to the 
block. 
‘Countess. Ufenr not that. They have 
hat evidence 
‘To attaint him legally, and they avoid 


‘The avowal of an arbitrary power. 51 
‘They'll let the Duke resign without dis- 


c 


THE PICCOLOMINI 





289 


T see bow all will end. The King of 


Hungary 

Makes his appearance, and "twill of itself 
Be understood, that then the Duke retires. 
There will not want a formal declara- 

tion, 

‘The young King will administer the oath 
To the whole army ; and so all returns 
To the old position. On some morrow 


morning 

The Duke departs ; and now ‘tis stir ae 
bustle 

Within his castles. He will hunt, oe 
build, 

Superintend his horses’ pedigrees ; 

Creates himself a court, gives golden keys, 

And introduceth strictest ceremony 

In fine proportions, and nice etiquette ; 

Keeps open table with high cheer; in 


Commenceth mighty King—in miniature. 

And while he prudently demeans himself, 

And gives himself no actual importance, 

He will be let appear whate'er he likes : 

‘And who. dares doubt, that miata 
will appear 

A mighty Prince to his last dying hour? 

Well now, what then? Duke Friedland 
is as others, 

A fire-new Noble, whom the war hath 
raised 

To price and currency, a Jonah’s Gourd, 

An over-night creation of court-favour, 

Which with an undistinguishable case 

Makes Baron or makes Prince, 

Wallenstein (i extreme agitation). 

‘Take her away. 

Let in the young Count Piccolomini. 

Countess, Art thou in earnest? I 

entreat thee! Canst thou % 

Consent to bear thyself to thy own grave, 

iniously to be dried up? 

Thy life, that arrogated such an height 

To end in such a nothing! To be 
nothing, 

When one was always nothing, is an 
evil 

‘That asks no stretch of patience, » light 
evil, 

Buttobecame a nothing, having been —— 


v 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Wallenstein (starts up in violent agita. 
tion), Shew me a way out of this 


crowd, 
aS Aidance |! Shew me such 


Reiter gaia dere 
Am no tongue<beroy no fine cies] 


Teannot warm ae) 


think’ 
To the ols sie iat eae her back 


oma *Go ! I need thee not. 
Cease I to work, T am annihilated. 
Dangers nor sacrifices will I shun, 
If so I-may avoid the last extreme ; 
But ére I sink down into nothingness, 
Leave off so little, who began so great, 
Ere that the world confuses me with 


those 100 
Poor wretches, whom a day creates and 

crural 
This age and after-ages! speak my name 
With fate and dread 5 and Friedland be 
Forced azd deat 

Counsess, What is there here, then, 

So against nature? Help me to per- 

ceive it! 
let not Superstition’s nightly goblins 
Sabsine thy clea bright spirit ‘Art thou 
‘To murder ?—with abhorr’d accursed 


pontard, 
‘Toviolate the breasts that nourished thee ? 
‘That were against our nature, that might 


aptly 310 
Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole 
heart sicken.* 


4 Could I have hiarded such a Germanism as 
‘aftercworld * for 


‘Yet not a few, and for a meaner object, 
Have ee even this, ay, and per- 


Wat ete In thy ae oo back and 
‘monstrous? 
g | Thou art accused of treason—whether 


wi 

Ce ie Se now the ques- 
tion— 

‘Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee 


quickly 
Of the Fence thou possessest— 
Duke! 
Tel me es th thing ek 
ath oa ing ce 
2, 


Pot forth in preservation of bis His 
‘What deed so daring, which necessity 
peaprenrssebregy acs 
‘allenstets. Once was this Ferdinand 
so gracious to me : 
He loved me; he esteemed me; I was 


The eyieeane ee ‘Full many a 
ume 
We like familiar frends, both at one 


Have banquetted together, He and T— 
‘And the young kings themselves held me 
the bayon 


Must I remind thee, how at Regent 


‘ park 
‘This man repaid thy faithful services 2 
All ranks and all conditions in the Exn- 


for posterity, ‘Thou hadet wronged, to maladie yah 


men’ might have been rendered with more literal 


“Lat world and afterworld speak out my 
‘name,’ ete. 

2 T have not ventured to affront the fastidious 
delicacy of our age with a literal tranilation of 
this fine © 

‘worth 
Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufruregen.’ 


(on thes the kus the Gea pe Maia 
No tee for thee in all Ger- 
And why? "tecanse thou. hadit sted 
For oe 2 Ea To peat 





‘SCENE VI 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


291 





Clung Friedland in es storm which 
gathered round bit 

At Regenspurg in the Diefeand he 
dropped thee ! 

He let thee fall! He let theo fall a 
victim 

To the Bavarian, to that insolent ! 

, stript bare of all thy dignity 

~ dled 

Thou wert Loy drop into obscurity. — 


Say not, the restoration of thy honour 
made atonement for that first in- 
justice, 
No honest st good-will was it that emplaced 


Whe jay of hard necessity replaced thee, 
‘Which they bad fain opposed, but that 


they could not. 
sper Not to their good wishes, 
is certain, 


ss ht faethe thing and not 

ees ‘out the greatest and he 

And at the redder places him, ¢’en 

‘She had been forced to take him from 
‘the rabbie— 

eet y, it was that placed 

Io this high office, it was she that gave 
thee 

‘Thy letters patent of nm. 

For, to the uttermost moment that they 
can, 

ame euene ermeetrce at cheap- 

wa ih as wih puppets ! Be 


Gite Halder koe 
of ame fren « no more, 





Then falls the power into the mighty 
hands 

Of Nature, of the spirit giant-born, 

Who listens only to himself, knows no- 
thing 

Of stipulations, duties, reverences, 

And, like the emancipated foroe of fire, 

Unmastered scorches, ere it reaches them, 

‘Their fine-spun webs, their artificial 
poli 

Wallenitetn. "Cis true! they saw me 

always as T am— 

Always! I did not cheat them in the 
bargain. to 

I never held it worth my pains to hide 

The bold sil-grasping. habit of my soul. 

Countess, Nay rather—thou hast ever 

shewn thyself 

A formidable man, without restraint ; 

Hast exercised the fall prerogatives 

Of thy impetuous nature, which had been 

Once granted to thee, Therefore, Duke, 
not thou, 

Who hast still remained consistent with 


iysell, 

But they are in the wrong, who fearing 
thee, 

Entrusted such a power in. hands oa 
feared. 

For, by the laws of Spirit, in the sight = 

Is every individual character 

‘That acts in strict consistence with 
itself. 

Self-contradiction is the only 

Wert thou another being, then, ‘when 
thou 

Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with 
fire 

And sword, and desolation, through the 
Circles 

Of Germany, the universal scourge, 

Didst mock all ordinances of the em- 

pire, 

‘The fearfal rights of strength alone ex- 
ertedst, 

Trampledst to earth each rank, each 
magistracy, 

All to extend thy Sultan's domination? 

‘Then was the time to break thee in, to 
curb 





292 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


ACTIV 


‘Thy banghty to teach thee ordin- | The quadrant and the circle, were they 
Bat nl the, err fo touch of EP te diet jt 


What ee Hi pleued bing aot wih 
2 murmur 
ta pamged bia cart onal on thaae law 
Jess deods, 
What es as he tie was right, because 
epee cine 


‘allenstein (rising), I never saw it in 
this light before. 

‘Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated 

Deeds through my arm, deeds most un- 


I awe to what were services to him, 
But most high misdemeanours 'gainst the 


Coumtest. Then betwist thee and him 
(confess it, Friedland 1) 
The point can be no more of right and 
a 


uty. 
ay of era and the opportunity, 20 


Tot it eee Peder 
then, 


ee 
ina ey epee’ 
‘Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat, 
Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy 
‘opponent 
Anticipate thee, and himself make con- 
Of the now empty seat. The moment 
comes— 
It is already here, when thou must 
write 


‘The absolute total of thy life's vast sum. 

The Gree stand victorious o'er 

The planets shoot good fortune in fair 
ictions, 

And tell thee, * Now's the time!" The 


starry courses 
Hast thou thy life long measured to no 
purpose? 





‘The nag aad nee rolling ‘orbs of heaven, 
Hash vats tx these walls, and all 


hh danty fersboding eytbols bast thon 
oy hey 


‘These seven presiding Lords of Destiny — 
For toys? Ix all this prepamtion no- 


Ts there no marrow in this hollow art, 
‘That even to thyself it doth avail Po 
Nothing, and has no influence aver thee 

Tn the great moment of decision ?—— 
Wallenstein. (during this last speech 
walks up and dows with inward 


‘Wrangel to. me—I will instantly 
es 

Hilo (hurrying out), God in heaven be 

: 

Tore It is his evil genius and 
Ounevil geainal Tt chastises him. 
Throegh tay she taetranea nae 
And I expect no less, than that 
Ben hw peti eer 
Vito oben the serpent Nest ise at 

a0 


not 
To reap a joyous ie harvest. 


Every crime 
Hag a the coment of fy perpetration, 
Tes. angel—dark Misgiving, 
‘Anorlacest Siting ‘at the inmost heart, 
He can no longer trust me—Then no 


Can I retreat—so come that which must 
come, — 

Still destiny preserves its due relations, 

‘The heart within us Is its absolute 

Vicegerent. 


(72 Textsxy. 
G duct you Gustave 
To ny teat tece 2 Seeire 





SCENE ¥IT 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


293 





The cosriers —And dispatch imme- 


diately 
A servant for Octavio Piccolomini. 
{Te the Countess, who cannot 
eee arith 
No exultation—woman, triumph not 1 
= jealous are the Powers of re 
'O¥ premature, and Shouts ere victory, 
ies upon their rights and privileges. 


Weetow the seed, and they the growth 


(While he is making his exit the 
curtain drops. 


ACT V 
Scene 1 


Scune—as in the preceding Act, 
‘Wantessrem, Octavio Precotomn. 
Wallensteiu (coming forsoard in con- 
versation). We sends me word 
from Linr, that he lies sick ; 
‘Wat T have sure intelligence, that he 
Secrets himself at Frauenberg with 
las. 
Secure them both, and send them to 
‘me hither. 
Remember, thou tak’st on thee the 
command 
‘Of those same Spanish regiments,—con- 
stant! 


and be never ready 5 
if they urge thee to draw out against 


me, 
arta stand as thou wert 


tered, 
Tknow, that it is doing thee a service 
To keep thee out of action in this busi- 


ne 
‘Thou Tovest to linger on in fair appear- 


ances + 
‘extremity are province, 
pstely have I sought panie part for 


thee, 
‘Thou wilt this time be of most service to 
me 
inertness. The mean time, if 
By thy ine e 





Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know 
What is to do. 
Enter Max Piccoromint. 
Now go, Octavio. 
‘This night must thou be off, take my own 


1Orses = 

Him here I keep with me—make ge 
farewell— 

‘Trust = a think we all shall = 


Ta joy snd thriving terranes 
Octavio (to his son), —T shall see you 
Yet ere Igo, 


Scene IL 
‘WALLENSTEIN, MAX PrccoLomini. 


Max (advances to him). My General! 
Wallenstein, That am I no longer, if 
Thou styl'st thyself the Emperor's 
officer, 
Max, Then thou wilt leave the army, 
General ? 


Wallenstein, 1 have renounced the 
service of the Emperor. 
Max, And thou wilt leave the army? 
Wallenstein, Rather hope I 
To bind it nearer still and faster to me. 
(He seats himself: 
Yes, Max, I have delayed to ‘open it to 
thee, 
Even till the hour of acting ‘gins to 


strike. 

‘Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily 

The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is 

‘To exercise the single spprehension n 

Where the sums square in proof ; 

But where it happens, that of two sure 
evils, 

‘One must be taken, where the heart not 
wholly 

Brings itself back from out the strife of 
duties, 

There “tis a blessing to have no election, 

And blank necessity is grace and favour, 

—This is now present: do not look 
behind thee, — 

Tt can no more avail thee. Look thou 
forwards { 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


a ‘not! prepare thyself 


answer, 
Ribose bese! Sesh, Pees Answer 
Tere tose nc to vetalied Chpte 
(He vives, and retires at the bock 
the stage. MAX remains 
a long tine motionless, im 
‘a france of excessive he 
At his first wsotion WALLEN- 
STEIN returns, amd placer 
ineself before ies, 
Max, My General, this day thou 
makest me 
Of age to speak in my own right and 
person, 
For till this day I have been spared the 
trouble 
To find out my own road. Thee have I 
followed 
‘With most implicit unconditional faith, 
‘Sure of the right path if I followed thee, 
To-day, for the first time, dost thou 


Me to myself, and forcest me to make 
Election between thee and my own 


heart. 
Wallensteim. Soft cradled thee thy 


Fortune till to-day 5 
‘Thy duties thou couldst Decco tlmaistt 


‘Start from each other. Duties Suive 
with duties. 

‘Thou must needs chuse thy party in the 
war 

Which is now kindling "twixt thy friend 
and him 

Who is thy Emperor, 


s 


War ! fs that the name? 


Max, 
to so | War is as frightful as heaven's: 


Therefore T will to be beforehand with 
u 
Well Join, the Swodes—right gulant 
fellows are they, = 


‘Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that 


1 eey saw oking a me 


rhe chee Gal sce ts epee 
& 


» | Bleeding, the sou! hath freed itself, 
Wallenstein, 


Max, hear me. 

Mer, 01 do it: notre tae 
‘There ie 5 pure sad ote aoa 
Knows not of this unblest, unlucky 


Thy Ste ches oe 
‘Which hat polled heed ia 


Ie will not let itself be 
From that writing pect Thon 


wilt not, 
‘Thou canst not, end in this. Tt would 
reduce 


All human creatures to 
Bienen th the wstene of thir 


T “Tei jute 
i oe 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


295 





And trusts itself to i 
Made powerful only in 


Wethustets. ‘The world wil judge 
me sternly, I expect it. 
‘Already haye I said to my own self 
All thou canst say to me. Who but 


alone 
an unknown 


ig avo he . ; 
vextreme,—can ing Foun 
avoid it? esd 


But here there is no choice. Yes—I 


must we to 
(Or suffer violence—so stands the case, 
‘There remains nothing possible but that. 
ee that is never possible for 
t 
"Tis the last desperate resource of those 
Cheap ee to whom their honour, 


Is their 
‘Which having staked and lost, they stake 
themselves 


name 
0 Cir thelr last worthless 


Ta the mad rage of gaming. Thou art 


And Pose with an unpolluted heart 
‘Thou canst make Cpene of whate’er 

‘seems highest ! sa 
‘But he, who once hath acted iofemy, 
Does mare in this wor! 


erprhis kan ‘Calmly, 
ar ak ae andieaceBcat will we 
‘Perform together yet. And if we only 
Stand on the height with dignity, "tis 
3000 
Forgotten, Max, by what road we 
‘Belieye me, many a crown shines spot- 
Jes now, 
‘That yet was deeply sullied in the win- 


‘To the spirit doth the earth belong, 
iar All, that the pomen 


ak from above, are universal blessings: 
rejoices us, their air re- 


But never yet was man enriched by 
them : 





In their eternal realin no property 
Is to a suggled forall thee is 


The jewel, “the allevalued gold we win 
From the deceiving Powers, depraved in 


nature, 

That dwell beneath the day and blessed 
sunlight. 

Not without sacrifices are they rendered 

Propitious, and there lives po soul on 


cart 0 

That eer retired unsullied from their 
service, 

Max, Whate'er is human, to the 

human being 

Do I allow—and to the vehement 

‘And striving spirit readily T pardon 

‘The excess of action; but to thee, my 
General ! 

Above all others make I large concession, 

For pie oan move a world, and be the 


He ialls een who condemns thee to 
inaction. 

So be it then ! maintain thee in thy post 

By violence, Resist the Emperor, 129 

And if it must be, force with force repel : 

I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it. 

But not—not to the traitor—yes !—the 
word 

Is spoken out— 

Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon. 

That is no mere excess! that is no error 

Of human nature—that is wholly dif- 
ferent, 

© that is black, black as the pit of hell ! 
(WALLENSTEIN betrays a sudden 

itation. 

‘Thou canst not hear it nam’d, and wilt 
thou do it? 

© tur back to thy duty. 
canst, 130 

T hold it certain, Send me to Vienna, 

T'll make thy peace for thee with the 
Emperor. 

He knows thee not, 
thee, He 

Shall sce thee, Duke! with my un- 
clouded eye, 

And I bring back his confidence to thee. 


‘That thou 


But I do know 





296 
knowest not what has happened. 
Max, Were it too late, and were things 


‘ould prevent thy fall, 
Fgh even as 


Lore the maa oe Sse 

Thos ci with pleou do to 

With innocence. ‘Thon hast liv’d much 
for others, 

eRe emg eschew Soc, tiy rn sell I 


M Cabri from thine, 
"We too late! Even 
corse gd pe 
Srby, wots. en aces daeattes are the 


Let fu behind 
‘Wr bese the le Os to Pgs Prague and 


(ax stands as comulsad, with a 


and countenamce 6x- 
ing the most intense 


Yield thyself to it, We act. as we are 
forced. 


T cannot give assent to my own shame 
And ruin, Thou—no—thou canst not 


forsake me! 19 
So let us do, what must be done, with 
With «Ea sep. What amT doing 


worse 
‘Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon, 
When he the legions led against his 


country, 
The which his’ country had delivered to 
E 
Had he thrown down the sword, he had 
‘been lost, 
As T were, if T but disarmed myself 
I trace out something in me of his spirit. 
Give me bie ack that other thing 2 


160 
fia quits him abruptly. Wate 
LENSTEIN, Mardled and ever 


powered, continwes looking 


b 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Scene TT 
WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, 
Tertsky, Max eee eft you? 
Wallenstein, Where is Wrangel ? 


Pewed h 

Hi bad coaey 66) Co 
seek him. 

See ee ee ot ae 


How, Pires rand where, could no one 
tell me, Nay, 
T half believe it was the devil himself; 
A human creature could not so at once 
Have vanished. 
dito (enters). Ts it true that thou wilt 
send 
Octavio? 
awone pent Octavio! 


0 
Walt He ot to Fravenberg, 
Jead hither 


The pai a and Tala regiments. 


net Heaven forbid ! 
Walienstcin, xd wiry sho leaves 
dita, Bin i handecelrert ‘Would'st 
thou trust to him 
The soldicry? Him wilt thou let slip 
from thee, 
Now, in the very instant that decides 


s— 
Tertsky. Thou wilt not do this !—No! 


‘Not 


i whimsical, 
© Dut for this time, Duke, 
Vieid ie ae our warning! Let him not 


Wallesstet And should Tenet 


then, has happened, 





SCENE 11D 


THE PICCOLOMINT 





That T should tose my good opinion of | On the profoundest science. If "ts alse 


In complaisance to your whims, not my 
own, 

T must, forsooth, give up a rooted judg- 
ment. 


Think not 1am a woman, Having 
him 


trusted 
E'en Sod, to-day too will I trast 
Terisky, Mast it be he—he only? Send 
another, 


Wallenstein, It must be he, whom I 
have chosen ; 
‘He is well fitted for the business. There- 
fore 


*” 
1 gave it him. 
Aika, Because he’s an Italian— 
‘Therefore is he well fitted for the business, 
Wallenstein. 1 know you love them 
not~=nor sire nor son— 
‘Recause that I esteem them, love them— 


visibly 

‘Esteem them, love them more than you 
and others, 

Eten as they merit, Therefore are they 
eye-blights, 

‘Thorns in your foot-path. But your 

‘Tn what affect they me or my concerns? 


Ol cause you 
Love or hate one another as you will, 
one eg 


Vet know the worth of each of you to me. 
Mile, Von soeeeenbergs while he was 
bere, was always 
about with the Octavio, 
Wallenstein, Ut happened with my 
edge and permission, 
Mile, L a Ont ‘secret messengers 
came to him 
From 
— 
With thy 
Wallenstein. wilt not shake 
My faith for me—my faith, which founds 


‘That's not true. 
O thou art blind 





‘Then the whole science of the stars is 
Ise, % 
For know, 2 have a pledge from Fate 


itself, 
‘That he is the most faithful of my friends. 
iis. Hast thou a pledge, that this 
pledge is not false? 
Wi tere. There exist moments in 
the life of man, 
When he is nearer the great Soul of the 
world 


Than is man’s custom, and possesses 
freely 

‘The power of questioning his destiny : 

And such a moment "twas, when in the 
night 

Before the action in the plains of Liitzen, 

Leaning against @ tree, thoughts on 
‘ing thoughts, 

I looked out far upon the ominous plain, 

My whole life, past and future, in this 
moment 

Before mymind’s eye glided in procession, 

And to the destiny of the next morning 

The spirit, filled with anxious presenti- 


ment, 

Did knit the most removed futurity. 

‘Then said I also to myself, ‘So many 

Dost thou command. They follow all 
thy stars, 

And as 7 some great number set their 


Upon thy single head, and only man 70 

The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day 

Will come, when Destiny shall once more 
scatter 

Alll these in many a several direction : 

Few be they who will stand out faithful 
to thee.” 

I yearn’d to know which one was faith> 
fullest ‘ 

Ofall, this camp included. Great Destiny, 

Give me a sign! And he shall be the 
man, 

Who, on the approaching morning, comes 
the first 

To meet me with a token of his love + 

And thinking this, I fell into a slumber. 

‘Then midmost in the bate was I led 8 





208 THE PICCOLOM) esi 


In spirit. Great the pressure and the ] They grow by certain laws, like the tree’s 
tumult ! fruit— 0 

‘Then was my horse killed under me: I | No Soezting chance can metamorphose 
sank: them, 

‘And over me away, all unconcemedly, | Have I the human kernel first exasnined ? 

Drove ay ‘and rider—and thus trod to | Then I know, too, the future will and 

action. 





Ih sata panted like a dying man. 
Thea erage me suddenly # saviour arm ; 

It was Octavio's—I awoke at once, . Sous TY’ 
'Twas broad day, and Octavio stood | SCRNE—A Chanrler # ProcoLoMINt’s 





before me. Drwelling- House, 
ay pes wg ag h Sees = Ocravio Piccolomini, TSOLANt 
The apple as you're wont; but mount fentering). 

the horse Jelani. Here am 1—Well! who 
Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, comes yet of the others? 

brother t Octavio (with an air a mystery) Bot, But, 
Tn love to me, A strong dream warned first, a word with you, Count 

me 80." Isolani. 
1v was the swiftness of this horse that | Jian (acwming the same air of 

snatched me mystery). Will it explode, ha? 
From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dra- —Is the Duke about 

goons. To make the attempt? In me, friend, 
My cousin rode the dapple on that day, you may place 


And never more saw I or horse or rider. | Full confidence.—Nay, put me to the 
Hilo, "That was a chance. proof, 
Wallenstein (significantly). There’sno | Octavio, That may happen. 










such thing as chance, Islami. Noble brother, T am 
In brief, "tis signed and sealed that this | Not one of those men who in words are 
Octavio valiant, 
Is my good angel—and now no word | And when it comes to action skulk away. 
more. (He is retiving. | The Duke has acted towards meas a 
Tertsky, This is my comfort—Max friend. 
remains our hostage. xor | God knows it is so; and I owe ate 
Tile, And he shall never stir from here all— 
alive. He may rely on my fidelity, 
Wallerstein (stops and turns himself | Octavio. Thar will joees hereafter. 
round). Are ye not like the |  /sani. your guard, 
women, who for ever All Le a ast think ; malt ui theeos 


Only recur to their first word, although 
One bad been talking reason by ‘the | Who stil hold with the Count—yen Sind 





hour? they say 
Know, that the human being’s thoughts | That shoes bles signatures bind them 
and deeds to nothing. 
Are not, like ocean billows, blindly Ovtevio, 1 am rejoiced to hear it. 
moved, | tselani, You lad 
‘The inner world, his microcosmus, is Octavio, That the Emperor bas 
The deep shaft, out of which they spring such gallant servants 
eternally. And loving friends 


EE 


THE PICCOLOMINT 


Fioleni, Nay, jeer not, Lentreat you. 
‘They are no sach worthless fellows, I 


assure you. 
Octavio. 1 am assured already. 


God 
forbid 7 

‘That 1 should jest!—In very serious 
carnest 

opera ae wre na Domest came 


strong. 
Sielani. The Devil !—what !—why, 
what means this? 
Are ae Dor see then——For what, then, 
here? 


Octevin That you may make fall de 
whether 


You wil be called the eh oF eneaxy 
Uselaed (ith am oir of delance), That 
cclaration, friend, 


TM make to him’ in Bete weigh a 
placed 
that question to me, 


To 
‘Whether, Count, 
That right sine, this paper may insu 


‘you. 
Soalani (stammering). Bibypswhry 
ree ! seis the Emperor's hand 
[Reads, 
‘whee the te ofcers collectively 
our army will obey the 


Of the Lieatenant-General Piccolomini 
As from curselves.’——Hem !—Yes ! 50! 
—Yes ! yes — 
It ire Yon Joy, Lleutenat- General 
And you submit you to the 


bet 78 taken by 
ve me 80 by surprise— 
Tims fo for reflection one must have— 


bi t=<5 ‘Two minutes. 
feolani. My Godt But then the case 
is— 
Oteri, Plain and simple, 
You must declare you, 
determine 


whether you | 


To act a treason "gainst your Lord and 





Or whether you’ will serve him faith- 
‘fully. 


Jielani, Treason !—My God 1—But 
who talks then of treason? 
Ovtavio, That isthe case, The Prince- 
Dake is a traitor— 
Means to lead over to the enemy 
The Emperor's army.—Now, Count !— 
brief and foll— 
Say, will you break your oath to the 
for? 
Sellyourself tothe enemy? Say, wilyou? 
Tsolani, What mean you ? 
my oath, d'ye say, 
To his Imperial Majesty ? 
Did I say 30?—When, when have I said 
that? 
Octavio. You have not said it 
not yet. ‘This instant 
T wait to hear, Count, whether you will 


ae 
yet 


say it. 
Tvolani. Aye! that delights me now, 
that you yourself 
Bear witness for me that I never said so, 
‘Octavio. And you renounce the Duke 
then? 
solani. ‘If he’s planning 
Treason—why, treason breaks all ‘bonds 
asunder. 
Octavio, And are determined, too, to 
fight against him? © 
Ssolani. He has done me service—but 
if he’s a villain, 
Perdition seize him !—All scores are 
rubbed off 
Oxtavie, 1 am rejoiced that you're 50 
well disposed. 
This night break off in the utmost secrecy 
With all the light-armed troops—it must 
appear 
As came the order from the Duke himself, 
At Frauenberg’s the place of rendezvous ; 
‘There will Count Galas give you further 


ers. 
Zeolani. It shall be done. 
remember me 
With the Emperar—how well disposed 
you found me. ~ 
Octavio, 1 will not fail to mention it 
honorably. 
[Bait Isorant. f Servant envers, 
What, Colone! Butler !—Shew him up. 


But you'll 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


Bolen pooerire) Fontes me bosier 
bearish ways, old father { 
Lord God! how should I know, then, 
what a great 
Person T had before in. 
Octane, No excuses ! 
Foland é Tam a meny led, and If at 


Mach etn tight ocken in tad the 

court 
Amid’st Phe nas Vor know no harm 
[Exit 


Octavia. Yon est ot te any of 
that score. 
‘That has succeeded, Fortune favour oa 
‘With all the others only but as much ! 


Scene V 
Ocrayio PiccoLomint, BUTLER. 
Butler. At your command, Lieutenant- 
General. 


Octavio. Welcome, as honoured friend 

and visitor. 

Butler. You do me too much honour. 

Octavio (after both kave seated them 
sefver). You have not 

Returned the advances which 1 made 


you yesterday 

Misunderstood Miceties mere empty 
forms. 

That wish proceeded from my heart—I 


was 
In earnest with you—for ‘tis now a time 


In which the 


closely. 
Antler, "Tis only the like-minded can 
unite. 
Octavio, Trae t Carncgennaclonae aor 
men like-minded. 
T never ziclaigs a man but with those 


honest should unite most 


To which his character deliberately 

Impels him ; for alas | the violence 

Of blind misunderstandings often thrusts 

The very best of us from the right 
track, 

You came through Frauenberg. Did 
the Count Galas 





Bertie pret ‘Tell me. He's 
Butler, ut Bs re we oe 
it me sore! 
re baw: Perret 
T had myself the like to offer, 
Butler. 
‘Yourself the trouble—me th’ embarrass- 
ment, a” 
To have deserved so ill your good 
Oe nee time is precious—tlet us 
‘matters stand here, 
Meditates treason —I can tell you 
furthee— 
He has committed treason; but few 
hours 


You know 
‘Wall 


Have past, since he a covenant con- 
cluded 
Wich ri stay The messengers are 


Full on hele way to and to Prague. 
To-morrow he int pahihe re us over 30 
himself; 


oo 
sag ee the loyal, all the 


To join and eecomnit in me tel feat 
C ts an 


That rashly uttered word remains in- 
ferred, 





THE PICCOLOMINI 


gor 





Real it, Butler? chuse « better ? 
‘Yor have not chosen the onl 
Butler | 


Farewell! . 
Octavia, What would you draw this 
lant sword 


(permits Aim to 40 a far as 
the door, then al yier ate | 
Butler ! 
‘What wish you 
How Seah wa sm Count? | 
‘Count? 
Octawis (coldly). “The title that you | 
wished I mean. 
Beatie (Rei cdi fasion), Hell | 
and damnation 


Octavia (coldly). You petitioned for 
was repelled—Was it 


a] 
Butler. Be thewhole world acquainted 
veith the weakness 
myself. 
es—T have 


Ne'er was I able to endure contempt, 
ee tence, that birth and 


coll oi merit has 





ae fain not be meaner than! my 


So in an soa hour I let myself 
Be tempted to that mensure—It was 
folly ! 
Bat yet so hard a penance it deserved nots 
Tt might have been refused ; but where- 
fore barb 
‘And venom the refusal with contempt? 
Why dash to earth and crush with 
heaviest scorn 
grey hired man, the faithful Veteran? 
Winey to the baseness of his parentage 
Refer him with such cruel roughness, 


only 
Because he had a weak hour and forgot 
himself? 


“But nature etek ‘@ sting een to the 


| Which aa Power treads on in spat 
and insul 
Octavio. You must have been atimth 
ated. Guess you 
‘The enemy, who did pee this ill service? 
Butler. Be't who it will—a most low- 
hearted scoundrel, 
Some vile court-minion must it be, some 
s 


Some Herd squire of some ancient 

Tn ie Sade light I may stand, some envious 

Stung to he oe by my fair self-enrned 
he 


jonours 
Octaxio, But tell met Did the Duke 
approve that measure ? 
Butler. Himself impelled me to it, 
‘used his interest 
Tn my behalf ful all the warmth ae 
friendshij 


Geteoie. ‘Ay?’ Are you sere’ef that? 
Butler. L read the letter. 
Octavio, And wo did bat the con- 

tents were di 
struck, 


(Boru wmikieah 

By chance I’m in possession of that 
Tetter— 

Can leave it to your own eyes to con- 


vince 
YO [Ute gives him the later, 





SENE VI 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


303 





Octavio, What's your design 
Butler, Leave me and m: Set 40 
Octasio, 1 have full i ys in you. 
Bat tell me 
What are you brooding? 
Ziuiler. That the deed will tell you. 
te as no more at present. Trust to 


Ye qe safely, the living God 
= give him peaare races angel! 
[2ut Borie. 
Servant aia with o Bille). A 
Joft it, and is gone, 
e's horses wait for you 
[2xit Servant. 
cet, *Be sure, make haste! 
‘Your faithful Isolan.’ 
—o a had but left this town behind 


Fe wpon a rock so near the haven !— 
Bieta pnts nw hehe 
for me! ist 


Where can my son be tarrying? 


‘Scene VI 
Octavio and Max Piccovommt. 


eerie Sa xe gf deren 
ment from extreme agitation, Sis eyes 
voll wildly, kis walk is unsteady, and 


compassion, He paces 

through the aoe then stands still 
again, and at (ast throws hinvself into a 
chair, marine 2 —— wt the object 
directly before him. 


Pees tim, Tam going 
(fesng wt ese ees 
( 9 sunriver it his 
hand, 
My son, farewell. 
Max, 
ee cramtm soc Cy tie? 


I follow thee ? 
irecfemeidmat vay way, 





[Octavio draps Ais hand, and starts 
back, 
O, hadst thon been but simple and sin- 


cere, 

Neer had it come to this—all had stood 
otherwise. 

He had not dane that foul and horrible 


deed, 

The virtuous had retained their influence 
ler him: 

He had not fallen into the snares of 
villains, 

Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's 
accomplice 

Disa comop behind bis ark ty 


0, cokes falsehood 1 Mother of ail 
evil! 

Thou misery-making demon, it is thou 

That sink’st us in perdition. Simple 
trath, 

‘Sustainer of the world, had saved us all! 

Father, I will not, I cannot excuse thee ! 

Wallenstein. has deceived me—O, most 
foully | 

But thou hast acted not much better. 


ravi. 
My son, ah! I forgive thy agony ! 
‘Max (rises and contemplates his father 
swith fools of suspicion). Was't 
porte had’st thou the heart, 
father, 

Had’st thou the heart to drive it to = 
Jengt! 

With cold premeditated purpose? 


‘hou— 
Had’st thou the heart, to wish to see him 


guilty, 
Rather than saved? Thou risest by his 
fall, 
Octavio, ‘twill not please me. 
Octavio. God in Heaven ! 
fax. OQ, woe is me! sure T have 
changed my nature. 


How comes suspicion here—in the free 


soul? 
Hope, confidence, belief, are gone; for 
all 


Lied to me, all that T e’er lowed or 
honoured. 





304 


THE PICCOLOMINI 


act ¥ 





“at alka ‘She—she yet lives 


Aaah gd open th Hee 
Murder and leony, ‘Lewin 

‘ani Treason, pees 
oe ae pee set wd is our hoe 


parting leave, 
‘The very last—no never ! 
Octavio. 


me, IT command thee! I, 4 
father, 
Mas, Command me what is human, 
T stay here. 
Octavio. preg in the Emperor's 
name T bid thee come. 
Max. No Emperor has power to pre» 
scribe 
Laws to the heart; and would'st thou 
wish to rob me 
OF the sole blessing which my fate has 
mi or Must th deed 
fer sympathy, Must then a cruel 
Be done with cruclty? The ae 
Shall I perform ignobly—steal 
With aealthy coward flight forme her? 
~ 
She sal eho my suffering, my sore 
Hear the complaints of the disparted 
soul, 
‘And weep tear o'er me, Ob! the hu- 


Have ety ane stat sbe aa et wie 
From a "ek deadly madness of de- 


Will oe wateem my soul, and in soft 
of comft prt loose this pang of 
th! 


Cis TO et: “aot “iar thyself 
away; thou canst not. 





O, come, my son! 1 bid thee save thy 
Max. Squander not thou thy words 
vain. 


‘Do sell thyself to him, the infamous, 
Do stamp this brand upon ont moble 


Then shall the world behold the horrible 


deed, 
‘And in unnatural combat shall the steel 
Of the son trickle with the father’ 


Max, O hadst thou always better 


1 
Unholy miserable doubt! ‘To him 
Nothing on earth remains 
and 


Who has no faith, 
Octavio, And If trust thy heart, 
‘Will it hedens in thy power to follow 


Max, "The heart's voice | ‘thou hast not 
o’erpower'd—as little *® 
fyi ‘Wallenstein Ue able to 


T leave thee hi nee Lothi mae 
C 
gg 
And Bre remain here to proteet 
They love thee, and are faithful to their 
oath, 
And will far rather fall in gallant con~ 
test 
‘Than | their rightful "leader, 
thar honoadt = 
Mas: Rely on thi, Tether eave sy 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


305 





‘Im. the struggle, of conduct them out of 
Pilsen.” 


‘Octavio. Farewell, my son ! 
re Farewell! 
How? not one look 


OF fill ie? No grasp ofthe hand at 


Ke isa oe war, to which we are 
going, % 


END OF THE 


And the event uncertain and in darkness. 
So used we not to. part—it was not so! 
Is it then true? I have a son no longer? 
[Max falls into his arms, they 
hold each for a leng time 
im a speechless embrace, then 

go away at different sists. 


The Curtain drops, 


PICCOLOMINI 


PART SECOND 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


A TRAGEDY 


“THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR 


THE two Dramas, PIccoLoMINi, or 
the first part of WALLENsTEIN, and 
lauraearsis, are introduced in the 
original manescript by a Prelude in one 
Act, entitled WaLtenstxin’s Camp. 
‘This is written in rhyme, and in nine- 

verse, in the same Jilting metre 


a sort of broad 
humoar, and is not deficient in character ; 
‘but to have translated it i 


je and purport ; to 

into the same metre 

have ietes a faoopetite with a 

faithful adherence to the sense of the 





of our language in thymes; and it 
would have been unndvisable from the 
incongruity of those lax verses with the 
Present taste of the English Public, 
Schiller’s intention seems to have been 
merely to have prepared his reader for 
the Tragedies by a lively picture of the 
laxity of discipline, and the mutinous 
dispositions of Wallensteln's soldiery. 
It is 

planation. 

‘been thought expedient not to translate 
it. 

‘The admirers of Schiller, who have 
abstracted their idea of that author from 
the Aoberr, and the Cale! and Love, 
plays in which the main interest is pro- 

luced by the excitement of curiosity, 
and in which the curiosity is excited by 
terrible and extraordinary incident, will 
not have perused without some portion 
of disappointment the Dramas, which it 
has been my employment to translate, 
‘They should, however, reflect that these 


x 








AYE" 
ete 


By’ 





ALLS 
Wein 


SCRE IT 


And Card hed exist, besides through 
Confeie m, Thli: ‘have you seen 
Tacha Meer sit yetuay 2 have 


not seen him. 
Countess. And not heard from him 
either? Come, be open! 9 
Theble, No syllable, 
Counters. And still you are 0 calm ? 
Thedia. Tam. 
Countess. May't please you, leave us, 
Lady Neubrunn ! 
(2x Lapy Nevprunn, 


Scene II 
The Countess, Turxna. 


Countess. It does not please me, 
Princess ! that he holds 
Himself so still, exactly at this time, 
— ‘sesh at this time ? 
He now knows all. 
“ee the moment to declare him- 


Thekla, If Ym to understand you, 
Se eAP Tk eat parpoee th 

Comntess, ‘was for that that 
Thade her leave us 


“Whekla, you are no more a child, Your 
heart 


Is BoM ia more Ja nonage for you 
love, 
And snes dwells with love—that you 
ve 
‘Your nature moulds itself uy our 
father's — 10 
More than your mother's spirit. There- 
fore may you 
‘Mear, what were too much for her forti- 
Thekla. Enough! no farther preface, 
Tentreat you, 
At ones at with i Be it what it 
Tt is not oe penile that it should torture 


me 
More than this introduction. What have 
you 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





37 


To say tome? Tell me the whole and 
briefly ! 
Countess, You'll not be frightened— 
Tiekia. Name it, I entreat you. 
Countess. Tt lies within your power to 
do your father 
A weighty service— 
Thea. Lies within my power? 
Countess. Max Piccolomini loves you. 
You can link him a 
Indissolubly to your father. 
Thekls. 


1 
What need of me for that? And is he 


not 
Already linked to him? 
Countess. He was. 
Thekla. And wherefore 
Should he not be so now—not be so 
always? 
Countess, He cleaves to the Emperor 


too. 
Thekla. Not more than duty 
And honour may demand of him. 
Countess. We ask 
Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his 
honour. 
Duty and honour ! 
‘Those are ambiguous words with many 


meanings. p 
You should interpret them for him : his 
love 
Should be the sole definer of his honour. 
Thekla, How? 
Countess, The Emperor or you must 
he renounce. 
Thekla, He will accompany my father 
gladly 


In his retirement, From himself you 


heard, 
How much he wished to lay aside the 
sword. 
Countess. He must not lay the sword 
aside, we mean ; 
He ec tas ——— it in your father's 


Tihekls, He'll spend with gladness and 
alacrity 

His life, his eatt's blood in my father’s 
cause, 

If shame or Injary be intended him. 





8 


Countess. You will not understand me. 
Well, hear then t 
Your father has fallen off from the Em- 


peror, 
And is about to join the enemy 
With the whole soldiery— 
Thedia, Alas, my mother ! 
Countess, There needs a great example 
to draw on 
The army after him. The Piccolomini 
Possess the love and reverence of the 
troops 5 
‘They govern all opinions, and wherever 
They lead the way, none hesitate to fol- 
low. 


Py 
‘The son secures the father to our in- 
terests— 
You've much in your hands at this 
moment. 
Thebla. Ah, 
My miserable mother! what a death- 
stroke 
Awaits thee !—No! She never will sur- 
vive it, 
Connters. She will accommodate her 
sonal to that 
Which is and must be. I do know your 
‘mother. 


‘The far-off future weights upon her heart 

With torture of anxiety but is it 

Unalterably, actually present, 

She soon resigns herself, and bears i 
calmly. 

Thekla, O =y fore-boding Speer 

Even n 

E’en now ’tis tery that icy hand of 
horror! 

And my young hope Ties shuddering in 
its grasp 

I knew it well—no sconer had I entered, 

‘An heavy ominous presentiment 

Revenled to me, that spirits of death 
were hovering 

Over my happy fortune. But why think F 

First of myself? My mother! O my 
mother 

Countess, Calm yourself ! 

‘out in vain lamenting ! 

Preserve you for your father the firm 
friend, rn 


PE 





Break not 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN =a) 








And for yourself the tover, all will yet 
foi 


Must we not part? Part ne'er to meet 


again? 
Countess. He parts not from you! He 
can not part from you. 
Thekia. Alas for his sore anguish} It 
will rend 
His heart asunder. 
Countess. If indeed he loves you, 
His resolution will be speedily taken. 
Thekla. Vis resolution will be speedily 
take 


o— 
O do not doubt of that! A resolution ! 
Does there remain one to be taken? 
Countess, Hush! 
Collect ae 1 I hear your mother 
& 
Thebia. | HW shall I bear to see her? 
Countess, Collect yourself. 


Scene UI 
To them enter the Docattss. 


Duchess (to the Countess), Who was 
here, sister? I heard some one 
talking, 

And passionately too. 

Countess, Nay There was no one. 

Duchess. 1 am grown so timorous, 
every trifling noise 

Scatters my spirits, and announces to 
me 

The foorstep of some messenger of evil. 

And can sis = me, sister, what the 
event is 

Will he pa! to do the Emperor's 
pleasure, 

And asd the horve-regiments to the 
Cardinal? 

Tell me, has he dismissed Von Questen- 











berg 
With a favourable answer? 
Countess. No, he has not. 
Dwekess. Alas! then all is lost! 1 
see it coming, 8 
‘The worst that can comet Ves, 
will depose him ; 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





The accused busines af the Regensparg 
‘Will all be acted o'er again ! 
Countess. No! never! 


Make your heart easy, sister, as to that. 
[THEKLA, én extreme agitation, 


throws us her 
mother, and i ag ine 
her arms, weeping. 
Duchess. Yes, my poor child ! 
‘Thon too hast lost a most affectionate 
In the 
Peay serine what have I 
Not suffered, not endured, For ev’n as if 
Bias Tae Soler ‘on to some wheel of 
ov 
‘That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous 
Tierra ais of fights and horrors 


Dette si of soos xiv 
With dizzy headlong violence he whirls 


Epes © that stern unbend- 


me. 
Nay, do not weep, my child! Let not 
a h 


Presignify unhappiness to thee, 

Nor blacken nigra their shade the fate 
that wnits 

There carn ‘no cel Friedland : thou, 


Hast io ter thy mother's destiny. 30 
Thelies ket ws supplicate him, 


dearest mother ! 
Quick ! quick! here's no abiding-place 
for ux 


hour broods inte life 


Duchess, 
An easicr, calmer lot, may child! 


00, 

Land thy father, witnessed happy days. 

Still think T with delight of those first 
yeark, 

‘When be was making progress with glad 
effort, 


‘When his ambition was a genial firc, 
Not that consuming flame which now it 
is. 


” 


We 





The Emperor loved him, trusted him : 
and all 
He undertook could not but be success- 


ful. 
Bat since that ill-starred day at Regens- 


purg, 
Which plunged him headlong from his 
dignity, 
A gloomy uncompanionable spirit, 
Unsteady and suspicious, has 


him. 
His quiet mind forsook him, and no 


Jonper 
Did he yield up himself in joy and faith 
To his old luck, and individual power ; 
But thenceforth turned his heart = 
best affections 
All to those cloudy sciences, which nae 
Haye yet made happy him who followed 
them, 
Countess. You see it, sister! ax your 
eyes permit you. 
But surely this is not the conversation 
To pass the time in which we are wait- 
ing for him. 
You know he will be soon here. Would 
you have him 
Find her in this condition? 
Duchess, Come, my child | 
Come, wipe away thy tears, and shew 
thy father 


A cheerful countenance. 
knot here 

Is off—this hair must not hang so _ 
hevelles 


See, the tie: 


Come, dearest {dry shy bosiogs They 


Thy paar eye—well now—what was I 
saying? 

‘Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini 

Is a most noble and deserving gentle- 
man, 

Countess. That is he, sister ! 

Thekla (fo the Countess, with marks of 
great oppression of spirits). Aunt, 
you will excuse me? [Zs going. 

Countess. But whither? See, your 
father comes. 

Thesla, T cannot see him now. 

Countess, Nay, but bethink you, 








SCENE IY 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


Which doth enchant the soul. Now such | Cotntess. Max does she love! Max 


a 
‘Will drive away for me the evil damon 
eee black wings close above 


‘My mother! 


Duchess, Trembling? Come, collect 
thyself. Go, cheer 


"aa 
© my mother ! I—T cannot. 
Countess. nda is that, 


Of the plerburthen'd soul—to sing to 
Who is thrusting, even now, my mother 


abruptly, 
Duchess, My child! O she is ill— 
Wallenstein. What ails the maiden? 
Say, is she often so? 
Countess. 


Has now betrayed it, I too must no 


Since then herself 





Piccolomini. 
Hast Kho noticed it? Nor yet my 


Duchess. Was it this that Jay so heavy 

on her heart ? 

God’s blessing on thee, my sweet child ! 
needest 


Never take shame upon thee for thy 
choice. 


Countess. This ji journey, if "twere not 
aim, ascribe 
‘To thine own self. Thou shouldest hast 
chosen another 
To have attended her, 
Wallenstein. And does he know it ? 
Countess, Yes, and he hopes to win 


her. 
Wallenstein, 
Is the boy mad? 
Countess, Well—hear it from them- 
selves. 
Wallenstein. He thinks to carry off 
Duke Friedland’s daughter ! 
‘Ay?—The thought pleases me. 
The young man has no grovelling pit 
Countess, 
Such and such constant favour you ine 
shewn him, 
Wallenstein, We chuses finally to be 


Hopes to win her! 


my heir. 
And true it is, I love the youth ; Liga 
honour him, 
Bat papi he eras be my danghters 's 


Isit ees only? Is it only children 
‘That we must shew our favour by ? 
Duchess, His noble disposition and 
his manners— 
Wallenstein, Win. hima my heart, but 
not my daughter. 
Duchess. 
His rank, his ancestors— 
Wallenstein, Ancestors | What ? 
He is a subject, and my son-in-law 
T will seck out upon the thrones of 
Ei 


Then 


jurope. 
Duchess, O dearest Albrecht ! Climb 

we hot too high, % 
Lest we should fall too low, 








SCENE Vit 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


3t3 





Wallenstein. Mine! 
Tertsty, We are betrayed. 
ners ‘What? 
‘erteky, They are off! This night 
me ‘Jagers Tikewise—all the villages 
In the whole round are empty. 
Wallenstein. Tsolani? 
Tertsky. Vim thou hast sent away. 
‘Yes, surely. 


Terteky, No | Hast thou not sent him 
off? Nor Deodate? 
‘They are vanished both of them. 


Scene VI 
To them enter 111.0. 


pond Has Tertsky told thee ? 
Tertsky. He’ knows all. 

iiie, And likewise 

That rad , Goetz, Maradas, Kau. 


Kolatto, Palfi, have forsaken thee. 
Tertsky, Damnation | 
Wallensteis (winks at them). Hash t 
Countess {wdo Aas been watching them 
from the distance and 
now advances to them). Tertsky ! 
Heaven! What is it? What has 


happened ? 
Wallenstein (scarcely suppressing his 
‘enotions). Nothing ! let us be 


gone | 
Tardy fering him). Theres, 


Countess (holding Rim back), Nothing? 
T not see, that all the life- 


blood 
‘Has left your cheeks—look you not like 
? 


a ghost 
“That even my brother but affects a calm- 
; 


ness 10 
Page (esters), An Aid-du-Camp en- 
quires for the Count Tertsky. 
[Teatsnr fallows the Page. 
Wallenstein, Go, hear his business. 
[7 Ino. 
ge! could not have happened 
So unsuspected without mutiny. 
Who was on guard at the gates? 





He, "Twas Tiefenbach. 
Wallenstein, Let Tiefenbach leave 
guard without delay, 
And Tertsky’s grenadiers relieve him. 
{liz0-6 gone, 


Hast thou heard aught of Butler?» 

His, Him I met. 
He will be here himself immediately, 
Butler remains unshaken, 

[Ito en. Wartensrain is 
following him, 

Countess, Let him not leave thee, 

sister ! go, detain him ! *” 
‘There's some misfortune, 

Duchess (clinging to him), Gracious 

heaven! What is it? 

Wallenstein. Be t il! leave me, 

sister! dearest wife ! 
We are in camp, and this is nought 
unusual § 
Here sits ee sunshine follow one 


With ae a ey ‘These fierce 
spirits 
Champ the curb angrily, and never yet 
Did quiet bless the temples of the leader. 
If Lam to stay, go you. The plaints of 
women 
Ill suit the scene where men must act. 
(Ae is going: Tewrsny returns. 
Tertsky, Remain here. From this 
window must we see it. 30 
Wattenstein (to the Countess). Sister, 
retire f 
Countess. ‘No—never. 
Wallenstein. "Tis my will. 
Tertshy (leads the Countess aside, amd 
drawing her attention to the 
Duchess). Theresa! 
Duchess, Sister, come! since he com- 
mands it. 


Scene VII 
WALLENs Tern, TERTSKY. 

Wallenstein (stepping ta the window), 
What now, then? 

Tertsky, ‘There are strange movements 
among all the troops, 





344 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





And no one knows the cause. Mys: 


With gisonzy sifiniem, the several ectpe 
Marshal themselves, each under its own 


‘banners. 
Tiefenbach’s corps make threatening 
movements ; only 
The Pappenheimers still remain aloof 
In their own quarters, and let no one 
enter. 
Wallenstein, Does Piccolomini sppear 
among them? 
Tertsky. We axe secking him: he is 
mo where to be met with. to 
Wellensteim. What did the Aid-de- 
‘Camp deliver to you? 
My regiments had dispatched 
jim ; yet once more 
They swear fidelity to thee, and wait 
The shout for onset, all prepared, and 


eager. 

Wallenstein, Bot whence arose this 
larum in the camp? 

It should have been kept secret from the 


army, 
Till fortune had decided for ws at Prague. 
Tertsky. © that thou hadst believed 
me! Yester evening 
Did we conjure thee not tolet that skulker, 
‘That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen. 
Thou gnv’st him thy own horses to fee 
from thee. 
Wallenstein. The old tune still ! Now, 
once for all, no more 
Of this suspicion—it is doting folly, 
Tertsky. Thou did’st confide in Isolani 
too 
And lo! he was the first that did desert 


thee. 
Wallenstein. Tt was but yesterday 1 
rescued him 
From abject wretchedness. Let that go 


T never reckon’d yet on gratitude. 

And wherein doth he wrong in going 
from me? 

He follows still the god whom all his life 

He has worshipped at the gaming table. 
With = 

My Fortune, and my seeming destiny, 





He made the bond, and broke it not with 
me. 

I am but the ship in which his bopes 

lee 

And with the wi and 
confident. 

He traversed the open sea; now 
beholds it 

In imminent jeopardy among the coast~ 

And dente lo pee 


‘As the Pet bird frou tho panei 
‘Whee. bel aeteloes the of tom 


No hema tie bobs are 

‘Yea, he deserves to pine fino 
Who secks a heart in the unthinking ma, 

Like saleee on a stream, the forms of 


Iuapelas thar ichecactlsgtea eee 
forehead, 
hogs into the bosom's silent 
i 


lepth 

Quick ibility of | and 

Mover the, Tight re light 
soul 


Trast the smooth beow than that — 
ferrowed one. 


Scene VIII 
WALLENSTEIN, TeRTSK¥, TLLO. 


Hie (sho enters agitated with rage). 
‘Treason and mstiny ! 
Tertsly. ‘And res farther now = 
Hig, Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave 
the orders 
‘To go off guart—Mutinous villains 1 
Tertshy, Wall © 
Wallenstein, What followed? 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


35 





e bad issue orders but 
ener 


too, and Montecuculi, 
with six other Generals, 
induced to follow him. 


Counters. This suspense, 
“Whis horrid fear—T can no longer bear 
‘For heaven's sake, tell me, what has 

taken 


Tertsky. Hdst thou but believed me! 
‘Now seest thou how the stars have lied 


to thee. 
Wallenstein, The stars lie not; but 
we have here a work 
Wrought counter to the stars and 


‘The science is still honest : this false 
heart 


10 





Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven. 

On a divine law divination rests ; 

Where nature deviates from that law, 
and stumbles 

Out of her limits, there all science errs. 

‘True, I did not suspect! Were it super- 
stition 

‘Never by such suspicion t’ have affronted 

The human form, O may that time ne'er 


come 
In which T shame me of the infirmity. 
The wildest sage drinks not with the 


sim 
Tnto whose breast he means to plunge 
sword, 0 
‘This, this, Octavio, was no hero's deed : 
°Twas not thy prudence that did conquer 
mine 5 
A bad heart triumphed o'er an honest 


‘one. 

No shield received the assassin stroke ; 
thou plungest 

Thy ‘on an unprotected breast— 

Against such weapons I am but a child. 


Scene X 
To these enter BUTLER. 


Tertsky (meeting him). © look there! 
Butler! Here we've still a friend! 
Wallenstein (meets him with outspread 
arms, and embraces him with 
warmth). Come to my heart, old 
comrade! Not the sun 
Looks out upon us more revivingly 
In the earliest month of spring, 
‘Than a friend’s countenance in such an 
hour. 
Butler, My General : 1 come— 
Wallenstein (leaning om Butler's 
shoulders), Know’st thou already? 
‘That old man has betrayed me to the 
Emperor. 
What say'st thou? Thirty years have 
we together 
Lived out, and held out, sharing joy and 
hardship. 
We have slept in one camp-bed, drunk 
from one glass, By 








SCENE XIE THE DEATH OF 


WALLENSTEIN 37 





My 


‘Once more my life-blood flows ! 

1 the ‘ght aly Friedland 

in ly Fri 's stars can 
beam. 


Lingering irresolute, with fitful fears 
Tdrew the sword—'twas with an inward 
strife, 


While yet the choice was mine. The 

‘murderous knife fo 

Is ifted for msy heart! Doubt disappears ! 

T fight now for my head and for my life. 

[Exit WALLENSTEIN 5 the others 
follow hime, 


Scene XI 


Countess Tertshy (enters from a side 
T can endure no longer. 


[Looks around her. 
Where are they? 
Noone ishere, They leave me all alone, 
Alone in this sore anguish of suspense, 
And I must wear the outward shew of 
calmness 


Before my sister, and shut in within me 
The pangs and agonies of my crowded 
‘bosom. 


Tt is not to be borne.—If all should fai 
Tf—if he mast go aver to the Swedes, 
An empty-handed fugitive, and not 

‘As an ally, a covenanted equal, * 
A proad commander with ‘his army 

following 

Xf we mast lt on from land to land, 
‘ike the Count Palatine, of fallen great: 


‘ness 
ignominious monument—But no! 
a day T will not see! And could 
Tieaself 


2aduare to sink so low, I would not bear 
"Do see him 0 low sunken. 


Scene XID 


Countess, Docuess, THEKLA. 


Phebe (endeavoring to hold back the 
Duchess). Dear mother, do stay 





beret 


Duchess. No! Here is yet 
Some frightful mystery that is hidden 
from 


me. 
Why does my sister shun me? Don't 1 
see her 
Full of suspense and anguish roam 
about 
From room to room ?—Art thou not full 
of terror? 
And what import these silent nods and 
gestures 
Which stealthwise thou exchangest with 
her? 
Thekla. Nothing: 
Nothing, dear mother ! 
Duchess (to the Countess), Sister, I will 
know, 
Countess, What boots it now to hide 
it from her? Sooner 
‘Or later she must lear to hear and box’ 
it. 
‘Tis not the time now to indulge in- 
firmity, 
Courage bescems us now, a heart col- 
lect, 
And exercise and previous discipline 
Of fortitude. One word, and over with 
it! 
Sister, you are deluded. You believe, 
‘The Duke has been deposed—The Duke 
is not 
‘Deposed—he is—— 
Thebla (going to the Cotentess), What? 
do you wish to kill hee? 
Countess. The Duke is— 
Thedla (throwing her arms round her 
mother). O stand firm! stand 
firm, my mother t 
Countess. Revolted is the Duke, he is 
preparing = 
To join the enemy, the army leave 
him, 
And all has failed, 

[ During these words the Decuess 
totters, and falls im @ faint- 
ing fit into’ the arms of her 
dasghter, White THEKLA 
tscalling for help, the curtain 
drops. 











THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


‘Scene U1 
WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY, ILLO, Tos 


ance. He takes his hat off, and imme 
diately covers himself again). 
Anipessade, Walt! Front! Present t 
Wallenstein {after he has run through 
‘Hem with his eye, to the Anspes- 
sade). an thee well. Thou 
art out of Briiggin in Flanders: 
‘Thy name is Mercy. 
Henry Mercy. 
im. Thou wert cut off on the 
‘march, surrounded by the Hessians, and 
didst ee thy way with sa hapten and 
eighty men onal their thou: 
"Twas even $0, "General ! 
altel. bots reward hadst _ 
gallant ex; 
Anspessade, That which I asked it 3 


among the volunteers that 
at and made rahe ‘of the Swedish 
battery at Altenburg, 

Second Cuirassier, Yes, General ! 

Wallenstein. 1 forget no one with 
whom I haveexchanged words. (4 pause.) 
‘Who ends you? 

thir Your noble regiment, 2 
‘Cairassiers of Piccolomini. 

Wallensirin ‘Why docs not your 
colonel deliver in your requést, accord- 
‘ing to the custom of service? 

Anipevads, Because we would first 


your 

Wallenstzin (turning toa third), ‘Thy 
tame is Risbeck, Cologne is thy birth 
Place. » 


§ Asspesede, in German, Ce/reiter, a soldier 

Inferior to a corporal, but above the centinels, 

‘The German naumeimplics that he is exempt from 
waar 





39 


Third Cuirassier, Risheck of Cologne. 

Wallenstein. 11 was thou that brought- 
est in the Swedish colonel, Diebald, 
prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg. 

Third Cwirassier. Wt was not 1, 
‘Goneral ! 

Wallenstein, Perfectly right! Tt was 
thy elder brother; thou hadst « younger 
brother too: Where did he stay? 40 

Third Cwirassier. He is stationed at 
Olmute swith the Imperial army. 

Wallenstein (to the Anspessade). Now 
then—begin, 

Anspessade, There came to hand a 

letter from the Emperor 
Commanding us—— 

Wallenstein (interrupting him). Who 

chose you? 


Anspessade. 
Drew its own man by 
Wallenstein, Now! to the business, 
Anspessade. There came to hand a 
letter from the Emperor 
Commanding us collectively, from thee 
All duties of obedience to withdraw, 0 
Because thou wert an enemy and traitor. 
Wallenstein, And what did you deter- 
mine? 
Anspessade. AX) our comrades 
At Brannau, Budweiss, Prague and 
‘Olmutz, have 
Obeyed already, and the regiments here, 
Tiefenbach and Toscano, instantly 
Did follow their example. But—but we 
Do not believe that thou art an enemy 
And traitor to thy country, hold it merely 
For lie and trick, and a tramped-up 
Spanish story! (With warmth.) 
Thyself shalt tell us what thy purpose 


For we are found thee still sincere es 
true: 
No mouth shall interpose itself betwixt 
The gallant General and the gallant 
troops. 
Wallenstein. Therein 1 recognize my 
Pappenheimers, 
Anspessade. And this proposal makes 
thy regiment to thee : 
1s it thy purpose merely to preverve 


=| 
| 
| 





370 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN =a 





In thy own hands this military sceptre, 

Which so becomes thee, which the 
Emperor 

Made over to thee by a covenant ? 

Is it thy purpose merely to remain 

Supreme commander of the Austrian 
armies ?— 

We will stand by thee, General! and 

guarantee 
‘Thy les rights against all opposition. 
And should it chance, that all the other 


7” 


A treason which thou moditatest—that 
Thou ae not to lead the ene] 


To he to wee poriceriiernied 
Wali a me are they betrmmy 
ror 
Hath eae me to my enemies, 


And 1 mast fil, theese eas 
will nar me. See! I comfide 


regiments reson hearts my strong hold! 4 
Turn from thee, by ourselves will we this breast 
stand forth The aim is taken, at this hoary head. 


Thy faithful soldiers, and, as is our duty, 
Far rather let ourselves be cut to pieces, 
‘Than suffer thee to fall. But if it be 
As the Emperor's letter says, if it be true, 
‘That thou in traitorous wise wilt lead us 
over 8 
‘To the enemy, which God in heaven 
forbid ! 
‘Then we too will forsake thee, and obey 
‘That letter—— 
Wallenstein. Hear me, children! 
Ansperade, ‘Yes, or no! 
ihee weeds po other answer, 


Wallenstein. Yield attention. 
You're men of sense, examine for your- 
‘selves 5 
Ye think, and do not follow with the 
henl : 
And therefore have I always shewn you 
honour 


Above all others, suffered you to reason ; 
Have treated you as free men, and my 
orders * 
Were a the echoes of your prior saf- 
cepa Most fair and noble has 
thy conduct been 
Tous, my General ! With thy confidence 
‘Thou hast honoured us, and shewn us 
grace and favour 
Beyond ‘all other regiments ; and thos 
sot 
We foltow not the common bent We will 
‘Stand by thee faithfally, Speak bat one 


es, that it is aot 





ball 












‘This is your Spanish grationde this is oxy 
Requital for that murderous fight x 
Lu 


teen ! 
For this we threw the naked reat 
against 
‘The halbert, made for this the free 
earth 
Our bed, and the hard stome our pilew! 
never stream 


T fc wood! 
a for us, nor parhrgeteien 


flight ¢ 
Yea, our whole life was but one retlet 
march 3 
And rene ring wid, wt 


With faithful indefatigable are 
Have rolled the beavy war-load 





SCENE UT 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





Anspessade, That shall he not, while 
we can binder it! 3 


frightfal war, 1p 
‘Thou led’st us out into the bloody field 
Of death, thon and no other shalt con- 
Rejociag, tothe ove) 
icing, to t ly plains of peace— 
‘Shalt share with us the fruits of the long 


toil— 
Wallenstein. What? Think you then 
‘at length in late old age 
To enjoy the fmits of toil? Believe it 
not. 


Never, no never, will you see the end 
‘OF the contest! you and me, and all of 


‘Us, 

‘This war will swallow up! War, war, 
not peace, 

Ts Austria's wish; and therefore, be- 


tion by their gestures. 

Ye're moved—T see 

AN noble rage fiash from your eyes, ye 
t 

‘Dh that my might possess you now 
‘Daring as once it led you to the battle ! 
‘Yewould stand by me with your veteran 
is 
196 
‘Bot think not that you can accomplish it, 
Your scanty number ! to no purpose will 


Have eesitced you for your General. 
[Conmfidentiatly, 
Not tet us tread securely, seck for 
friends ; 


ama, 
Protect me in my rights; and this 
noble ! 


The Swedes have proffered us assistance, 
Tet us 

Wear for a while the appearance of good 
will, 

And use them for our profit, till we 
both 

Carry the fate of Europe in our hands, 

‘And from our camp to the glad jubilant 

| world 

Lead Peace forth with the garland on 
her head | 160 

Anspessade, "Tis then but mere appear- 

ances which thou 

Dost put on with the Swede? Thou'lt 


not betray 

| The Emperor? Wilt not turn us into 
Swedes? 

‘This is the only thing which we desire 

To lear from thee. 

Wallenstein. What care 1 for the 

Swedes? 

I hate them as I hate the pit of hell, 

And under Providence I trust right soon 

To chase them to their homes across 
their Baltic, 

My cares are only for the whole: I 
have 

A heart—it bleeds within me for the 
miseries 170 

And piteous groaning of my fellow: 
Germans, 

Ye are but common men, but yet ye 
think 

With minds not common ; ye appear to 





me 
Worthy before all others, that I whisper 


e 
A little word of two in confidence ! 

See now ! already for full fifteen years 
The war-torch has continued burning, 

t 
No resi, no pause of ‘conflict. Swede 
and German, 
Papist and Lutheran ! neither will give 


way 
To the other, every hand’s against the 
other, 180 
| Each one is party and no one a judge. 
‘Where shall this end? " Where's he that 
will unravel 


y 





322 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





This tangle, ever tangling more and 
more, 

Tt must be cut asunder. 

I feel that am the man of destiny, 

And trust, with your assistance, to accom: 
plish it 


Scene IV 
To these enter BUTLER. 


Butler (passionately). General! ‘This 
is not right ! 
Wallenstein. ‘What is not right? 
Butler. We mast needs injure us with 
all honest men. 
Wallenstein. But what? 
Butler. 1h is an open proclamation 
Of insurrection, 
Wallenstein, Well, well—but what 
is it? 
Butler. Count Tertsky's 
tear the Imperial Eagle 
From off the banners, and instead of i 
Have reared aloft thy arms. 
Anspessade (abruptly to the Cs 
rassiers). Right about! March 
Wallenstein, Cursed be this counsel, 
and accursed who gave it! 
[7 the Cuirassiers, who are 
retiring. 
Halt, children, halt ! There’s some mis- 
take in this; 
Hark !—I will punish it severely. Stop! 
They do not hear, (7% It10.) Gay 
after them, assure them, 
And bring them back to me, cost ae | 
it may. [I.L0 hurries out. 
This hurls us! ahaa tae Butler! Butler! | 
You are my evil genius, wherefore must 
you 
Announce it in their presence? It was 
all 
In a fair way. They were half won, 
those madmen 
With their improvident over-readiness— 
A cruel game is Fortune playing with 
me. 
‘The zeal of friends it is that razes me, 
And not the hate of enemies, 


regiments 


Scexn V 


To these enter the DUCHESS, twiko asl 
into the Chamber, "THERLA and & 
CounTess follow her, 


Duchess, O Albrecht! 
What hast thou done? 
Wallenstein. And now comes 
beside, 
| Counters, Forgive me, brother! 
was not in my power, 


‘They know all, 
‘Dwchess. What hast thou doneee? 

Cowstess (to Tertsky). Is there 
hope? | ll lost ntteriy?, 

Tertsty, Millost, No hope Prrsagye 
in the Emperor's hands, 

| The soldiery have ta'en their oaths anew, 
Countess. That lurking hypocrite, 
Octavio t 
Count Max is off too? 
Tertsty, —_ Where canhe be? He's 
Gone over to the Emperor with his father, 
[THERLA revshes out inte the arms 
of her mother, Aiding ker 
face in her basen. 

Duchess (emfoiding her im her arm. 
Unhappy child ! amd mote 
happy mother ! 

| ‘allenstein (axéde to eer Quid! 
carriage stand in readines 
In the court behind the palace, Scie 
fen! 


Be their attendant ¢ he is faithful 16 = 
To Egra he'll conduct them, and wt 
follow, 
| [72 IL.o, ote eter 
Thou hast not brought them back? 
Tilo, Hear'st thon the seat) 
| The whole corps of the Pepeseoea 
| Drawn out : the younger 
Their colonel, they We Seay for | 


here, « priscatt} 


affirm, 
That he is in the palace 
And if thou dost not instantly Eee 
him, 
They will find means to free hin wid 


the sword. [All stand! amaseh 
Tertsky. What shall we make of this? 





Sexe 


THE DEATH OF WALLENS 


TEIN 333 





5 Malina a fe I not so? 
ay prophetic heart ! he is still here. 
E¥e his not betrayed me—he could not 
betray me. 
IE ssever dobicd of 
Countess. If he be 
Still here, then all goes well; for 1 
koow what 
[Embracing Turia. 
‘Will keep him here for ever. 

Tartsky. It can't be. 
Eis father has betrayed us, is gone over 
¢ son could not have 

~ 


say behind. 
Thee (her eye fixed om the door), 
There he is ! 


Scene VI 
To these enter Max Precovomini. 
Max. Yes! here be is! I can endure 


no 
To ‘on tiptoe round this house, and 
Tn ambush for a favourable moment. 

eben, this suspense exceeds my 


[adsencing fo THERLA, who Aas 
thrown herself into her 
mother’s arms, 
‘Turn not thine eyes away. O look upon 
me! 
Confess it freely before all. Fear noone, 
Let oh hear that we both love each 


er. 
Wherefore continue to conceal it? 


Bescon 2 

Ts for the happy — misery, hopeless 
misery, 

Siggpak ro no veils 


Beneath a thousand 


10 


He observes the COUNTESS looking 
ou THEKLA with expressions 
of triumph. 

No, Lady! No! 
Expect not, hope it not. I am not 
come 


1 dae teeny. 





To stay: to bid farewell, farewell for 
‘ever. 
For this I come t 
leave thee } 
Thekla, I must—must leave thee ! 
thy hatred 
Let me not take with me, 
grant me 
One look of sympathy, only one look. 
Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it 
to me, Thekla ! 
[Gragts her hans. 
O God! I cannot leave this spot—I 
cannot ! 
Cannot let go this hand, 
Thekla ! 
That thou dost suffer with me, art ae 
vineed 
That I can not act otherwise, 
(Turx1a, avoiding his look, points 
with her hand to her father. 
MAX fwrms round to the 
DUuKE, whom he had wot fill 
then perceived, 
Thou here? It was not thou, whom here 
T sought. 
I trusted never more to have beheld 
thee. 
My business is with her alone. 
will T 
Receive a full acquittal from this heart— 
For any other [ am no more con- 


"Tis over! 1 must 


Yet 


1 pray thee, 


O tell me, 


Here 


cemed. 
Wallenstein. Think'st thou, that fool- 
like, I shall let thee 0, 
And act the mock-magnanimous with 
thee? 
‘Thy father is become a villain to me ;_ 30 
I hold thee for his son, and nothing 


more : 

Nor to no purpose shalt thou have been 
given 

Into my power, 
honour 

That ancient love, which so remorse- 
lessly 

He mangled. ‘They are now past by, 
those hours 

Of friendship and forgiveness. Hate and 
vengeance 


Think not, that I will 








Saese vn 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





AN Bxcred my feclings towards thee? Many 
thousands 
© Rcave Pmade rich, presented them with 
lands. 
sewarded them with dignities and 
honours 
ce have I loved: my heart, my self, [ 
gave 
“o thee! ‘They all were aliens: thou 
wert 
child and inmate,! 


=z Tent aes ese, i think 
‘t cannot be; I may not, will not thin! 
at Tem 


Max! Thou 


Wallenstein, 
‘Wield and sestained thee from thy totter- 
childhood. 
What 
love? 
‘What human tic, that does not knit thee 
to me? 
Tove — Max! What did thy father 


‘bond is there of natural 


Which I too have not done, to the 


Sond tee! 0 
‘For that the friend, the father of thy 
youth, 
For that the holiest feeling of humanity, 
Sea aresentl to thee, 
O God! how can I 
De trv? Am I not forced to do 


My oath dy pono 
How? Thy duty? 
Sate hee? Who art thou? Max ! 
bethink 
‘What duties may’st thou have? If] am 
A criminal part toward the Emperor, 
1 This ip 3 poor and inadequate translation of 
the affectionate #i ii 


Tadeed the whole speech is in the best style of 
| Mansinger: 0 af sie omnia? 


] 
Tris my crime, not thine. Dost thou 


Jong 

To thine own self? 
commander ? 

Stand'st thou, like me, a freeman in the 
world, 

‘That in thy actions thou should’st plead 
free agency? 

On me thou'rt planted, 
Emperor ; 

To obey me, to belong to me, this is 

Thy honour, this a law of nature to 


Art thou thine ome 


T am thy 


ec! 
And if the planet, on the which thou 
liv'st 


And hast thy dwelling, from its orbit 
starts, 

It is not in thy choice, whether or no 

Thou'lt follow it. Unfelt it whirls thee 
onward 

‘Together with hi 
moons. 

‘With little guilt stepp'st thou into this 
contest, 

Thee will the world not censure, it will 


ring and all his 


praise thee, 

For that thou heldst thy friend more 
worth to thee 

Than names and influences more re- 
moved, 

For justice is the virtue of the ruler, 

Affection and fidelity the subject's. 

Not every one doth it beseem to ques- 
ton oT 

‘The far-off high Arcturus, Most securely 

Wilt thou pursue the nearest duty—let 

The pilot fix his eye upon the pole-star. 


Scene VII 
To these enter NEUMANN. 


Wallenstein, What now? 
Neuman, The Pappenbelmers are 
dismounted, 
And are advancing now on foot, deter- 
mined 
With sword in hand to storm the house, 
| and free 
| ‘Phe Count, their colonel. 





| 
| 





Wattenstean lo Terteayy. 
cannon planted. 
I will receive them with ehain-shot, 
[20 Tentsxy. 
Prescribe to me with sword in hand! 
Go, Neumann | 
‘Tis my command that they retreat this 
moment, 
Aud in their ranks in silence wait my 
pleasure. 
[NEUMANN exit. 
the window, 
Counter, Let him go, I entreat thee, 
tet him go. 
Jil (at the edie) Hell and perdi- 
tion { 
Wallenstein, What is it? 
scale the council-house, the 
roofs uncovered, 
They level at this house the cannon—— 
Max. Madmen ! 
ilo, They are making preparations 


Have“ the | 


ILLo steps fo 


Merciful 
Heaven | 

Max (te Wallenstein). Let me go to 
them ! 


Wallenstein. Not a step t 

Max (pointing to Thekle and the 
Duchess), But thelr life! Thine! 

Wallenstein. What tidings bring'st 
thou, Tertsky ? 


Scaxn VIE 
To these TEmrsKy (returning). 


Tertsty. Message and greeting from 

our faithful regiments. 

Their ardour may no longer be curbed in. 

‘They intreat permission to commence 
the attack, 

And if thou would’st but give the word 
of onset, 

They could now charge the enemy in 


rear, 

Into the city wedge them, and with ease 

O'erpower them in the narrow streets. | 
Mile. O come! 

Lat not their ardour cool, The soldiery 


EE 





ur 





Wallenstein. What? shall: this ‘town 

become a field of slaughter, 

And brother-killing Discord, fire-eyed, 

Be let loose thivegh its streets to roam 
and rage? 

‘Shall the decision be delivered over 

To deaf remorseless Rage, that hears no 

? 


leader 
Here fs not room for battle, only for 


butchery. 
‘Well, let it be ! T have long thought of it, 
So let it burst then f 








[Twrms te Max. 

Well, how is it with thee? 

Wilt thou attempt a heat with ac 
Away! 

eee ere Oppose thyself {0 


Front ses front, and lead them to the 
battle 5 
‘Thou'rt skilled in war, thow hast learned 
somewhat under me, 
T need not be ashamed of my opponent, 
And never had'st thou fairer opportanity —we=y 
‘To pay me for thy schooling. 
‘ountest, Ts it then, — oy 
Can it have come to this?—Wharte =#! 
Cousin, Cousin 
Have you the heart? 
Max, The regiments that are trustee —ed 
fo my care 


T have iat oy oO el 
Trae 1 he Bmp, and this promise 
Sake gto ape More than thie—ihis 

ie Twill not fight against 


y 

Requires of me. 
thee, 

Unless compelled ; for though an enemy, 

Thy bas is holy to me still, 


Tes cannon, LO 
"onl Texte a 
winds. 

1Wallenstein. What's that? 
Terteky. He falls 


a 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


37 





ayltbann. Falls!’ Who? 
‘Tiefenbach’s corps 
Satged the ordnance, 
Upon whom ? 
‘On Neumann, 


messenger. 
Wallenstein (starting wp), Ha! Death 
and bell | E will— 
Tertshy.. Expose thyself to their blind 
? 


Duchess and Countess, No! » 
ae God's sake, no! 
Not yet, my General ! 
Cos, 0, hold him! hold him ! 
Wallenstein, Leave me—— 
Max. Do it not; 
Wot yet! This mash and bloody deed 
has thrown them 
Faito a frenzy:fit—allow them time— 
Away ! too long already 
have I loitered, 
“Whey are emboldened to these outrages, 
not my face. ‘They shall be- 


By countenance, shall hear my voice—— 
ire Reo te le my troops? Am I not 


And their long: Sminiconciahies? Let 
me see, 

Whether indeed they do no longer know 

‘That countenance, which was their sun 
in battle! 

BORN balcony {marke !) T shew mysclf 

‘To these rebellious forces, and at once 

Revolt is mounded, and the high-swoln 


current 
Shrinks back into the old bed of obedi- 


ence. 
[&xit Wattensrein + 
oe and BUTLER fol- 


Tt1.0, 


Scans IX 


Countess, Decitess, Max, amd 
THERLA. 


Countess (te the Dechert), Let them 
bat see him—there is hope still, 





Duckess. Wope! 1 have none } 
Max (who during the last scene has 
been standing at a distance ina 
visible struggle of feelings, a 
vances). ‘This can I not endure, 
With most determined soul did I come 
hither, 
My purposed action seemed unblameable 
‘To my own conscience—and I must 
stand here 
Like one abhorred, a hard inhuman 
being ; 
Yen, loaded with the curse of all I love! 
Must see all whom I love in this sore 
anguish, 
‘Whom I with one word can make happy 
—0! 
My heart revolts within me, and two 


voices 10 

Make themselves audible within my 
dosom, 

My soul's benighted ; I no longer can 

Distinguish the right tack. 0, well 
and truly 

Didst thou say, father, I relied too much 

‘On my own heart. My mind moves to 
and from 

1 know not what to do. 

Countess, What ! you know not ? 

Does not your own heart tell you? Ot 
then I 

Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor, 

A frightful traitor to us—he has plotted 

Against our General’s life, has plunged 
us all 

In misery—and you're his son ! 
your's 

To make the amends—Make you the 
son's fidelity 

Outweigh the father’s treason, that the 
name 

Of Piccolomini be not # proverb 

Of infamy, a common form of cursing 

To the posterity of Wallenstein. 

Max, Where is that voice of truth 

which I dare follow? 

It speaks no longer in my heart. 
all 


© 
"Tis 


We 


But utter what our passionate wishes 
dictate + 








Scene XI 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


329 





[MAX claspr der fx Ais arms in | 


extreme emotion, There is 
heard from behind the Scene 
© loud, wild, long continued 
ey, ‘Vivat Ferdinandus,” 
accompanied by warlike fn- 
struments, Max and THEK- 
LA remain withowt motion 
in each other's embraces. 


Scene X 
To these enter TeersKy. 


Countess (meeting Aims). What meant 
that ory? What was it ? 

All is Jost ! 

Cn. ‘What! they regarded not 

‘his countenance ? 
Tey. “Twas all in vain, 

Duchess. They shouted Vivat ! 

To the Emperor. 


Tertshy. 
Countess. The traitors ! 
Tertsky. Nay! he was not once per- 


Soon as he 

ing noise of warlike insteu- 
ments 

‘They drowned his words. But here he 
‘comes, 


‘Scene XI 


To these enter WALLENSTELN, accom- 
panied by Wi10 and Burien. 


Wallenstein (as he enters). Tertsky ! 


Tertsky.. My General ? 
Waligatcin, Let ou. regiments hold 
themseh 


ives 
In readiness to march ; for we shall leave 
Pilsen ere evening. [Act Tertsxy. 
Batlee* 
Butler. Yes, my General. 
Wallenstein. The Governor at Egra is 
friend 


your 
And. » Write to him instantly 
Bya Post Courier. He mist le adv, 


| Leaving my all behind me. 





That we are with him early on the mor- 


row. 

You follow us yourself, your regiment 
with you, 

Bwiler. It shail be done, my General ! 

Wallenstein (steps between Max and 

Thehla, who have remained during 

thés time in each other's arms), 

Part! 10 

Max. © God | 

[Cuirassiers enter with drawn 
swords, amd assemble im the 
back-grownd, At the same 
time there are heard from 
below some spirited passages 
ont of the Pappenkeina March, 
which seem fo address MAX. 

Wallenstein (to the Cutrastiers, Here 
he Is, he is at liberty: TE keep 
him 

No longer. 

(4e turns away, and stands 3 
that MAX cannot pass by hime 
nor approach the PRINCESS. 

Max, Thou know'st that I have not 
yet learnt to live 

Without thee! I go forth into a desert, 
O do not 


tun 
Thine eyes away from me! 
shew me 
| ‘Thy ever dear and honoured countenance. 
(Max attempts to take his hand, 
but is repelled ; he turns to 
the COUNTESS, 
Is there no eye that has a look of pity 
for me? 
(Tae Countess turns away froo 
Aim 5 torns to the 
Ducuess. 
My mother ! 
‘Duchess, Go where duty calls you. 
Haply 
‘The time may come, when you my 
prore to us 
A true friend, a good angel at the three 
‘Of the Emperar. 
Mes You give me hope; you would 


O once more 


Sulfer me wholly to despair, No! Not 





330 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


ACT It 


eS arene, ‘Thanks to ctr atalino nce 


ven 
Siete hl epee tant Aa 
[Fe mary mae betes gente. 

The stage fills more and more 
weith armed men. MAX sees 
BUTLER, ami addresses him. 

And eee, Colonel Butler—and will 


Not tow me? Well, then! remain 
‘To your new lord, than you have proved 


To the Emperor. Come, Butler! 


me, 
Give bespoer ‘hand upon it, that you'll 
be 


» 
‘The guardian of his life, its shield, its 
He a alloted, and his rincely head 

je is attainted, an 
Fair leaded for ‘each as that tendes in 


Now he ‘otk “need the faithful eye of 
friendshij 


And those bots hero T see— 
[Casting suspicious looks on 11.0 
and Burien. 
Ho. Go—seek for traitors 
In Galas’, in your father's quarters. 
Here 


Is only one, Away ! away ! and free us 
From his detested sight! Away ! 

(Max adtempis once more to 

approach THexia Wat 

LENSTEIN prevents him. 

MAX stands irresolute, and 

tt apparent anguish. In 

the mean time the stage fills 

more and more; and the 

horns sound from below 

foreder and louder, and cach | 

Hime ‘a shorter interval, | 

Max. Blow, blow ! O were it but the 


‘Trumpets, ‘ 
And all the naked swords, which T see 
here, ” 
Were plunged into my breast! What 


purpose you? 
You come to tear me from this place ! 


ve itt 

map ; - ae ts entirely ile eth 
Wetmore: ght oon weight fig 
Think what ye're doing. Tt ts not well 


ACT WE 
Scent 1 
The Burgomaster's House at Egra. 
“ape! (just arrived). Here then he 
jucted. 


is, by his destiny condi 
Here, Friedland ! and no farther ! Fro 
Bohe 


hile, 
And here upon the borders of Bohemia: 





Must sink. 





SCENE It 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


33 





T 
‘Thou hast forsworn the ancient colours, 
Blind man! yet trustest to thy ancient 


fortunes, 
Profaner of the altar and the hearth, 
‘thy Emperor and fellow-citizens 
‘mean'st (0 wage the war, 
Jand, beware— 


Fried- 


The evil spirit of revenge impels thee— 
Beware thou, that revenge destroy thee 
not! 


Scene If 
BUTLER and Goxpoy. 


Gordon. Is it you? 
How my heart sinks ! 
fugitive traitor ! 

His princely head attainted ! O my God! 
Butler. You have received the letter 


The Duke a 


Yes! anid in obedience to it 
pee, the strong bold to him without 


For an taper letter orders me 

To follow your commands implicitly, 

But yet forgive me; when even now I 
sow 

‘The Duke himself, my scruples recom- 
menced. 10 

For truly, not like an attainted man, 

Loos ll oe aid Friedland make his 


Bestest ansieny Yexaed trom bis 
And calm, as in the days when all was 


Mt, 
Did be receive from me the accounts of | 


"Tis said, that fallen pride learns con- 
But ‘and with dignity the Duke 
Wei liable of approbation, 
As masters ison @& servant who has 


His duty, and no more, 

Butler. "Tis all precisely 
Ast related i im my letter. Friedland 2: 
Has sold the army to the enemy, 





And pledged himself to give up Prague 
On thier ‘re the regiments all forsook 


The five eich ted that belong to Tertsky, 
And which ae followed him, as thou 
hast seen. 

The sentence of attainder is passed on 
him, 

And every loyal subject is required 

To give him in to justice, dead or living. 

Gordon. A traitor to the ae 

Such a noble t 

Of such high talents! What is ham 
greatness ! 

I often said, this can’t end happily. 

His might, his greatness, and 
obscure power 

Are but a covered pit-fall, 
being 

May not be trusted to self-government. 

‘The clear and written law, the deep trod 
foot-marks 

Of ancient custom, are all necessary 

To ke him in the road of faith and 

huty. 


this 


‘The human 


The ainsy entrusted to this man 
Was wnexampled and unnatural, 4a 
I pee Bm on a Yevel with hls Es- 


Till the Jproud soul unlearned submission. 
Vo is mes 

I mourn for him! for where he fell, 1 
deem 

Might none stand firm. 
General, 

We in our lucky mediocrity 

Haye ne'er experienced, cannot cal- 
culate, 

What dangerous wishes such a height 
may breed 

In the heart of such a man. 

Butler. Spare your laments 

Till he need sympathy; for at this 
present 

He is still mighty, and still formidable, 

‘The Swedes advance to Egra by forced 
marches, st 

And quickly will the junction be accom. 
plished. 


Alas! dear 





332 


‘This must not be! The Duke must 
never leave 
Ca et ae at ies lg 


Pledged life and honour here to hold 
him prisoner, 
Ant epee ot which 1 
Gordon. io ed 2 bee noe diet tases 
this 


Prom his hand I received this LY 
He did peer ieee Hota 


fo me, 

Which Tam now sralen tp maak 
dungeon. 

‘ia tabaliae hays eo wilcf caraway 

The free, the mighty man alone may 


listen 
To the fair impulse of his human nature. 
Ah! we are but the poor tools of the 


law, 
Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim 
att 
Butler. Nay, let it not afllict you, 
that your power 
Ts each Much liberty, much 


The po “egy of duty is securest. 
peas And all thes have deserted 


im, you say? 
He Pa built up the luck of ears 
thousands ; 
Bor kingly.was his spiss his full hand 
‘Was ever oj . Many a one from dust 
(ith @ oly ghance on BUTLER. 
Math he ced from the very dust 
Hath raised him into dignity and 
honour, ; 
And yet no friend, not one friend hath 
he purchased, 
‘Whose heart beats true to him in the 
evil hour. 
Butler. Were’s one, 1 sce. 
Gorton, Thave er enjoyed from him 
No grace or favour, I could almost 


doubt, 
If ever in his. greatness he once thought 


on 
‘An old friend of his youth. For still 
my office 8 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





“act mn 


Kept me at distance from him; and 
when first 


Tie wes coca ol te ea 
his confidence, 


you say— 
Ihe’ betrayed the Emperor, his maser, 


ety! so redemption for 
Yeti hd, tat me the ot sos 


To bathe Ee 4 
For we were pages at court of 


At the ee aaa but I was the 


Butler, Ubave Nesed toes 
Gordon, "Tis full thirty years since 
a 


then, ~ 
‘A-youth whe <carch ae Seas 
Yet even then he had daring soul 
His frame of sala waa, aie 
vere 
Beyond his years: his dreams were of 
great ol 
He walked amidst us of a silent 
Communing with himself: yet. 
known hi 


iam 
‘Transported on a sudden into utterance 
of anaes re noe kindling into 


ana ok st prom 

N inne ann craziness, 

Or when it eras gd Searnapa oe 
‘him, 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


333 





Butler. Bor was it where he fell two 
From «endorse, on which he had 
And ae Gee fiieasnfisy? From 
a 7 sell he ieclabeg clear marks 


He became 
Doubtless more selfenwrapt and melan- 


holy 

He made himself a Catholic, Marvel- 
lously 

‘His marvellous preservation had trans- 
formed him. 

‘Thenceforth he held himself for an ex- 


And being, and, as if he were 
dizziness or fall, fo 

‘He ran along the unsteady rope of life, 

‘But now our destinies drove us asunder : 


He paced with mpid step the way of 


greatness, 
‘Was Count, and Prince, Duke-regent, 
and Dictator, 
And now is all, all this too little for bim ; 
He stretches forth his hands for a king's 


And plunges in unfathomable rui 
in able rain. 
Butler, No more, he comes. 


Scexn IIL 
To these enter WALLENSTEIN, im conver 
sation with the Burgomaster of Kgra. 
Wallenstein. You were at one time a 
free town. I see, 
Ye bear otal eagle i g your city arms. 
the half eagle onl, 
” We were free, 


Bat for Sy Tast two hundred years has 
Remained in pledge to the Bohemian 
crown, 
‘Therefore we bear the half eagle, the 
other balf 
cancelled till the empire ransom us, 


‘Tf ever that should be. 
Wallenstein. Ye merit freedom. 


| At my own instance, 





Only be firm and dauntless, Lend your 


cars 
To no designing whispering court- 
minions. 10 
What may your imposts be? 
Burgomaster, ‘So heavy that 
We totter under them, ‘The garrison 
Lives at our costs, 
Wallenstein, 1 will relieve you. Tell 
me, 
‘There are some Protestants among you 
mill? 
[The Burgomaster Aesitates, 
Yes, yes; T know it. Many lic con- 


eal 
Within these walls—Confess now—you 
yourself— 
[Fixes his eye 01 him, 
gomaster alarmed. 
Be not alarmed. I hate the Jesuits, 
Could my. will have determined it, they 


The Bure 


Been ae ago expelled the empire 
Trust me— 

Mass-book or Bible—'tis all one to a 

Of that the world has had sufficient 


proof. 
T built a church for the reformed in 
Glogan 
Hark’e, Burgo- 
master | 
What is your name? 
Burgomaster. Pachhiilbel, 
please you, 
Wallenstein, Hark'e \—— 
But let it go no further, what I now 
Disclose to you in confidence. 

[Laying his hand on the Burgo- 
master's shouller with @ 
certain solemnity, 

The times 
Draw near to their falfilment, Burgo- 


may it 


master ! 
‘The high will fall, the low will be ex- 
alted, 


alted. r 
Hark’e! But keep it to yourself! ‘The 


end 

Approaches of the Spanish double mon- 
archy— 

Anew arrangement is athand, You saw 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


ira shin micons int appeared at once 
in the Heaven. 


Burgomaster, With woniler and af- 


fright! 
Whereof did two 
Strangely transform themselves to bloody 


And only one, the middle moon, re- 
mained 


Be and cee ee = 
lergomaster, We a it to tl 
Turks. sis 


Wallenstein, The Turks! That all? 
—1 tell you, that two 
Sateen in the East 


‘est, 
And Luth'ranism alone remain, 
[Odserning GORDON and Burien. 
Tiaith, 
‘Twas a smart cannonading that we heard 
This evening, as we journeyed hither- 


ward ; 
"Twas on our left hand. Did you hear 


jires 
in the 
” 


Butter, Ut seemed to come from Wei- 
den or from Neustadt. 
Wallenstein. "Tis likely. That's the 
route the Swedes are taking. 
‘How strong is the garrison? 
Gordon, Not quite two hundred 
Competent men, the rest are invalids. 
Wallensteis. Good! And how = 
in the vale of Jochim? 
. Two hundred ‘Asyuebusslats 
erie ois. 
fortify 1 inst the Swe 
Wallenteh Goon 1 [commend your 
foresight. At the works too 
‘You have done somewhat ? 
Gordon, Two additional batteries 
T caused to berun up. ‘They were need- 
Tess. 


‘The Rhinegrave presses hard upon us, 
‘General ! } 


Wallenstein. You have been watchful 
in your Em service, 
T am content with you, Licutenant- 
Colonel. 


| Further than 





(7 Butter. 
Release the outposts in the vale of 
vane 
eet in your 


‘My wife, my daughter, and my sister. { 
Stal mite no say ete, and abst 


the arrival 
Of eters to take leave of Aogether 
With all the regiments, pi 


Seexx 1V 
To these enter COUNT TERTSRY. 
General re ¢ 
Tertsky. ob. Toye sy + joy! I bring 
Walleustein, And what may they be? 


Te ’. There has been an engagement 
AU ened the Swedes gained the 


i woop of tia apa ai 
Hel ee “a ty no he Sma 


“The cannousde cuntinscd full pa oaeny 
‘There were left dead upon the nate 
_ thousand 


ith thear 
rabies Cotonel = 


Imperial troops at Neustadt? 
mperial 
But aera) stood sixty miles 


Iny 


| count Gals fore collects at Faueaberz, 


And ui complement. Is 
‘Thet Sys Recs tal ventured so far 


Tt cannot oc ead 
meses shall soon know the 


whole, 
For here comes Ilo, full of haste, an 
joyous. 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


335 





Scans V 
To these enter WL.0. 
Tile (to Wallenstein), A courier, Duke! 
‘he wishes to speak with thee. 
Torteky | iy). Does he bring con- 
firmation of the victory ? 
Wallensteti (at the same time). What 
does he bring? Whence comes he? 
le, From the Rhinegrave. 
And what he brings I can announce to 


you 
Before hand, Seven leagues distant are 
the Swedes ; 

At Neustadt did Max Piccolomini 


‘Throw himself on them with the cavalry ; 
A morderons fight took place! o'er. 
power'd by numbers 
The Pappeaheimert all, with Max ther 
der, 


(WattensTein shwdvers ond 
turns pole, 
‘Were left dead on the field. ” 
Wallenstein (after a pause, in a tow 
zwike). Where is the messenger? 
Conduct me to him. 
PWattenstein tr going, when 
Lapy Newsrenx rushes 
txts the room. Some ser. 
wants follow her and run 
across the stage. 
Mextrann. Help! Help | 
Ile and Tertshy (at the same time). 
What now? 
Nentriomn. The Princess ! 
Wallenstein and Terésky, Does she 
know it? 
Neubrunn (at the same tine with 
thew), She is dying | 
(Huerries off the stage, when 
WALLENSTEIN and TrRv- 
SKY follow her. 


Scenk VI 
Burek emf Gornon, 


Gordon. What's this? 
Butler. She bos lost the man she 
lov'd — 


Young Piccolomini, who fell in the 
battle. 
Gordo. Unfortunate Lady | 
Butler, You have heard what Ilo 
Reporteth, that the Swedes are con. 
querors, 
| And marching bitherward, 
Gordon. Too well I heard it. 
Butler. They are twelve regiments 
strong, and there are five 
Close by us to protect the Duke. We have 
Only my single regiment; and the 
garrison 
Is not two hundred strong. 
Gordon, "Tis even so. 
Butler, Wt is not possible with such 
small force wo 
To hold in custody « man like him. 
Gordon. 1 grant it. 
Butler. Soon the numbers would dis- 
arm us, 
And liberate him. 
Gordon, Tt were to be feared. 
Butler (after a pause). Know, 1 am 
warranty for the event 3 
With my head have I pledged myself 
for his, 
Must make my word good, cost it what 
it will, 
And if alive we cannot hold him 


prisoner, 
Why—death makes all things certain ! 
Gordon, Butler! What? 
Do I understand you? Gracious God! 
You could— 
Butler, Ye must not live, 
Gordon. And you can do the deed ! 
Butler. Either you or I. ‘This morn. 
ing was his last. a 
Gordon, You would assassinate him, 
Butler. "Tis my purpose. 
Gordon. Who leans with his whole 
confidence upon you | 
Butler, Such is his evil destiny | 
Gordon, Your General ! 
The sacred person of your General ! 
Butler, My General he has been. 
Gordon, That ‘tis only 
An ‘Aas deen * washes out no villainy, 
| And without judgment passed ? 
















Butler, ‘The execution 
Is here instead of judgment. 

Gorden, ‘This were murder, 
Not Yous . The most guilty should be 
phe His guilt is clear, the Em- 

peror has passed judgment, 
And we but execute his will. 

Gordon, ‘We should not 
Hurry to realize a bloody sentence. 
A-word may be recalled, « life can never 











Butler. Dispatch in service pleases 
sovereigns. 

Gordon, No honest man’s ambitious to | 
press forward 

To the hangman's service. 

Butler. And no brave man loses 
His coloue at a daring enterprize. 
Gordon, \ brave man hazards life, 
bat not his conscience. 

Butler. What then? Shall he go 

forth anew to kindle © 
‘The unextinguishable flame of war? 
Gorton, Seize him, and bold him 
prisoner—do oot kill him ! 
Butler, Had not the Emperor's army 
been defeated, 
might have done so.—But ‘tis now 
past by. 
Gordon. ©, wherefore opened 1 the 
strong hold to him ! 
Butler, Wis dexiny ‘and not the place | 
destroys hit 
Gordon. Upon ‘teed ramparts, as_be- 
seemed a soldier, 
had Gani defending the Emperor's 






























Pie: Vea} xsl otbcouaaed gallant 
men have Pesithed 








| 1 through om 

enemy ? 
Gorden. 1?—Gracious God! 

Butler. Take it on yourself. 


| Come of it what it may, on you T lay it. 


Gondor, O God in heaven | 
Butler, Can you advise aught else 
Wherewith to execute the Emperor's pur- 
60 


pase? 
Say if you can. For I desire his fall, 
Not his destruction, 
Gordon, Merciful heaven! what must 
be 
| Lsee as clear as you. Vet still the heart 
Within my bosom beats with other feel- 





ings ! 
Butler, Mine is of harder stuff! Neces+ 
sity 
In her igh school hath stecled me. 
And this Ilo 
And Tertsky likewise, they must not sur- 
vive him. 
Gorton. 1 feel no pang for these. 
Their own bad hearts 
Impelled them, not the influence of the 


stars 
"Twas they who strewed the seeds of evil 

















passions r 

In his calm breast, and with officious 
villainy 

Watered and oursed the pois’nous plants. 
May they 

Receive thar camests to the stternost 





mite 

Butler. And theie death shall precede] 
his! 

We meant to have taken them alive # 







evening 

‘Amid the rmertyaalcng of a feast, 

And keep them prisoners im the cit: 

But this makes shorter work. T go 
instant 

‘To give the necessary onfers, 


SCENE VID 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


337 





The “erase thousand gallant 
henge: Ven, Cheerily, 
oy 


moody face ? 
Mle, The with us at present to pre- 


Lavan ‘vengeance on those worth- 


traitors, 
‘Those skulking cowards that deserted us; 
One has already done his bitter penance, 
‘The Piccolomini, be his the fate 
Of all who wish us evil! This flies sure 
‘To the old man’s heart ; he has his whole 


fife long “ 
Fretted and tolled to raise his ancient 
house 


From a Count’s title to the name of | 
Prince ; 
And now must seek a grave for his only 
son, 
Butler, ‘Twas pity though ! A youth 
of such heroic 


‘And gentle temperament! The Duke 
himself, 
"Twas easly sen, how near it went to 


his heart. 
Kee, plea That is the 
very 
‘That never pleased me in our General— 
He ai a the preference to “2 


“Yea, at this very moment, by my soul ! ih 
He'd ebay see us all dead ten times 


Could he th thereby reeal his friend to life, 
Ferteky, Hush, hush! Let the dead 
rest! This evening's business 
Js, who can fairly drink the other down— 
‘Your regiment, Ilo ! gives the entertain- 
he 


meni 
Come ! we will 
“The night for omce 


Will we expect the Swedish Avantgarde. 
Mle, Ves, \et 08 be of good cheer for 
to-day, 


yo 
work before us, friends ! 
‘This sword 


@ merry carnival— 
day, and mid full 





Shall have no rest, till it be bathed to 
the hilt 
In Austrian blood. 
Gorden. Shame, shame! what talk is 


this, 
My Lord Field Marshal? 
foam you 50 
Against your Emperor? 
Butler, Hope not too much 
From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs! 
How rapidly the wheel of Fortune turns ; 
‘The Emperor still is formidably strong. 
filo, The Emperor has soldiers, no 
commander, 
For this King Ferdinand of Hungary 4 
Is but a Tyro, Galas? He's no luck, 
And was of old the ruiner of armics. 
And then this Viper, this Octavio, 
Is excellent at stabbing in the back, 
But ne’er meets Friedland inthe openfield, 
Tertsky. ‘Trust me, my friends, it 
cannot but succeed 5 
Fortune, we know, can ne'er forsake the 
Duke! 
And only under Wallenstein can Austria 
Be conqueror. 
Mile, The Duke will soon assemble 
A mighty army, all comes crowding, 
streaming 50 
‘To banners dedicate by destiny 
‘To fame and prosperous fortune. 1 
hold 
Old times come back again, he will 
become 
Once more tia mighty Lord which he has 


Wherefore 


How will ie fools, who've now. deserted 
him, 

Look then? I can’t but laugh to think 
of them, 

For lands will he present to all his friends, 

And like a King and Emperor reward 


‘True services; but we've the nearest 


claims. 
[Z> Gornon. 
You will not be forgotten, Governor ! 6» 
He'll take you from this nest and bid you 
shine 
In higher station + 
Well merits it. 


your fidelity 


z 





338 


Gordon, T am content already, 
And wish to climb no higher; where 


for 

‘The Swedes will take’ possession of the 
citadel. 

Come Tertsky; it is supper-time, What 
think you? 


Say, shall Wwe have the State illuminated 
In honour of the Swede? And who 


To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor. 
Tertsky. Nay! Nay ! not that, it will 
not please the Duke— 
Hilo, What we aro masters here ; no 
soul shall dare 
Lat et aera nla 


sore “Good night, and for the last 
time, take 

A fair leave of the place. Send out 

To make secure, the watch-word may be 
altered 


At the stroke of ten; deliver in the keys 

To the Duke himself, and then you're 
quit for ever 

Your ante of the gates, for on ie 


edi 
The Swedes will take peamseenofitin 
citadel. 


Tertshy (as ke is going, to Butier). You 
come though to the castle. 

At the right time, 

” [Bxeunt TurTsky and 110, 


Scexe VII 
GORDON and BUTLER. 

Gordon (looking after thess), Unhappy 
men! How free from all fore- 
boding ! 

They rush into the outspread net of 
murder, 

In the blind drunkenness of 

T have no pity for their fate, 





et Mo,” 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN: 


round patroles, 
Take suossures for in chadalamseaeiyF 
‘When they are within I close the castle 


gate 
‘That nothing may transpire. 
Gordon (swith earnest anxiety). oat 
not 60! 
Nays stop; first tel] me—— 
Butlers You have heard 
‘To-morrov to the Swedes belongs. 


Alone is ours, They make good exe 
ition, 


P 
‘But we will make still greater, Fare you 
well. 


Gordon. Sh | yourlockstell menothing, 
i good, nes a Butler, 
Pray you, me! 

a ‘Phe sun has set 5 
iain evening doth descend upon us, 
And brings on their long night! Their 

evil stars 
Deliver them unarmed into our hands, 
And from their drunken dream of golden 
fortunes: 

at their heart shall 5 
them. Well, 
‘The Duke was ever a great caloulator 5 
His bay oa were figures on his chess- 


‘To move and station, a8 hisgamerequired. 


Other men’s honour, name, 
Did he shift lhe seers 


‘The 


s sate still 5 
‘And yet at last his calculation ; 
+s the whole game is lost ; and 


lo 
Hs own He wil be ond among the 
forfeits. 
Gordon. O think not of his emeen eae 
remember 
His ernie, ‘his munificence, think on 


The tovely features of his character, 
On all the noble exploits of his life, 





SCENE 1X 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


339 





And let them, like an angel’s arm, unseen 
Arrest the lifted sword. 
Butker. Tt is too Jate. 
T suffer not myself to feel compassion, 
Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty 
now : 


[ Gonnon’s hand, 

Gordon Tis not my hatred (E pretend 

Ga wi ts Dube, and ive noicanse i 
him 

Vet is not now my hatred that Ieopels 


To be hin murderer. "Tis his evil fate. 
Hostile concurrences of many events 
Control and subjugate me to the office. 
In vain the human being meditates 
Free action. He is but the wire-worked ! 


Of the blind power, which out of his own 


choice 
Creates for him a dread necessity. 
What ke would it avail him, if there 


IAtpmethtige pleading for ‘hier tn my 
heart — ” 
S4ill T must Kill him, 
Gordow, If your heart speak to you, 
Follow is impulse, "Tis the voice of 
God. 
Think you your fortunes will grow pros- 


Perous 
Bedewed with blood—hisblood? Believe 
it not! 
Butler, You know not. Ask not ! 
Wherefore should it happen, 
That the Swedes gained the vietory, and 


hasten 

With such forced marches. hitherward ? 
Fain would I 

Have given him to the Emperor's mercy. 


—Gordon ! 
T do not wish his blood—But I must 


ransom 
‘The honour of my word—it lies in 
pledge— & 


| We deubt the propriety of putting x0 blas- 
Phemous a sentiment in the mouth of any char- 
acter—"TTRANSLATOR). 





And he must die, or— 
[Passionately grasping Gornon’s 
hand. 


Listen then, and know ! 
1am dishonoured if the Duke escape us. 
Gordon. O' to save such a man—— 
Butler. What! 
fon. At is worth. 
A sacrifice,—Come, friend! Be noble- 
minded! 
Our own heart, and not other men’s 
opinions, 
Forms our true honour. 
Butler (with a cold and haughty air). 
He is a great 
This Doke—and I am “put of mean 
importance. 
This is what you would say? 
concerns it 
‘The world at large, you mean to hint to 
me, 
Whether the man of low extraction ee 
Or blemishes his honour— 
So that the man of princely rank be saved, 
We all do stamp our value on ourselves. 
The price we challenge for ourselves is 


Wherein 


given us. 

‘There does not live on earth the man so 
stationed, 

‘That I despise myself compared with hit, 

Man is made great or litle by his own 
will 5 

Because 1 am true to mine, therefore he 
dies. 

Gordon. 1 am endeavouring to move 

a rock. 

Thou hadst a mother, yet no human 
feelings. f 

1 cannot hinder you, but may some God 

Rescue him from you! [Zxif GORDON. 


Scene IX 


Butler (alone). 1 treasured my good 
name all my life long: 
‘The Duke has cheated me of life's best 
jewel, 
So that I blush before this poor weak 
Gordon ! 
He prizes above all his fealty ; 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


His conscious soul accuses him of nothing ; 
Tn to his own soft heart 

He si ics himself to an iron duty. 
Pitieh creda aabe ‘warped ; 
I stand beside him, and must feel myself 
SE ale Sete ‘What though 


10 
I enna 9 treason, yet 
‘One man does know it, and can prove it 
‘too— 
led Piccolomini ! 
‘There lives the man who can dishonour 


me! 
‘This liny blood alone can cleanse ! 
Duke 


elas ie or d=Tgbiang own 


hands 
Fortune delivers me—The dearest thing 
@ man has is himself. 


SCENE—BUTLER'S Chamber. 
BUTLER wd MAJOR GERALDIN. 
Butler, Find me twelve strong Dra- 
goons, arm them with pikes, 
For there must be no-firing— 
Conceal them somewhere near the ban- 


quet-room, 
‘And soon as the dessert is served up, 


And hes uperor 
ery— Joyal to the Emperor? 
T will overturn the table white you 


attack 

Mlo and Tertsky, and dispatch them 
both. 

The atl palace ix well tanto aid 


guarded, 
That no intelligence of this proceeding. 
¢ its way to the Duke. — 
instantly 5 
soa sent for a Cipla waves: 


er be here anon. 

[Axi Geratorn, 

Butler. Here's 90 room for delay. | 
cath 


& 





Fiera ‘drunken 
the mole on "Toe Pe 


the Duke 
A Tittle peices eee eee 
geod Arms too have been 


By snow ru and an hundred 
‘Have volunteered themselves to stand on 
Dispatch then te the word, For‘enemies 
‘Threaten us from without and from within. 


Scene IL 
Burien, Carrats Drvernex, and 
Macponatp, 


Mactomeld, Here we are, General. 
pers What's to be the watch. 


live the 
eae sa ng sted go 
re rhe the House of Austria ! 


ir oath, + * 

Aocisealé. 42st Cress 

Suter, rte the more surely to 
destroy him, 

Deverewx. So then | 


Macdonald. Analtered case? 
Butler Ne Deverenx\. Thou wretched 


So easily | lav thon hy oath and 
Davernas The devil 1 bat flowed 


‘your example, 
if ald ‘not ? 
you cou reece we 





‘SCENE IT 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


ue 





We follow you, though the track lead to 
hell. 


Butler (appeared). Good then! we 
koow each other, 

Macdonald, I should hope sa. 

Deseresex, Soldiers of forcune are we— 


Well, for the present 
We must remain honest and faithfal 
soldiers. * 

Devereux. We wish no other. 
Butler. Aye, and make your fortunes. 

7. That is still better. 
r Listen { 
Bath, ‘We attend, 
Butler, 1 is the Emperor's will and 
ordinance 


‘To seize the person of the Prince-Duke 
Friedland, 
Alive oF dead, 
Deverenx. It runs so in the letter, 
Macdomalé, Alive or dead — these 
were the very words, 
Butler. And be shall be rewarded from 
the State 
Island and gold, who proffers aid thereto. 
Deverewx. Ay? That sounds well. 
‘The words sound always well 
That ren hither from the Court, Yes! 


We know ane what Court-words im- 
» 
chain perhaps in sign of 


“The Dake's splentia 

a splen master. 
Butler, os 
With thaty my fends 1 Ts lucky stars 


All over 


Santi And is that certain ? 
Butler, You have my word for It, 
agen ‘His Incky fortunes all past 


mae For ever. 
He is as poor as we. 





Macdonald, AAs poor as we? 
Devereux. Macdonald, we'll desert 


him. 
Butler. We'll desert him? 
Full twenty thousand have done that 
already 3 - 
We must do more, my countrymen! In 
short— 
We—we must kill him. 
Both (starting back), Kill him t 
Butler, Yes! must kill him. 
And for that purpose have I chosen you. 
Both. Us! 
Butler. You, Captain Devereux, ani 
thee, Macdonald. 
Devereux (after @ prvi). Chuse you 
some other, 
Butler. ‘What? art dastardly ? 
‘Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for— 
‘hou conscientious of a sudden? 
neues Nay, 
To assassinate our Lord and General— 
Macdonald, To whom we've sworn a 
soldier's oath— 
Butler, The oath — 50 
Is null, for Friedland Is a traitor, 
. No, no! It is too bad! 
Macdonald. Yes, by my soul f 
It is too bad. One has % conscience 
too— 
Deveresx, VE it were not our Chief 
tain, who so long 
Has issued the commands, and claim’d 
our duty. 
Butler, Is that the objection? 
Devereux, Were it my own father, 
And the Emperor's service should de- 
mand it of me, 
It might be done perhaps—But we are 
solic 


iers, 
And to assassinate our Chief Com- 


mander, 
That is a sin, a foul abomination, 6 
From which no Monk or Confessor ab. 
solves us. 
Butler. Varn your Pope, and give you 
absolution. 
Determine quickly ! 
Deveresex. 
Macdonali. 


“Twill not do! 
*Twon't do! 





Me 


Butler, Well, off then! and—send 


Doser, Ney, if be antl, oe 


may earn the bounty 
As well as any other, What think you, 
Brother Macdonald ? 


Macdonald. Why if he must fall, 
And will fail, and it can't be otherwise, 
One would not give place to this Pesta- 


Butler. Chis nigh 
To- ey will the Swedes be at our 
eae ton lave openers 


consequences ! 
Butler. 1 take the whole upon me. 
Devereix. And it is 
The ie will, his express absolute 


For we ee instances, that folks may 
Uke 


‘The murder, and yet hang the murderer. 
Butler, The manifesto srys—alive or 


dead. 
Alive—'tis not possible—you see it is 


not. fo 

Deverewx. Well, dead then! dead! 
But how can we come at him? 

The ave . fill'd with Tertsky’s sol- 


cin Ay! and then Tertsky 
still remains, and Tlo— 
Butler. With these you shall begin— 
you understand me? 
Devernts: How? And mutt they too 


bloody evening this 

Deverewx, Have you a man for that? 
Commission me— 

Butler, "Tis given in trust to Major 
‘Geraldin : 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





ACT Iv 


‘This is a camival night, and there’s a 
Given 2th atest we al 
The Pestalute 
ae 


And hew ite down. 


lo you 
‘ite ale el ot hs sr 
T fear. 


Butler. What can his eye do to thee ? 
Deveretx, Death and hell t 
Thou ne foe I'm no milk-sop, 


But "te ht dys sie the Dake 
did send me 

Twenty gol pees fr this good warm 

Whiey Pha on ad then or int 

Stang fore him with he pe, hi 

That oe ers his looking upon this 
coat 


Why—why—the devil fetch met I'm no: 
milk-sop ! 
Butler. The Duke presented thee this 
good warm coat, 
And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of 
conscience 
To run him the body in return. 
A coat that is far ie a eee 
Did the Emperor give to him, the 
Prince’s mantle. 
How doth he thank the Emperor? with 
revolt, 
And treason, 
Devereux, That is trac. The devil 


take 
Such thackers ra yee him. 
Butler. would’st quiet 
Thy ee poo nought to do 





SCENE H THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 343 





ull off the coat; so canst thou do the Butler. 1 have made myself ac- 
quainted with the place. 
‘With light heart and good spirits, T lead you through a back-door that's 
Dewerens. ‘out are tight. defended 
T'l pull off the | By one man only. Me my rank and 


office 
eps there's an end of it, Give access to the Duke at every hour. 
Yes, but there’s another | I'l go before you—with one poniard- 
Point to be thought of. stroke 
Butler, Aext what's that, Macdonald? | Cut Hartschier's wind-pipe, and make 
Macdenald. What avails sword or way for you. 
dagger against him ? xo | Devereux. And when we are there, by 
He is not to be wounded—he is— what means shall we gain 
Butler (starting Fae What? | The Duke's bed:chamber, without his 
Macdonald. inst shot, and alarming 
stab and ak Hard frozen, | The servants of the Court; for he has 
Secured, and warranted by the black art ! here 150 
His body is impenetrable, T tell you. A numerons company of followers? 
Devereux. In Inglestadt there was just | Sutler. The attendants fill the right 
gach another— ‘wing ; he hates bustle, 
His whole skin was the same as steel; | And lodges in the left wing quite alone, 
at last Devereux, Were it well over—hey, 
We were obliged to beat him down with Macdonald? 1 
ks. Feel queerly on the occasion, devil 
Ma f, Hear what Pl do. knows ! 
Devereux. Well? Macdonald, And 1 too. ’Tis too 
Macdonald. In the cloister here | great a personage. 
Where's a Dominican, my countryman. | People will hold us for a brace of 
Dll make him dip my sword and pike for villains, 
me rp | Butler. In plenty, honour, splendour 
Tn holy water, and say over them —You may safely 
‘One of his stooges blessings. That's | Laugh at the people's babble. 
Devereux. If the business 
‘Nothis Ageia ‘gainst that. | Squares with one’s honour—if that be 
So do, Macdonald | | quite certain— 160 
Bat now Go and select from out the | Antler. Set your hearts quite at ease. 
regiment Ye save for Ferdinand 
Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows, | His Crown and Empire. The reward 
And Het them take the oaths to the can be 
Emperor. No small one. 
Then when it strikes eleven, when the Devereex. And "tis his purpose to de- 
first rounds throne the Emperor? 
Are passed, conduct them silently as|  Bwéler. Yes !—Yes!—to rob him of 
may his Crown and Life. 
To the house will myself be not far | Devereux. And he must fall by the 
off. ‘exeeutioner's hands, 
Deverens, Put how do we get through | Should we deliver him up to the Em- 
Hartschier and Gordon, 49 peror 
‘That stand on guard there in the inner | Alive? 
chamber? | Butler. It were his certain destiny. 








34a 


SceNt—A Gothic and wy Apart. 
ment at the DUCHESS FRIEDLAND'S, 
“THEKLA om a seat, pale, her eyes closet, 
The Ducttess and Lapy Nevneows 
dusied about her. WALLENSTEIN and 
the COUNTESS in conversation, 
opeare: How knew she it so 

aan? 
‘ountess, She seems to have 

Forthodel some misfortune. The re- 


port 
OF an scpagenett, in the which had 
A clonal Imperial army, frighten'd 


Tei eed ly. She flew to meet 

‘The Swedish Courier, and with sudden 
questioning, 

Soon finery from him the disastrous 

Too hie we “missed het, hastened after 

a 

We found her lying in his arms, all pale 

And in a swoon, 

Wallenstein. A heavy, heavy blow 
And she so unprepared | Poor ont 
How fs it? 

{Tuerniag to the Ducutess. 
Is she coming to herself? 

Duchess. Her eyes are opening. 

Countess. She lives, 

Thekia Yoating arswad fer), Where 
am 1? 

Wallenstein (steps to Aer, raising ber 
up in his arms). Come, cheerly, 
‘Thekla! be my own brave girl ! 

See, hasty thy loving mother. Thou 
art in 
‘Thy father's aris. 





‘That word of misery. : 
© think not of it, 
My Thekla ! 


eesars i Give her sorrow leave to 
Let a conin—mingle your era 
with her's, 

For ah sth safes dep anguish 
She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla 
Hath all her ther's ansubdoed! heart, 
Thebia. 1 am not ill, See, 1 have 
i aoe 2. Have 1 
WwW i 

y my weep 


en a Se eco 


Thekla, 
Shortly 1 shall be quite sarees 
Yout rant m me one: eer 


wil be deceived. » mother 
T i noe My | 
: 





‘SCENE IV 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


4S 





to spare me, T will not be spared. 
The wast lead alent: peepee 


gence The! horror iabonrecad me 
ince 
My heart etaped me in the stranger's 
presence ; 
He was a witness of my weakness, yea, 
T sank into his arms; and that has 


‘shamed me, 
I must replace myself in his esteem, 
Asi ¥ mat speak with Wi, perforce 


‘The Se may not think ungently es 

Walon I see she is in the fait 
inclined 

To Com he this request of her's. Go, 


him. 
poe NEUSRUNN goer fo call 


fim, 
Duchess. But 1, thy mother, will be 


ones ‘Twere 
to me, ifalone I saw him: 
Tent me, tare behave myself the more 
Collectedly. 
Wallenstein. Permit her her own will. 
Leave her alone with him : for there are 


‘Sorrows, 
Where of necessity the soul must be 
Tis own support. A strong heart will rely 
‘On its own strength alone, In her own 
bosom, bo 
fot in her mother’s arms, must she 
collect 


‘The strength to rise superior to this blow. 
It is mine own brave girl, I'll have her 
treated 

Not as the woman, but the heroine. 
(Going. 
Countess (detaining him). Where art 
thou going? I heard Tertsky say 
‘That to ae purpose to depart from 


Famers early, but to leave us here, 
Wallenstein. Ves, ye stay here, placed 
under the protection 
‘Of gallant men. 





Countess, O take us with you, brother. 
Leave us not in this gloomy solitude 70 
To brood over anxious thoughts. The 

mists of doubt 
Magnify evils to a shape of horror, 
Watienstein, Who speaks of evil? 1 
entreat you, sister, 
Use words of better omen. 
‘Countess. "Then take us with you. 
O leave us not behind you in a place 
That forces us to such sadomens. Heavy 
And sick within me is my heart—— 
‘These walls breathe on me, like a church- 
yard vault, 

I cannot tell you, brother, how this 
place 

Doth go against my nature, 
‘with you, 

Come, sister, join you your entreaty t— 
Niece, 

Your's too. We all entreat you, take us 
with you ! 

Wallenstein. The place's evil omens 

will T change, 
Making it that which shields and shelters 


Take us 
Bo 


me 
My best beloved, 
Lady Neubrunn (returning), 
Swedish officer. 
Wallenstein. Leave her alone with 
him. [Exit 
Duchess (to Thekla, who starts and 
shivers). Thete—pale as death! — 
Child, ‘tis impossible 
That thou should’st speak with hiro. 
Follow thy mother. 
Thekla. The Lady Neubeunn then may 
stay with me. 
[Exenmt Ducutess amd CouNTESS. 


The 


Scexn IV 


THEKLA, “he Swedish Captain, LaDy 
NEUBRUNN, 


Captain (respectfully approaching her’. 
Princess I must entreat your 
gentle pardon— 

My fiepasisionts rab speech — How 
could 1 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


Teale oe beh) You have beheld 


me in 
A most y it occasioned 
You from a stranger to become at once 
Earp 7m * 
Captain. T you hate my presence, 
For my tongoe spake a melancholy 
Thebla. The fault is mine. Myself 
did wrest it from you. 
‘The horror which came o'er me inter 


Tuy 
Your tale at its commencement, May 
0 


1 will ba! firm, water began the 
Captain. We ty expecting no attack, 
at Neustadt, 
Entrenched but insecurely in our camp, 
When towanle evening rose a cloud of 
From the wood thitherward ; our van- 


a 
Oe Tiree faed ose ie shares 
Sece ad we Se ere the Pappen- 


‘Their na wt fall speed, broke hoaeh 
ines, 

And ley Se! trenches ; but their heed 
cou 


‘The infantry were still at distance, only 
‘The Pappenheimers followed daringly 
‘Their daring leadee—— 
[THEKLA betrays agitation in her 
gestures. The officer pauses 


ti he males «sign to Ai) 


Captain, Both in van and flanks 

With our whole cavalry we now received 
them ; 

Back to the trenches drove them, where 


the foot 
Stretched ont a solid ridge of pikes to 
meet them, 


b 





‘They neither could advance, nor yet res 
ied es Wey cea creer idee 
The Rhinegrave to: their Tender called 
a surrender 5 but their Teaser, 
io i Sg ‘Piddy, graspe a chair. 

Known by his <4 
And Se gave signal 
Himself leapt bet, the regiment all 
ny Sa go ee 
Flung i with violence off, and over 

i 


Tn 


frame, aud 8 
Lapy Nevarunn rams fo 
her, aud veceives Ber in her 
arms. 
Neubronn, My dearest lady— 
Captain. 
Thebla, | "Tis over, 
Proceed to the conclusion. 
Teepe te troopa wil ane oe 
saw a 
‘Their srick perish ; every thought of 
Was spud they Sng kp woe 


Frantic Seles ae our soldiery ; 
A es poh se took place, nor was 


Finish’ ish oe his ma 
where mnie ke A 


birth 
Did bear him to interment; the whale 
army. 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





‘ollowed the bier. cae 
coffin ; 


ss ofthe decensed was’ placed 


lime oberbythe Redangraresl 
jor tears were wanting; for there are 


among us 
;, who had themselves experienced 
greatness of his mind, and gentle 


n ; 
All were affected at his fate, The Rhine- 
grave 
“Would willingly have saved him; but 
himself 


‘Made vain the attempt—'tis said he 
wished to die. 

Naibrann (to Thebla, who has hidden 
her countenance), Look up, my 
carest lady — 

Thebia. Where is his grave? 

Captain. At Newad, Indy ; in 2 
cloister churcl 


Me his remains tees, vantil 
We can receive im his father. 
Thekla, What is thet loiter 's name? 
Saint Catharine's. 
And how far is it thither? 
Captain. Near twelve leagues. 
Thekla, And which the way? 
Captain. You go by Tirschenreit 
And Falkenberg, through our advanced 


. Who 
Is their commander? 
Captain. Colonel Seckendorf. 
[THERLA steps to the fable, and | 

fakes a rimg frows a casket, 
Thebla. You have beheld me in my 


agony, 
And shewn a feeling heart. Please you, 
nocept | 
[Giving Aim the ring. | 

A small memorial of this hour, Now go ! 
Ce (coufuredy. Princes—— 7: 
cares silently makes signs to 
Aim fo go, and turns from 
fins. The Captain fingers, 
‘amd is thon to speak, LADY 





NRUBRUNN repeats the 
signal, and he retires. 


Scene V 
TurkLa, Lapy Necnrunn. 


Thekla (falls on Lady Newbrunn’s 
neck), Now, gentle Neubrunn, 
shew me the affection 

Which thon hast ever promisnd—prott 


thyself 
My own true friend and faithful fellow. 
pilgrim. 
This night we must away ! 
Newbruss, Away | and whither? 
Thekla. Whither! There is but one 
place in the world. 
Thither where he lies buried t 
coffin ! 
Nexbrunn, What would you do there ? 
Thekla, What do there ? 
‘That would'st thou not have asked, hadst 
thou eer loved. 
There, there is all that still remains of 


To his 


jim. 
That single spot is the whole carth to 
me. 10 
Neubrunn, That place of death— 


Thekla, Is now the only place, 
Where life yet dwells for me: detain 
me not! 
Come and make preparations: let us 
think 
Of means to Aly from hence. 
Neubrunn, You father's rage— 
Thedia, ‘That time is past 
And now I fear no human being's rage. 
Nenbrunn, The sentence of the world ! 
The tongue of calumny ! 
Thebla, Whom am T seeking? 
who is no more, 
Am I then hastening to the arms——O 
God! 


Him 


T haste but to the grave of the beloved. 

Nevbrome. And we alone, two help: 
less feeble women ? a 

Thetla. We will take weapons: my 
arm shall protect thee. 

Newkrasrs, In the dark night-time? 

Thekla, Darkness will conceal us, 

Naubrunn, This rough tempestuous 
night—— 





8 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





The Had he a soft bed 
Under the hoofs of his war-horses? 
Neubrunn. Heaven ! 
And then the many posts of the 
enemy !— 
Thekle, They are human 
Misery travels free 
Through the whole earth. 
Newirunu. The journey’s 
length— 
Thekla. The pilgrim, travelling to a 
distant shrine 
Of hope and healing, doth not count the 
leagues. 
Newbrunn, 
gates ? 
Tehia, 
Go, do but go. 
Nexbrann. Should we be recognized — 
Thekla, In a despairing woman, a 
poor fugitive, 
Will no one seck the daughter of Duke 
Friedland. 
Nawérunmn. And where procure we 
horses for our flight? 
My equerry procares them. 
o and fetch him, 
Neubroms, Dates he, without 
knowledge of his lord? 
Thekla. He will. Go, only go. 
lay no longer. 
Newbrunn, Dear lady ! 
mother? 
Tick, 
Neutrons, So much 
fered too already 5 
Your tender mother— 
pared 
For this last anguish ! 
Thekia, Woe is me! my mother 
[Prrserer. 


beings. 


weary 


How can we pass the 


Gold opens them. 


The 
the 
De- 
and your 


Oh! my mother! 
she has suf- 
° 
t how ill pre. 


Go instantly. 

Neutrons, 
doing ! 

Thekla. What can be thought, already 
has been thought. 

Nentrunn. And being there, what 
purpose you to do? 

Thekia, There » Divinity will prompt 
my soul. 


But think what you are 





Neubrune, Your heart, dear lady 
disquicted ! 
And this is not the way that leads 
quiet. 
Thekia. To a deep quiet, such ame 
has found. 
It draws me on, I know ot why ,, 


name Ht, 
Resistless docs it draw me to his greay,” 
There will my heart be eased, my tayy 
will flow. 
hasten, make no farther questions iny | 
‘There is no rest for me till T have Deft 
These watls—they fall in on me—A din 
power 
Drives me from hence —Oh mery: 
What a feeling t 
What pale and hollow forms are those! 
‘They fill, 
They crowd the place! T have no longer 
room here 
Still more! More still! The 
hideous swarm t 
They press on me; they chase me from 
these walls— * 
Those hollow, bodiless forms of liriag 
men! 
Neubrunn, You frighten me s0, lat, 
that no longer 
I dare stay here myself. 
Rosenberg instantly. 
(2xit Lapy Newpauxs. 


Mercy 


T go antl 


Scens VI 


Thekia, His spirit 'tis that calls me! 

"ris the troop 

Of his true followers, who offered 9p 

Themselves to avenge his death: 
they accuse me 

Of an ignoble loitering —they 
not 

Forsake their leader even in his deat 
they died for hi 

And shall I live? 

For me too was that Inurel « gai 
twined 

‘That decks his 
casket : 

[throw itfromme. ©! my only hi 


Life is an 





349 





lord. 1 
Ta his good fortune; and if you have 


Telctaat fa expesesions f that j 
that 
Which sucha victory might well demand, 
Attribute it to no lack of good will, 
For henceforth are our fortunes one. 


Farewell, 
And for your trouble take my thanks. 
Te 


‘Oo marrow 
ae ee 
ee et 
Hoar Bred Captain retires, 
WALLENSTEIN sits lost in 


“Com’st thow from her? 
‘Is she restored? How is the? 
tells me, she was 


more 
‘After her conversation with the Swede. 
‘She has now retired to rest. 


| hie pees eile pamela bal 





Wallenstein, ‘The pang will soften, 
‘She will shed tears. 
Countess, I find thee altered too, 
My b brother! After such a victory 
bad expected to have found in thee 
A cheerful spirit. © remain thon firm t 
Sustain, uphold us! For ou light thou 
art, 
Our sun, 
Wallenstein. Be quiet. 
‘Where's 
Thy husband? 
Countess, Ata banquet—he and Milo, 
Wallenstein (rises and strides across 
the saloon). 
The night's far spent. Betake thee to 
thy chamber. 
Conte. Bid m8’ not. 0; 0 let me 
stay with thee} 
Wallenstein (moves to the window). 
There is a busy motion in the 


Tail nothing. 


Heaven, 
The wind doth chase the flag upon the 


tower, 
Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle! of 
the moon, 
‘Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain 
Nght. 
No form ef ater is visible! That one 
4 ‘These four lines are expressed ia the original 
with exquisite felicity. 
"Am Himmel ist peschiftige Bewegung, 
Des Turmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht 
Der Wolken Zug, sie Mendet-sichel wanke, 
Und durch die Nacht zucht ungewisse Helle.” 
‘The word ‘moon-sickle” reminds me of a 
passage in Harris, ax quoted lyr Johnion, under 
the word "falcuted,’ *The enlightened part of 
the moon appears in the form of a sickle or 
reaping hook, which is while she is moving from 
the conjunction to the opposition, or from the 
new moon to the full! but from full to a new 
again, the sapaiaaen part appears gibbous, atx 
the dark 
‘The wonds * Em eee 
easily translated, ‘The English words, by which 
‘we attempt to render them, are either vulgar o 
pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. 
So ‘der Wotken Zug'—The Draft, the Proces- 
sion of Clouds —The Mames of the Clouds vweep 
onward in swift strewn, 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


White iat Lan that single glimmer. 
1 fom Chae and therein 

iter. pause, it 
The backs is a troubled element 


Countess (looks on him mournfully, 
then grasps Ais hand). “What 
art thou brooding on? 

Wallenstein, Methinks, 

IfT but saw him, 'twould be well with me, 
He is the star of my nativity, 
‘And often marvellously hath his aspect 
Shot strength into my heart. 

Countess. ‘Thou'lt sce him again, 

Wallenstein (remains for a white with 
absent mind, thenassumesa livelier 


Wallenstein, Ue is gone—is dust. 
Countess. Whom meanest thou then ? 
Wallenstein, He, the more fortunate | 
yea, he hath finished 
For him there is no longer any future, 40 
His Betas is bright—bright without spot 


And cannot cease to be. Noominous hou 
Knocks at his door with tidings of 


Far off is he, above desire and fear ; 
‘No more submitted to the change and 


chance 
Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well 
With him! im who knows what the 


peeeat ‘din in thick darkness brings for us ! 
‘Thou speakest 

Of Meesloain. What was his death? 
‘The courier had just left thee as T came. 
[WALLENSTRIN dy a motion of Ais 
hand makes signs to her to be 

silent. 

‘Turn not thine eyes upon the backward 
view, s 

Let us look forward into sunny days, 





Welcome with joyous heart the victory, 
Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, 
rockin eter cigs was to thee 


To thee be Wied, when frst he parted 
from thee. 
Wallenstein. This anguish will be 


wearied down,! I know 
it with man? 


of every day 
He learns to wean himself: for the strong, 


hours & 
Conquer him. Yet 1 feel what T have 
Tost 


In him. ‘The bloom is vanished from 


my life, 
For O! Daa ee me, like my 
Tame me the ral re : 
palpable and the 
With golden exhalations of the dawo. 
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, 
‘The beautiful is j—and returns 
not. 
Countess. O be not treacherous to thy 
‘own power. 
Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 
Tiself. ne Jov'st and prizest 
“The which alt did’st plant, thyself 
Wallenstein (stepping to the door). 
‘Who interrupts us now at this late 
hour? 
Of the Citadel. 


He the keys 
Roget sn a 


Countess. O "tis 30 hard to me this 
night to leave thee— 
A boding fear possesses me ! 


Tt is the Governor, 


1A very inadequate translation of the original, 
“Verschmeraen werd! ich diesen Schlag, dass wei 


Toh. 

Denn was verschmerste nicht dee Mensch!” 
Literally ~ 

I wal pew done of chat 1m cone 

hn, Sou 8 Bla GE 





SCENE? 


Waltenstemn, Fear? Wherefore? 
Countess, Should’st thou depart this 
night, and we at waking 
‘Never more find thee ! 
Wallenstein. Fancies ! 
Countess. O my soul | 
Has long heen weighed down by these | 
dark forebodings. 
And if T combat and faa then waking, 
‘They still rush down upon my heart in 
alt 


reams, 
I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife 
Sit at a banquet gorges mgeously attired. 
Wallenstein, is was a dream of 
favourable omen, 
‘That marriage being the founder of my 
fortunes. 
Conntess, Tooday L dreamt that T was 
secking thee 
In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo! 
Tt was no more a chamber ; the Chart- 


reuse 

At Gitschin “twas, which thou thyself 
hast founded, ° 

And where it is thy will that thou 
should’st be 


loterred. 
Wallenstein, Thy soul is Vusy with 
these thoughts. 
Counters. What dost thou not believe 
that oft in dreams 
A voice of warning spesks prophetic to 


us 
Wallenstein. There {8 no doubt that 
there exist such voices, 
Yet T would not call them 
Voices of warning that announce to us 
Only ba inevitable. As the sun, 
Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its 


image 
In the pretieeres 30 often do the spirits 
of = arene stride on before the 
sot 
And in tod cay already walks to-morrow. 
That jsiepety ‘of the fourth Henry's 


deat! 
Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale 
Of my ore fature destiny. The King 
Felt in breast the phantom of the 
ate 


VHE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





3st 


Long ere Ravaillac arm’d himself there- 
with, 
His quiet mind forsook him : the phan- 


tasma 
Started him in his Louvre, chased him 
forth 
Into the open air : like funeral knells 110 
Sounded that coronation festival ; 
And still with boding sense he heard the 
tread 
Of those feet that ev'n then were seek- 
ing him 
‘Throvghont the streets of Paris. 
Countess, And to thee 
‘The voice within thy sout bodes nothing? 
Wallenstein. Nothing. 
Be wholly tranquil. 
Countess. And another time 
T hastened after thee, and thou ran‘st 
from me 
Through # long suite, through many a 
‘spacious hall, 
‘There seemed no end of it: doorscreaked 


and clapped 
I followed panting, but could not oer 
take thee ; 
When on a sudden did I feel Hijet 
Grasped from behind—the hatid was cold 
that grasped me— 
*Twas thon, and thou did’st kiss me, and 
there seemed 
A crimson covering to envelop us. 
Wallenstein, That is the crimson 
tapestry of my chamber, 
Countess (gasing on him). Wit should 
come to that—if I should sce 


thee, 
Who standest now before me in the ful. 
ness 
Of life— 
[She falls on his breast and weep. 
Wallenstein. The Emperor's procla- 
mation weighs upon thee— 
Alphabets wound not—and he finds no 
hands. 
Countess, If he should find them, ie 
resolve is taken— 
about me my support and 
refuge. 


1 bear 


[2rit Counress. 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


Scene IT 
Wattenstetx, GorDon, 


Walenta. All quiet in the town? 
The town ts gute. 
boisterous 
Seat entacate 
Is lighted up. Who are the revellers ? 
Gondow. There is a banquet given at 


the Castle 
To the pot Tertsky, and Field Mar- 
ilo. 
Wallenstein. tn honour of the vietory. 
‘This tribe 
Can show thee J Joy in nothing else but 
rots The Gi of the 
room, 
Chamber evifers, 


Unrobe me, I will lay me down to sleep, 
(Wautenstein fates the deys 
Gorpon. 
So we are guarded from all enenties, 
And shut in with sure friends. 
For all must cheat me, or a face like thie 
[Fixing Aas backers om GORDON. 
‘Was ne'er an hypocrite’s mask. 
[Te Groom of the Chamber 
takes off his mantle, collar 
and. 


Wallenstein, "Take care —what is that? 


He hung itround me in the war of Friale, 
Hie being then Archduke 5 and T have 


sae now ap habit—— 


From superstition if you will. Belike, 


Tt was to be a Talisman to me, 7 | 


And while I wore it Solara vy 


It was to chain to me Sete bm 
‘The volatile fortune cpl 
Henceforward a new 


was, 
Well, be it so! 


fortune 
‘Must spring up for me ; for the potency 


Lb 





LENSTEIN rises, tabes astride 
across the room, and stands 
at last GORDON fn a 
ee meditation. 

How the old time returns spon me! TE 

pan een once more at Burgan, 

ere 
We two were Pages of the Court to- 


gether. 
We often! disputed. intention 
Weceragenty but ‘iaead wont to 


‘The Mdalfatand Preacher, and would’st 
rail at me— 
‘That T atrore after things too high for 
Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams, 
Anil it edotibore ea etaariataee 
Te Laity Rie eee 
ic | To thy own wel See, it has made thee 
A sapsrasintassd toast 
‘That my peel at ee Ee 
Would fet thee in some 
Go out like an untended 
Gordon, y Prince 
With oe ‘the poor fisher be 
And bere from the shore the ofly 
Stranded Ai he tor 
Wallenstein, Art thou already 
In harbour then, old man? Well! Tam 
drives o'er 
"iit lone a aa 
My nae ee 
proudl 
Hope is my geeides 1; aud Yat 
inmate; 
And wile we San has ont fo ft 
ies oa ya the 


Mave ves sy poses oer ay we 





383 





Who in calling: Fortune 
ene 
Reese eee eres ebiol with fond 
‘Took me from out the common ranks of 
men, 
And Hike & mother godess, with strong 
{Gartie eeiewifily up the stepe of life 
‘is common in my destiny, 
of my hand. Who 
etfea np Hi lie me a 
mm ee 
Semanmnieniar ss 
‘True in this ment ae 
; but I rise 
See Ol wot fallow cn this 
ae tenis ooiasy fortace, which now 
prea tiagsben by scene moaiciows 
Will soon in joy play forth from all its 
And yet remember I the good 
* Let the come before we praise 
“the: 
T would be slow from tong-continued 
‘To gather hopes OE Neal 
Given to the unfortunate by Piviog 
Fear aa the head of pros- 


_perous men, 
‘unsteady are the scales of fate, 








‘This long ago the ancient Pagans knew: 
And therefare of thes cwm ‘aceon they 


offered 

‘To themselves injuries, so to atone 

‘The jealousy of their divinities = 

And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. 
[After @ pause, serious, and in a 

more subdied manner, 

I too have sacrifie'd to him—For me 

‘There fell the dearest friend, and through 
my fault 

He my rk ae joy from favourable for- 


sigh the anguish of this stroke. 
Taare hel is Let : 
ule or for lll On this pure head tl 


Tight 
Was drawn off which would else have 
shattered me. ~ 


Scene UT 
To these enter Sunt. 
Wallenstein, Ys not that Seni? and 
beside himself, 
‘What 


What now? 

Flee cee ! 

‘Trust not thy person to: wedes f 
Wallensten, ‘What now 


Seri (etill more urgently), O wait not 
the arrival of these Swedes ! 

An evil near at hand is threatening thee 

From false friends. All the signs: pe 
full of horror 

Near, near at hand the net-work of nt 
dition— 

Yea, even now ‘tis being cast around 
thee! 


Wallenstein. Baptista, thou art dream- 
ing !—Fear befools thee, 


2A 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


‘Seni. Believe not that an empty fear 
deludes me. 

ead it in the planetary aspects ; 

Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee 
From false friends ! 


repalunatis From the falseness of 
my friends 
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous 
fortunes, 
‘The warning should have come before ! 


At present 
I need no revelation from the stars 90 
‘To know that, 
Seni, Come and see! trust thine own 


‘eyes! 
A fearfal sign stands in the house of life 5 
An enemy, a ficnd lurks close behind 
‘The radiance of thy planct—O be warned | 
Deliver not thyself up to these heathens 
To wage a war against our holy church. 
Wallenstein (laughing gently). The 
oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! 


Now 
This junction with the 
Did never please thee—Iay thyself to 
ee 


sleep, » 
Baptista ! Signs Tike these I do not fear. 
Gorton (who during the whole of this 
dialogue has shown marks of ex- 

treme agitation, and mow terns fo 
Wallenstein). ‘My Duke and 
General !_ May I dare presume ? 

ly. 


tion 
Of fear, ue ee high providence youch- 
sal 


To int 
And may 


its nid for your deliverance, 

je that mouth its organ. 
Wallenstein Ye're both feverish | 

ee come to me from the 


They sought ths Junction with re—'Us 


uppressing his 
at what Af the arival 

Wiese bubeeryere tae vey tig hi 
rn ‘this were the very thing that 
winged n 





‘The ruin that fs flying to your 
(Flings himself 


set}, The 
con eer, 
‘This Serepic se clase its gates upon 


ied es ein teagan dee Henny 
But this T say; he'll find his own de- 


struction: 
With his whole force before these ram- 


parts, sooner 
‘Than weary down the valour of our spirit, 
He shall experience what a band of 
Inspirited by an heroic leader, 

an a 
Is able to » And if indeed 50 
It be thy serious wish to make amend 
ox thee "wi hon ti See es 


this, this 
Will touch and reconcile the a 
Who sadly san tums his heart to 


And Piedad, who returns repentant 
Wi sind yt higher ia his Emperors 


favou 
Than cer he stood when he fad never 
ut 


Watlenstes Aim with 
a acl 
betraying strong emotion). Gordon 
Pian and fervour Jead you 


‘Well, vrell—an ld friend pene eee 
Blood, Geaine ‘has been Sowing. Never, 7 


Can the Beperet perieareeaaeea tie 

Yet rt ne'er could let myself be 

Had 1 foreknown what now has taken 

‘That 1 dest friend, would fall 

My fit deathoirng and had the 

Spoken to me, as now it has done— 
Gordon, 





Resap le Timieht have bethought my- 
Tt may be too, I might not. Might or 
Is now an idle question, All too sert- 


ously 
‘Has it begun to end In nothing, Copy 
‘Let it then have its course. 

rf to the fino 
AN dark and silent—at the castle too 
AU is now ow hathied—Light me, Chamber. 


7ae Groom of the Chamber, who 
Aad entered during the iast 
dialogue, asd had been stand: 
ing af adistance and listening 
to it with visible expressions 
of the deepest interest, ad- 
ances in extreme agitation, 
‘and throws hincself at the 


Duxe’s feet. 
And thee La But I know why thou 


reconcilement with the Emperor. 
Poor man! he hath a small estate in 
‘Cimthen, 


“And fears it will be forfeited because 


of compulsion. If 'tis th belief 
‘That fortune has Ged from me, e For- 


{Esty WaALtanstein, the Groom 
of the Chamber /ighting Ain. 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


disappears at the 
foie ered of the gallery: 
‘then by Bis gestures the old 
wan expresses the depth of 
Ais anguish, and stands lean- 
ing against a pillar. 


Scene IV 


Gonvon, BUTLER (at first behind the 
scenes). 
Butler (not yet come inte view of the 
stage). “Here stand in silence tll 
I give the signal. 
Gordon (starts up). 'Tis he, he has 
already brought the murderers, 
Butler. The lights are out, All lies 
in profound sleep. 
Gordon. What shall I do, shall T at- 
tempt to save him ? 
Shall I call up the house? Alarm the 
ds? 


guards 
Butler (appears, but scarcely on the 
stage). A light gleams hither from 
the corridor, 
It leads directly to. the Duke's bed- 
cham) 


ber. 
Gordon. But then I break my cath to 
the Emperor 5 
If he escape and strengthen the enemy, 
Do I not hereby call down on my head 
All the dread consequences? 
Butler (stepping forward). Uarkt 
10 speaks there? " 
Gorden. 'Tis better, T resign it to the 
hands 
Of providence. For what am 1, that I 
Should take upon myself so great a deed? 
T have not murdered him, if he be 
murdered 5 
But all his rescue were my act and deed 3 
‘Mine—and whatever be the consequences, 
T must sustain them, 
Butler (adeances). 1 should know that 


Butler, "Tis Gordon. What do you 
want here ? 

Was it so late then, when the Duke dis- 
missed you ? 7 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


Gordon. Your hand bound up and in 
a scarf? 


ue "Til and enough ale 


eae Groom of the Chamber ad- 


ly sleep ! 
Butler, No he shall die awake. 
[4s going. 
His heart still cleaves 
Toca carthly things : he's not prepared to 


step 
Into the presence of his God 1 


Can that short respite eT him? 
Gordon. O—Time 
Works miracles. In one hour many 
thousands 
eee aa fun out; and quick as 
Tow “fellows thought. within the 
human soul 
Only bes pat ae heart may change 
His ceo tay cage its pode) 
new ings 
May come; some fortunate event, pate) 


& 


Mary el Bont eave: xs remoestns 


He precious every minute is 
low t 
(He Mane on te ay 
Scene ¥ 


To these enter MACDONALD ana’ 
DEVEREUX, sth the 


Abimeself between hine 
ea) thew), 


monster ! 
First over ay dead ‘body thou shalt 


T will not live to see the accursed deed ! 
Butler ia 


‘Swedish trum) 
‘The Swedes before 
us hasten 


Gordon rushes ou O, God of Merey! 
Butler eating ape it )). Governor, 
to 


ik evi, 


"ent ine wow to mabe 
Oran fhe Canter Helpt 
hurd 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 


337 





Scene VI 


Countess Tertsky (with a light), Her 
Wed-chanber is empty; she her- 


ame Wrote be found ‘The Neubrunn 
too, 

Who watched by her, is missing. If she 
should 

Be flown—But whither flown? We 
mast call 

Every soul in the howe! How will the 

secgee Persee. icc worst iad tidings? 


If that my husband now were but returned 
‘Home from the banquet: Hark! I 
wonder whether 


Wolces and tread of fect here! I will go 
oo a lel Hark! What 


a 
fers pelecciey ois oes | 


Scene VII 
Countess, Gorpon. 
Gordon (rusher im out of breath), "Tis 


‘@ mistake, 
“Te no the, Swetee—Ve must proceed 


ater! Oe Gal Where is he? 
[Then observing the Counrtss. 
Countess! Say—— 
Cowntess, You are come then from the 
‘castle? Where's my husband? 
Gordon (in an agony of aright). Your 
besband!—Ask not!—To the 


Countess. Not till 
‘You have discovered to me— 
Gordon. ‘On this moment 
eared tere. For God’s sake ! 
to the Duke. 
While we are speaking — 
(Calling fowdly, 
Butler! Butler ! God ! 





Countess. Why, he is at the castle with 
‘my husband. 
(BUTLER comes from the gallery. 
Gordon, "Twas a mistake—'Tis not the 
Swedes—it is to 
‘The Imperiatist's Licutenant-General 
Has sent me hither, will be here himself 
Instantly.—You must not proceed. 
Butler. He comes 
Too late. 
(GorDvon dashes himself against 
the wall, 
Gordon. O God of mercy ! 
Countess. ‘What too late? 
Who will be here himself? Octavio 
In Egra? Treason! Treason ! Where's 
the Duke? 
[She rushes to the gallery. 


Scene VII 


Servants rx across the stage full of terror. 
The whole Scene must be spoken entirely 
without pauses. 


Seni (from the gallery). O bloody 
frightful deed 1 
Counters, ‘What is it, Seni? 
Page (from the gallery), O piteous 
mht £ 


[Other Servants Aasten in with 
torches. 
ietaat ‘What is it? For God's sake! 
And do you ask? 
withie the Duke lies murder'd—and 
your husband 
Assassinated at the Castle. 
[The CounTeEss stands motionless, 
Female Servant (rushing acrois the 
stage). Help ! Help! the Duchess! 
ied Sneak (enters). What mean 
‘se confused 
Loud ae that wake the sleepers of this 
house? 
Gordon. Your house Is cursed to all 


eternity. 
In your house doth the Duke lie mur- 
dered 1 


Burgomaster (rushing out), 
forbid t 


Heaven 





358 


THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 





First Servant, Ply! fly they murder 
us allt 
Second Servant (carrying sifver piste). 
That way! The lower 10 
Passages are blocked uj 
Voice (frou behind re Scene). Make 
room for the Licutenant-General ! 
[At these words the COUNTESS 
starts frovs her stupor, collects 
herself, and retires suddenly. 
Voice (from behind the Scene). Keep 
back the people! Guard the 
door, 


‘Scans IX 


To. these enters Octavio PICCOLOMINI 
with all his train. At the same tince 
DEVEREUX amd MACDONALD enter 
Srom out the Corridor with the Halber- 
diers, Waturnstein’s dead body is 
carried over the back part of the stage, 
wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry. 
Octavio (entering abruptly). Tt must 

not be! It is not possible | 

Butler! Gordon ! 

T'll not believe it, Say no! 

[GoRDoN without answering 
points with his hand to the 
body of WALLENSTRIN at it 
ds carried over the back of the 
stage. Ocravio looks that 
way, and stands overpowered 
with horror. 

Devereux (to Butler). 
golden 
sword— 

Macdonald. Is it your order— 

Butler (pointing to Octavio). Here 
stands he who now 

Hath the sole power to issue orders, 

(Devereux and Macponaro 
retire with marks of obeis. 
ance, One drops away after 
the other, till only BUTLER, 
Ocravio, and GORDON re- 
main on the stage, 

Octanio (turning to Butler), Was that 
my Enrpors, Butler, when we 
parted ? 


Here is the 
fleece — the Duke's 





© God of Justice ! 
To thee I lift my band Tana pay 
Of this foul deed. 

Butler. Your hand is pure, You have 
Availed yourself of mine. 

Octavio. ‘Merciless man! 
Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord— 
And sala thy Eapesor' holy name with 


With vey "most accursed assassina- 


Butler (calmly, T've but fulfilled the 
ee ee 
Octavio, O curse of Kis 

Tnfusing a dread ile into thelr words, 

And linking to the sudden transient 

thought 

Et edcpenrcem trois by 

Was there necessity for such an eager so 

Despatch ? Could’st thot not ‘grant the 
merciful 

A time for mercy? Time is man's good 
A 


gel, 
To leave no interval between the sen- 


tence, 
And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem 
God only, the immutable t 
Butler, 
Rail you against me? What is my 
offence ? 
The Empire from a fearful enemy 


For what 


Have I delivered, and ex; reward. 

The single difference betwixt you and me 

Isthis : you placed the arrow inthe bow ; 

I pulled the string. You sowed Meal 
and yet stand 


yet 
Astonished ey, blood is come up. 1 


alway 
Hoew what! TT did and aheretern po paedl 
Hath power to frighten or surprite my 
spirit. 
Have you aught else to order?-—for this 


instant: 
I make my best speed to Vienna; place 


y 
My bleeding sword before my Emperor's 
Throne, 


And hope to i the applause which 


undelaying 
And punctual obedience may demand » 
From a just judge, (2x# Borter. 





THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN: 





Scene X 


‘To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, 
pele and disordered, Her utterance is 
there and feeble, and wnimpassionad. 


Octavio (erecting her), © Countess 
‘Tertsky! These are the results 
Of ueklessunblest deais 
They are the fruits 
Ofpour contrivances. ‘The Duke is dead, 
My husband too is dead, the Duchess 
straggles > 
‘In the pangs of death, my niece has dis- 
This house of splendour, and of princely 
glory, 
Doth now stand desolated : the afftighted 
Rush forth through all its doo 
rs 
the last 
‘Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver 
The 


Tam 


keys. 
Octavio {with a deep angwish). O 
Gountes 1 my house too is devo 


0 
Countess. Who next is to be mur. 

dered? Who is next 
The Duke is 


them. 


Octavia, Speak not of vengeance! 
on ipsiakenrepel 


Hath heas 
bl a Alri 





Vield yourself up in hope and_ on 


To the aren Grace! 
Countess (with her eye raised to hea- 
ven). To the grace and mercy of 
& greater Master 
Do I yield up myself, Where shall the 
bod 


y 
Of the Duke have its place of final rest ? 
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did 


found, Ey 
At Gitschin rests the Countess Wallen- 


stein 5 
And by her side, to whom he was in- 
debted 


For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished 
He might sometime repose in death | © 


Be ee — And likewise, for my 
husband's 
Remains, I ask the like grace. The 
Emperor 
Is now proprietor of all our Castles, 
This sure may well be granted us—one 
sepulehre 
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers ! 
Octavio. Countess, you tremble, you 
turn pale t 
Countess {reassembles all her powers, 
amd speaks with energy and dig- 
nity). You think " 
More worthily of me, than to believe 
T would survive the downfal of my 
house. 
‘We did not hold ourselves too mean to 


grasp 
After a monarch's crown—the crown did 
fate 
Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit 
‘That to the crown belong! We deem a 
Courageous death more worthy of our 
free station 
Than a dishonoured life.—I have = 


ote tH Help! Help! Support iar) 

Countess, Nay, it is too late. 

In a few moments is my fate accom- 

plished. [Exit Counress. 

Gordon © house of death and hor 
rors! 





REMORSE 


[Ar officer enters, and brings a 
letter with the great seal, 
Gordon (steps forward and mects him). 
What is this? 
It is the Imperial Seal, 
[fe reads the Address, and de 
Hivers the letter to OCTAVIO 
swith a look of reproach, ard 


with an emphasis on the 
wword, 


To the Prince Piccolomini. 
[OCTAVIO, with Ait twhole frame 
expressive of sudden anguish, 
raises his eyes & heaven, 


(The exrrtain drops.) 


END OF WALLENSTEIN 


REMORSE 


A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS 


[1812] 


DRAMATIS PERSONA: 


sBigaB—p., 
= Marquis VALDEZ, Father 
19 the two brothers, and 
Donna Teresa's Guard: 
iam. 
=DON ALVAR, the eldest son. 
=DOoN ORDONIO, the young 
est son. 
FRANCESCO=MONVIEDRO, @ Domini- 
ean and Inguisitor, 
=Zurimuz, the faithful at- 
tendant on Alvar. 
FERpINaNp=Istpore, @ Moresco Chief: 
fain, ostensibly a Chris. 


ror 
VeLez 


ALBERT . 
Osorio . 


Maurice 


Naomi 
Manta 


=Donwa Trnesa, an Or 
‘phan Weiress, 


ALHADRA, 
wife of 
Fer- 
DINAND, 


=ALuADRA, Wifeto Isidore, 


1 in Ovoris, See ‘Arrexpix Dy’ p. 479 





FAMILIARS OF THe INQUISITION, 
Moons, SERVANTS, ete, 


Time, The veign of Philip Hy just at 
the close of the civil wars against the 
Moors, and during the heat of the 
Persecution which raged against thene, 
shortly after the edict which fortad 
the avaring of Moresce apparel under 
Baits of death, 


ACT I 
Scene I 


The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada. 


in @ Boat cloak, and 
Meretce), both ax just 


Don ALVAR, 
Zuuimex (a 
fended, 


Zulimer. No sound, no face of joy to 
welcome ust 

Alvar, My faithful Zulimer, for one 
brief moment 

Let me forget my anguish and their 


crimes, 





REMORSE 


0 


‘Tis 


sen Ser long years of exile, 
To step 


on firm land, and gazing 


round us, 
SO lata 


Hail, 
press 

‘Thy sands with filial awe, land of my 
fathers ! 


in! Granada, hail! once more 


Zulisses. Then claim your rights in it ! 
O, revered Don Alvar, 10 
Yet, yet give up your all too gentle 


purpose. 
It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself, 
And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt! 
Alvar, Remember, Zulimes ! I am his 
brother, 


Injured indeed | O deeply injured 1 yet 
‘Ordonio’s brother. 


Zulimes. Nobly-minded Alvar ! 
‘This sure but gives his guilt « blacker dye. 
Alvar. ‘The more behoves it I should 
rouse within him 
Remorse! that I should save him from 
himself. 


Serene ee heart in 
which it grows : 

Ie that be geile, t drops balmy dews 

OF true repentance; but if proud and 


gloomy, 
neers ensteacred tthe 


Wap ny teas of po 
‘And of a brother, 
Die T el hi wpe? wo make 


To save him #—-Hear me, frien | Thave 
yet to tell thee, 

‘That this same life, which he conspired 
to 

Himself once rescued from the angry 
flood, 

And at the imminent hazard of his own. 

Add too my oath— 

Zubiaes. You have thrice told already 
The year of absence and of secrecy, 31 


‘To which a forced oath bound you: if 
in truth 





A suborned murderer have the power to 
dictate 

A binding oath— 

Alvar, My long captivity 

Lat me wo choles the very Wish too 
languish 

With the fons ope that nursed it the 

k babe 


Dioapean at the bosom of its famished 
mother, 

But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy ; 

“The assassin’s strong assurance, when no 
interest, 

No motive could have tempted him ts 
false! 

Io tho' first pangs of hk awaken'l coos 
science, 

When with abhorrence of his own black 


purpose 
The murderous weapon, pointed at my 
breast 


palsied band— 
Heavy presumption | 
Alvar, It weighed not with me— 
Hark ! I will tell thee all; 
‘As wa pamed by, bade theo mle the 


Of yonder eliff— 
Zulimes. ‘That rocky seat you mean, 
Shaped by the billows ?— 
Afoar. ‘There Teresa met ine 
The moming of the day of my departure. 
We were alone: the purple hue of 


dawn » 
Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, 
And blending with the blushes on her 
cheek, 
Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy 
Hight. 
‘There scemed a glory round us, and 
Teresa 


The ange! of the vision ! 
[Them with agitation. 
Had'st thou seen 
How in each motion her most innocent 


soul 

Beamed forth and brightened, thou thy- 
self would’st tell me, 

Guilt is a thing impossible in her ! 

‘She must be innocent | 





scatines hth Heh Proceed, my 
Alvar. A portrait which she had pro: 
‘cured by steali 60 
(For even then it seems her heart fore- 
Or knew Ordonio’s moody rivalry) 
A portrait of herself with thrilling hand 
She tied around my neck, conjuring me, 
With earnest prayers, that I would keep 
it sacred 
To my own knowledge: nor did she 
Til she had won a solemn promise from 
me, 
Bee ee eer Renee 
‘Tit mya ‘Yet this the assassin 
Knew me ‘which none but she could 
ee 
My own life wearied me! 
And but for the imperative Voice within, 
With mine own hand I had thrown off 
the burthen. 
‘That Voice, which quelled me, calmed 
‘mer and I sought 
‘The Belgic states ; there joined the better 
cause j 
‘And there too fought as one that courted 
death ! 
Wounded, I fell among the dead and 


in deal trance long impris 
n ta SOL 
t followed, om 


ment 

‘The fulness of my anguish by 

Eada preplpates for lgeotie ms Sd fo 
And still the more I mused, my soul 


became 

More ee more perplexed ; 
il) Teresa 

Night after night, she visited my slecp, 

Now asa saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, 


Yes, still as in comtempt of proof and 


reason, 
I phen ‘the fond faith that she is guilt- 
less t 


& 





wonted walk, 
eee ete 


Will agit hee ot 
Feet Wil sen assem oa 
Alvar. With your aid, friend, T shall 


‘unfearingly 108 
zo | Trust the disguise ; and as to my com 


plexion, 
‘My long imprisonment, the 
ausiarariams 


Have done already hal the i . 
Add oy oa when last we saw 


Sot in my eh and gh 
A Done mteRees they think me 
And what the mind believes impossible, 

ghee 


Now tothe the eave bseati tie wen ea 
Where ‘having shaped you to a Moorish 


I wil seek our nisineae pind fa 
‘Transport whate'er we need to the small 


dell 
In the “Alpesarse— hese 
Alvar, T know it well: it is the 
obscurest haunt 
Of all the mountains— 


ts i 


food, 


Let us away ! 





REMORSE 363 





Teresa. 1 hold Ordonio dear; he is 


your son 
Alvar's brother, 


Love him for himself, 


var, be he dead or living. 
‘knows with what 


thee to me; 


my arms a powerless babe, 


thy poor mother with n mute 
‘entreaty 
int eyes on mine. Ah not 


ed with an untired eye 20 


those skiey tints, and this 


‘by the pleasant sea 


breeze, 
pe sweet visions, and live o'er again 
hours of delight! If it be 


‘ome bark, and fancy Alvar 


there, 


Ovarie, for which wee * Arren- 





To go through each minutest circum- 


stance 

Of the blest meeting, and to frame ad- 
ventures 

Most terrible and strange, and hear Aim 
tell them ;! 

(As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid 

Who drest her in her buried lover's 

ree on) ‘ 3t 

nd o'er the smoot) ring in the 

mountain cleft coe 

Hang with her Jute, and played the self 


same tune 

He used to play, and listened to the 
shadow 

Herself had made)—if this be wretched- 


ness, 
And if indeed it be a wretched thing 
To trick out mine own death-bed, and 


- imagine 

That I had died, died just ere his re- 
tum t 

Then see him listening to my constancy, 

Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 40 

Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon ; 

Or haply in some more fantastic mood, 

To be in Paradise, and with choice 
flowers 

Build up a bower where he and I might 


well, 
And there to wait his coming! © my 


sire ! 
My Alvar’s sire ! if this be wretchedness 
That cats away the life, what were it, 
think you, 
If in a most assured reality 
He should return, and see a brother's 
infant 
Smile at him from my arms? ~ 
Oh what a thought! 
[Clasping der forehead. 
Valdes. A thought? even so! mere 
thought ! an empty thought, 
Thevery week he promised his return — 


1 [Here Valder bends back, and smiles at her 
wildness, which Tere noticing, checks her 
enthusiasm, and in a soothing half-playful tone 
and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the 
little tale in the parenthesi.) Note in Second 
Edition and after—Es, 





364 


Terese ( ‘Was it not then a 

Meters enti 

After those three years’ travels ! we had 
no fears— 


Ines, 
‘The tumult of our joy! What then if 
o of youth to feed on 
Valder, O power 
pleasant thoughts, 
Spite of conviction ! I am old and heart- 
Teast & 
Yes, I am old—I have no pleasant 
fancies— 
Hectic and unrefreshed with rest— 


I see no sail which brings not to my 
mind 
‘The home-bound bark in which my son 
ine—to perish with his 
captors f 


Teresa. Oh no! he did not! 
Valder. Captured in sight of land ! 
From yon bill point, nay, from our 
castle watch-lower 
We might have scen— 
Toresa, His capture, not his death. 
Valdes. Alas! how aptly thou for 
get’st a tale r 
Thou Peau wish to learn! my brave 


jonio 
Saw both the pirate and his prize go 
down, 
Tn the same storm that baflled his own 
valour, 
And coed snatched a brother from 


Gallant Ordonio | (Pistter, then tenderiy.) 
O beloved Teresa, 

Woald’st thou best prove thy faith to 
generous Alvar, 

And most delight his spirit, go, makethou 

His brother happy, make his aged father 

Sink to the grave in joy. 


k 


REMORSE 





Teresa. For mercy’s sake 
Press me no more! I have no power to 


lave him, fe 
His ceed een ‘eye, and his dark 
Chill me like dew-damps of the unwhole- 
some night : 


wrong. maiden 
You srorg Hie, by my per ‘Nor was 


To character by such unkindly phrases 
‘The stir and workings of that love for 


Which he has toiled to smother, ‘Twas 
N Pryor i Sen 
for 

Nie wove wad pode voyages, 


and 
~ 
With an heroic fearlessness of danger 
He wom the coast of Afric for your 
Ic was not well—You have moved me 


even to tears, F 
Teresa. Oh ie me, Lord Valdes! 
me 


hurried 
Beyond myself, if T but hear of one 
Who aims to rival Alvar, Were we not 
Born in one sai The Seas the same 


parent 
Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my 
father t 108 


my Lord, ca 
Mr pest 29>" ee 





SCENE IT 


We have hit the time. Here comes he! 
‘Yes, ‘tis he. 
Enter from the opposite side Don 
Orpo10. 


My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman 
get is her name) asks audience of 


Ondenio. Hail, reverend father! what 
business? 


110 


of relapse 
To his ‘creed, s0 recently abjured, 
‘The seeret servants of the Inquisition 
Have seized her husband, and at my 


command 
To the supreme tribunal would have led 


But that he made appeal to you, my lord, 
As surety for his soundness in the faith. 
Though lessoned by experience what 


trust 

‘The asseverations of these Moors deserve, 
‘Vet still the deference to Ordonio’s name, 
‘Nor less the wish to prove, with what 


The wai Ch ‘Church regards her faithful 
“Toes for with me that—— 
Reverend father, 
‘1 am much beholden to your high 
Which #0 o’erprizes my tight services. 
[Then t AmaDRA. 
{ would that I could serve you; but in 
truth 
‘Your face is new to me. 
‘My mind foretold me 
‘That Le Akl be the event. In truth, 


‘Twas they that Don Ordonio, 
That your To whe enght 2 


tp 
‘Some four years since to quell these 


rebel Moors, 
—s | prove the patron of this infidel ! 


oe ord Mor ‘Moresco's faith ! 


‘Alkedra, My Lord, my hasband’s 
name 


REMORSE 





365 


Is Isidore. (ORpONIO #arts,.)—VYou 
may remember it : 
Three years ago, three years this very 


week, 
You left him at Almeria. 
Monviedro. Palpably false ! 

This very week, three years ago, my 
lord, 

(You needs must recollect it by es 
wound) 

You were at oa aad «hee engaged the 


Pirat 
The abies doubtless of your brother 

Alvar! 

[Teresa looks af MoxvinnKo 
with disgust and horror. 
ORDONIO'S appearance fo be 
collected from what follows, 

[To VaupEz and pointing at 
Orpont0, 

What, fs he ill, my Lord? how strange 

he looks ! 

Valdes (angrily). You pressed upon 
him too abruptly, father ! 

‘The fate of one, an whom, you know, he 

doted. 

Ondoni (starting as in sudden agita- 

tion), O Heavens | 7?—/doted ? 

[The recovering himself. 

I doted on him. 

[OxponIo wale to the emd of the 
stage, VALDER follow, sooth- 
ing him, 

Teresa (her eye following Ordonio). 1 
do not, can not, love him, Is 
my heart hard? 

Is my heart hard?) that even now the 

thought 

Should fore itself upon me ?—Yet T ra 


Ves! 


Mowtatbo The drops did start abel 
stand upon his forehead ! 
Twill return, In very trath, I grieve 
To have been thé occasion. Ho! attend 
me, woman ! 
Alhadra (to Teresa). O gentle lady ! 
make the father stay, 
Until my lord recover, Tam sure, 
That he will say he is my husband's 
friend. 





Teresa, Stay, father! stay! my lord 
will soon recover, 
Ordonio (as they return, to Valde2), 
‘Strange, that this Monviedro 
Should Inve the power so to distemper 


Vales. = Nay, “was an amiable weak 

160 

Monviedvo. M ny lord, I truly grieve— 

Ordonio. Tut! name it not. 

‘A sudden seizure, father ! think not of 
it, 

As to this woman's husband, I do know 


him. 
T know him well, and that he ds a 
‘Christian, 
Monviedre, 1 hope, my lord, your 
merely human pity. 
Doth not prevail—— 
Ordonio. "Tis certain that he was a 
catholic 5 
What changes may have happened in 
three years, 
Tecan not say; but grant me this, sod 
father : 
Myself 11 sift him + if I find him as 
You'll grant me your authority and name 
To liberate his house, 
Monviedro, Your zeal, my lord, 
‘And your late merits in this ‘holy war- 


fare 
Would authorize an ampler trust—you 
have it. 
Ondonio. 1 will attend you home 
within an hour, 
Valdes, Meantime return with us and 
take refreshment. 
Atkadra. Not till my husband's free 
T may not do it. 
I will stay here. 
Teresa (aside). Who is this Isidore? 
Valdes. Daughter ! 
Teresa With your permission, my dear 
80 
Til Ioiter “yet awhile tlenjoy the sea 
breeze. 
[Zxewnt Varorz, Moxvirpro 
and ORDON10. 
Alhadra. Hah there he goes! a 
bitter curse go with him, 





‘That ever and anon I clutched my 
dagger 
anes nacre ae, Fi 
oa more 
pe and wal Mog 
jarrow path 
Clove bythe rountan's edge, my sl 


"Tw wih 


nbs toil 1 made myself re- 
That bie Familiars held my babes and 
husband. 


To hin lene eee 
And nage him down the rugged preci- 


0, it ha been oa ee 
Teresins Hash ! hush for shame! 
Wher is your woman's heart? 
hada, t 
You sacle no skill to ocean 


Many ond aot Besides, (gromically) 
a Christian, 
And ch never pardon—'tis = 


Teresa. Shame fall on those who r 
have shewn it to thee | 
Alkadra. 1 know that man ; "tis well 
he knows not me, 
Five years ago (and he was the prime 


agent), 
Five years ago the holy brethren seized 
me. 
Teresa, What might your crime be? 
Alkadra, T was a Moresco! 
They cast me, then & young and nursing 


mother, 
Into a dungeon of their prison house, 





REMORSE 





Where was no bed, no fire, no my of 
The 


No Pace pred cd nasie | 
black 


air, 
Tt was a toil to breathe it! when the 
+ 210 
Slow opening at the appointed hour, dis- 
closed 
‘One human countenance, the lamp’s red 
flame 
Cowered as it entered, and at once sunk 
down. 


Oh miserable! by that lamp to sce 
My infant quarrelling with the coarse 


hard 
Broveht daily: for the little wretch was 
My mge Sor dried away its natural 
food. 
In oe dull bell 
Which erty t0 told.me, that the all-checr- 
Was Pra ree erin When I 
My tala fs scasiogs mingled. with, my 
And “isl tme.—If you were a mother, 
I os are meee dare to tell you, that its 


yt tes bo Catal oa my brain 
ant I ee struck the innocent babe in 


Teresa. 0 ‘© Heaven! it is too horrible 

to hear. 

Athair itt ms it then to suffer? 
Tickseds ap Seal Yenc = Keow 
‘What Ne pa you mou, she bids 
Great Evils en an Passions to eee 
And Whirlwinds fittiest scatter Pest. 

dence. 

Teresa, You were at length released ? 


Alhadra. Yes, at length 
I saw the blessed arch of the whole 
heaven ! 





"Twas the first time my infant smiled, 
No more— 
For if f dwell upon that moment, Lady, 
A trance comes on which makes me o'er 
again 
All I then was—my-knees hang loose 
and drag, 
‘And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh, 
‘That you would start and shudder ! 
Teresa, But your husband— 
Alhadra. A month's imprisonment 
would kill him, Lady. 340 
Teresa. Alas, poor man t 
Athadra. He hath a lion’s courage, 
Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance 5 
Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle 
heart 
He worships nature in the hill and 


valley, 
Not knowing what he loves, but loves 
it all— 


Enter Awan disguised as @ Moresco, 
and in Moorith garments. 


Teresa. Know you tha stately Moor? 
Athadra, know him not : 
But doubt not he fs peta 


tain, 
Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. 
Teresa. The Alpuxarras? Does he 
know his danger, 
So near this seat? 
Alhadra, He wears the Moorish robes 
too, a 
As in defiance of the royal edict. 
[ALHADRA. advances fo ALVAR, 
who har walked to the bock of 
the stage, near the rocks. 
Tenesa drops her veil. 
Alhadre, Gallant Moresco! An in- 
quisitor, 
Mperetio, of bnew ltxteet et ame 


race—— 

Alvar (interrupting her\, You have 

mistaken me, I am a Christian, 

Alkadira. He deems, that we are plot- 
ting to ensnare him : 

Speak to him, Lady—none can hear you 


speaks 
And not believe you innocent of guile. 





Teresa. Uf aaght enforce you to con- 
cealment, Sir— 
Albadre, He trembles strangely. 
[Auvan sinks down and hides his 
face in his robe. 
Teresa. See, we have disturbed him. 
[Approaches nearer to him. 
I pray you, think us friends—uncow! your 
face, 


For 7% sem fn,» ted the sighoteecs: 
‘blows beali 





I peay yoor think fendi t 
“Alvar (raising his head). Calas, very 
calm ! 


"Tis all too tranquil for reality t 
And she spoke to me with her innocent 


voice, 

‘That voice, that iesociat voice! She is 
no traitress 

Teresa dena fo Albadra). Let us 


retire, 
[They advance to the front of the 


Alkadra (with scorn). He is indeed a 
‘Christian. 
Alvar (aside). She deems me dead, yet 
‘wears no mourning garment ! 
Why should my brother's—wife—wear 
mourning garments ? 27 
{7o Teresa. 
Your pardon, noble dame! that I dis- 
tarbed you: 
1 had just started from a frightful 
dream. 
Teresa, Dreams tell but of the past, 
and yet, 'tis said, 
‘They prophecy— 
dlear, ‘The Past lives o'er again 
In its effects, and to the guilty spirit 
‘The ever-frowning Present is its image. 
Teresa. Traitress 1 (Then aside.) 
‘What sudden spell o’ermasters me? 
Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish 
woman ? 
[TERESA lots round uneasily, but 
gradually becomes attentive 
@s ALVAR proceeds in the 
mext speech. 
Afear. 1 dreamt 1 had a friend, on 
whom T leant 


PE 





Whom T was wont to call not mine, bat 
me: 

For mine own self seem’d nothing, lack- 
ing he 


This maid so idolized, that trusted friend 
Dishonoured in my absence, soul and 


body! 
Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker 
And murderer were subomed agains my 
Det by wy Janke, le ep 
"rue the ius tht an dali 
Even i the min Bert they made 
inn anche redeeming them 


Well wi rat happened then? 
Alvar. On a rade rock, 


A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs 

‘Whore thready leaves to the low-breath— 
‘ing gale 

Made a soft sound most like the distant. 
‘ocean, 

T stayed as thos the hour of death 


And testing i he wld of 








For all dhigt seemed unreal f Roll 
sate— 
‘The dews fell es” and the night 


descend 

Black, sultry, close! and ere the mi 
night hour 3 

A soca one ‘on, mingling all sounds 
fear, 

That woods, and sky, and) mounta 
seemed one havock. 


The second flash of lightning shewed 


tree 


REMORSE 





Hand by me, newly seathed, 


tumultuous 

My soul worked high, T bared my head 
to the storm, 

And with loud voice’ and  clamorous 


agony, 


— ‘prayed to the great Spirit 
made me, 


Frayed, that Remonse might fasten on 
their yo 
And ings with poisonous tooth, inextric- 


Artie gored lion's dite! 


Teresa (shuddering), A fearful curse | 
Alhadra . But dreamt you 


not that you returned and killed 
them? 


T rose 


of no revenge? 
“Aloar (his voice trembling, and in tones 
of deep distress), She would have 


died, 
died in be gilt—perchance by het own 


And o'er her self-inflicted 


HE might have met the evil glance of 


snd leapt myself into an unblest grave! 
She for olplcomeng that cleanses 


“Por wil T loved her? 
‘Alhadra. And you dreamt sll this? 
‘Teresa, My soul is full of visions all 
as wild ! 
Athadra. There i no room in this 
heart for puling love-tales. 
Teresa (lifts mp her veil, amd adeances 
@ Alvar), Stranger, farewell ! 1 
guess not who you arc, 
ta tl 0 addressed your tale to 


Regs isla rmoble; asd 1 own, per. 


_ plexed me, < 
With obseure memory of something past, 
Which still escaped my efforts, or pre. 


Tricks of a fancy pampered with long 
HW sometimes de 
1, as brores ear roe 





Whilst your full heart was shaping out 
its dream, 

Drove you to this, your not ungentle, 
wildness — 

‘You have my sympathy, and so farewell ! 

But if some undiscovered wrongs oppress 


you, 
And you need strength to dag them into 


light, 

The ponte Valdez, and my Lord 
Ordonio, 

Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, 

Nor shall you want my favourable plead- 
ing. 
[Exeunt Tenrsa end ALMADRA. 

Alvar (alone). ’Tis strange! Tt cannot 

be ! my Lord Ordonio t 

Her Lord Ordonio! Nay, I will not 
do itt a 

I cursed him once—and one curse is 
enough ! 

How sad a looked, and pale! but not 
Tike guilt— 

‘And her calm tones—sweet as a song of 
mercy 

If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice, 

Hell scaree were Hell, And why not 
innocent ? 

Who meant to murder me, might well 
cheat her? 

But ere she married him, he had stained 
her honour ; 

Ah! there Tam hampered. What if 
this were a li 

Framed by the assassin? Who should 
tell it Avr, 

If it were truth? Ordonio would not 
tell him. 30 

Yet why one lie? all else, I Amow, was 
truth. 

No start, no jealousy of stirring con- 
science ! 

‘And she referred to me—fondly, me- 


thought ! 

Could she walk here if she had been a 
traitress? 

Here where we played together in’ our 
childhood ? 

Here where we plighted vows? where 
her cold cheek 

aB 





Received my last kiss, when with sup: 
feelings 
She pepe aye It cannot 
! 

‘Tis not in nature! I will die 

‘That I shall meet her where no evil is, 

No treachery, no cup dashed from the 
lips. 30 

mM Lage os live she in 

Her haa —aye her Aushand! May 

New moa canker ex Assist 


BAC a nee ba hap peee iilty 
brother | (ent 


ACT II 
Scene I 


A wild and mountainous country. Ok- 
DONIO and IsiDORE are discovered, 
supposed at a little distance from 
Isipone’s douse, 

Ordonie, Here we may stop: 
House disting in view, 

i we secured from listeners. 

Now indeed 
ays a and it looks cheerful as the 


thine tedian Gatoa gina saa 

roc 
Patron ! Friend 

Athcice hye poe meved any Mince de 
the battle 

You gave it me: next rescued me from 
suicide 1 

When for my follies I was made to 
wander, 

With mouths to feed, and not a morsel 


Why this to me? Tt is enough, 
know ft, i 


i a 
Senticg caer beacon eae 
1 

pct sons chase hee Ne 
‘You have it in your power to serve me 


Ordonio. miserable [Aside. 
Isidore | you are @ nan, and know man- 


¥ told you what 1 wished—now for the 


dsidore, You sport with me, my lord? 
Ordenie, Come, come } this foolery 
Tiras oly: tee Soca ea 
owns: 
Isidore, eT cael ene eee 


‘more grievous 
Foe. yoa ny nel ie aaa 


‘Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, 
Wonc caine qucnests sonia iebestss 


Tsidore, Decree pend 

Ont in Han ery yo can play 
She hath 0 hin aly Chas 
Her lowe coed her ln some newer 
Yet ws ae fe tle ‘ot pits works apn 
be os lobe ealvelen ea 





REMORSE 


ETA 





ee can not keep the tears in 

At sch lve the marine to 

Not to ihe its We will wind up her 

‘With a stesoge music, that she knows 
not of — 

With fumes of frankincence, and mum- 
‘meryy 

‘Then leave, as one sure token of his 
death, 

‘That portrait, which from off the dead 
man’s neck 

bade thee take, the trophy of thy con- 
quest. 

Isidore, Will that be a sure sign? 
Ondonis, Beyond suspicion. 

Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, 

{By some base spell’ he had bewitched 

She ST etepe dickens 
is such dark fears of me 
forsooth, 50 

‘As made this heart pour gall into my 


And as she coyly bound it round his neck 
She made him promise silence ; and now 
holds 


‘The secret of the existence of this portrait 
Known only to her lover and herself. 
But I had traced her, stolen unnotic'd on 


them, 
And unsuspected saw and heard the 
whole. 


Utidore, Bat now 1 should have cursed 
the man who told me 
You could ask aught, my lord, and I 


‘But this 1 can not do. 6 
Ordonie. Where lies your scruple? 
dsidere oar pian Why — 


You iow yo tld me that the lady 
'd you, 

ane 

‘That if the young man, her betrothed 
‘husband, 


and she, and th 
Retumed, yourself, and she e 





Must perish, Now though with no 
tenderer scruples 
Than those which being mative to the 


rt, 
Than those, my lord, which merely being 
<man— 

Ordonio (aloud, though to express Bis 
contempt he speaks in the third 
person). This fellow is a Man— 
he killed for hire 

One whom he knew not, yet has tender 
scruples ! = 
(Then turning to Isipone. 
These doubts, these fears, thy whine, 
thy stammering— 
Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the 
‘book of guilt, 
Spelling thy villainy. 
dsidore, My lord—my lord, 
I can bear much—yes, very much from 


you! 
But there's a point where sufferance is 
meanness = 
1 am no villain—never kill’d for hire— 
My gratitude—— 
Ordowio. © aye—your gratitude 1 
’Twas a well-sounding word—what have 
you done with it? 
Isidore. Who profiers his past favours 
for my virtue— 
Ontonio (with bitter scorn), Vistue— 
Isidore. "Tries to o'erreach me—is a 


very sharper, fo 
And should not speak of gratitude, my 
lord. 


T knew not ‘twas your brother ! 
Ordonio (alarmed). And who told you? 
dsidore, He himself told me. 

Ordonis. Hat you talk’d with him ! 

And those, the two Moresoors who were 

with you? 
Isidore, Both fell in a night brawl at 
Malaga. 
Onddowio (én a foro voice). My brother— 
Ssidore, Yes, my lord, I could not tell 


you! 
Tthrust away the thought—it drove me 
wild, 


But listen to me now—TI pray you 
listen —— 





REMORSE aoe | 


Ordenie, Vlsint no more. VUWhear | As be had been made of the rock that 
ropt bis back— 
Aye, just a8 yoo look now—only lex 











Isidore. My lord, it much imports yor 
fatare safety Pd 
"Phat you should hear it. 
Ordonio (turning off from Isidore). Ama 
not Ja Mant 
"Tis as it should be! tut—the deed itself 
Was idle, and these after-pangs still 
idler $ 
Uiidere, We met him in the very place 
mentioned. 















[4 poaw, 

It seizes mo—by Hell I will goon! sat 

What—would'st thou stop, ean? thy 

pale looks won't save thee! 
In fine, compelled a parley. [4 pane. 
Orde iphing 2h fit i cham Oh cold—cold—cold ! shot through with 
Alvar! brother ! key cold! 

Teidore, He offered me his purse— Jsidore (aside). Were he alive he hat 

Ordonio (with eager suspicion). Yes? returned ere now. 


Anders (indignantly), Yes—1 spurned | The consequence the sume—deed throw 
He ional us I know not what—in 


‘Then with a look and voice that over- 






awed me, 200 
He said, What mean you, friends? | And liv’d in a hollow tomb, and fed on 
My life is dear : weeds? 

Ihave a beother and a promised wife, | Aye! that's the road'to heaven 1 O fool! 
Who make life dear to me—and if 1 fall, fool ! fool t fates 
‘That brother will roam earth and hell for | What have I done but that 



















, head 
Or the blind elements stirred up withis 
yours 5 me? 
I asked his brother's name: he said— | If good were meant, why were we made 

i these Beings? 


vengeance. 5 
There was a likeness in his face to 





Ordonio, 
Son of Lord Vaider! 1 had well nigh 
fai 


inted. 
At length 1 said (if that indeed / said it, 
And that no Spirit made my tongue its 


organ) 
That woman is dishonored by that 
210 


brother, 
‘And he the man who sent us to destroy 


bse 
He drove a thrust at me in rage, told aid me, 
ii sone: (én @ low wie) TN 
ist £ 





im, 
He wore her portrait round his neck. 
He look’d 





Jsidore. Some of your servants know 
me, Tam certain. 
‘There’s some sense in that 
+ but we'll mask you. 
idore. know my gait: bat 
stay { last night I watched 140 
A stranger near the ruin in the wood, 
Who as it scemed was gathering berts 
and wild flowers. 
Thad followed him at distanoe, seen him 
scale 


ts western wall, and by an easier en- 
trance 

Stole after him unnoticed. There I 
marked, 

That mid the chequer work of light and 

With Spas choice he plucked no other 

Bat gece om which the moonlight fell : 


Pied Maceattacg o'er the plant. A 
witard— 


ener ere for dati 
Onionis 
him? 


Isidore. "Twas my intention, 
‘Having first traced him homeward to his 


haunt. 
But lot the stern Dominican, whose 
Lark every where, already (as it seemed) 
Had ‘commission to his apt familiar 
ace who now 
eae tee stenped sic. 
1 red es snpion fan en 
In that le ‘plae avin concsed mys 
Vet within hearing, ‘So the Moor _ 
And in your name, ns lord of ihe 

domain, 
Proudly he answered, ‘Say to the Lord 
He that can bring the dead to life 

again!" 


ee you ‘question'a 





REMORSE 


Ondonio. A strange reply ! 
Tsidore. Aye, all of him is strange. 
He called himself a Christian, yet he 
wears 
The Moorish robes, as if he courted 
death. 
Ordonto, Where does this wizard live? 
Isidore ( pointing to the distance). You 
see that brooklet ? 
‘Trace its course backward = 
narrow opening 
Tt leads you to the place, 
ridonio. How shall I know it? 
Tsidore. You cannoterr. It is a small 


through a 


green dell 190 

Built all around with high off-sloping 
hills, 

And ae. ohh shape our peasants aptly 


The Gisnts ‘Cradle, 
the midst, 

And round its banks tall wood that 
branches over, 

And makes a kind of faery forest grow 

Down in the water. At the further end 

A puny cataract falls on the lake ; 

‘And there, a curious sight ! you ste its 
shadow 

For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, 

Up through the foliage of those facry 

80 

His ee emacs opposite. You cannot 
miss it. 

Ordomio (in retiring stope ruddenly at 
the edge of the scene, and then 
turning round to Isidore), Wa \— 
Who lurks there! Have we been 
‘overheard 2 

‘There where the smooth high wall of 
slate-rock glitters — 

Ssidore, "Neath those tall stones, which 
propping each the other, 

Form a mock portal with their pointed 
arch? 
Pardon my smiles ! 


Who sts the Sun, and twitls 2 Bough 
about, 

His weak eyes secth’d in most unmean- 
ing tears. 


There's a lake in 


"Tis a poor Idiot 





And s0 he sits, swaying his cone-like 
Le yi tain pita 


Sun-set, 
Sess hi Vic in inatalate Noses 
Ordonio, "Tis well, and now for this 
same Wizard's Lair, 
Isidore. § ‘Some three strides up the hill, 
mountain ash 


a 
Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet 
clusters 
O'er the old thatch. 
Orderis, 1 shall not fail to find it. 
[#xeunt Orponio end IstDORE, 


Scenx ID 


The inside of @ Cottage, around which 
flowers and plants of varions Kinds 
are seem. Discovers ALVAR, ZULIMEZ 
and ALHADRA, as on the point of 
leaving, 


Alhadre (addressing Alvar), Farewell 
then! and though many thoughts 
Anght erik See 1 
it evil or never can 
If what thou scem’st 


4 “ Nobly-minded woman 1 
Long time against oppression have I 


And for the native liberty of faith 
Have “ee and suffered bonds. Of this 
be certain : 


Time, ser be courses onward, still un- 


The mice of Concealment, In the 
10 
cylinder, 
‘The indistinguishable blots and eolours 
OF the dim Past collect and shape 
themselves, 


Upstarting in their own completed 


image 
To seare or to reward, 
T sought the guilty, 





And what I sought T found : but ere the 

Flew rom my hand, there roe an angel 

Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled 

Po ti Amecgse T leave Vesguasesy sel 
depart ! 


biden prsene dace eit 8 
Or pomer protet, my word plage 
Fiessisty act ahpesngeeal aaa 
Once more, farewell, [Zx# ALADRA, 


Yes, to the Belgic states 
We will return. These robes, this 


stained complexi 
Akin wr ical, wets pon my 
Whate'er befall us, the herolc: Maurice 
‘Will grant us an asylum, in remem- 


| Alvar, 
‘That my return involved Ontonio’s death, 


I trust, would give me an wnmingled 
Yet beaaies— bat when me my 
er 
Strewing ie: sneer eee 
a 
Which soon must be his grave, and my 
i stant aad murderer, and 
ler hu a 
Aer infants: 
His infants—poor Teresa !—ali would 
All pesah—alltl soe ey aoe 
Could not survive the complicated niin t 
Salis, (ouch Sa ‘Nay now! T 
be eet ee 
© nce li your fame ‘Tm, 





‘SCENE WT 
‘You are 2 painter,! one of many fancies ! 
You aad yast deeds, and make 
Om the blank canvas! and each litte 
‘That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled 
You have learnt to name—— 

fT heard you not some footsteps? 


1 ‘The following lines 1 have preserved in this 
‘Paace, net eo much as explanatory of the picture: 
of the assassination, as (if 1 may say so without 


‘Courved by mightiest kings, the famous Titian t 
‘Wha, like w second and more lowely Nature, 
By the sweet myscery of lines and colours 
the blank canvas to 4 magic mirror, 
‘That maide the Absent prevent ; and to Shadows 
Gave light, depth, mubseance, bloom, yea, thought 
and motion. 


‘He loved the old man, and revered his art: 


‘by love, wad 
‘So vivid were the forms within hie brain, 
sag tre vten|pi te ice ot 
Note ia Appendix to the second and Intee 
edicious of Remorse.) 


§ SeGeongs Desemecet, (Writen 1a] 





REMORSE 


Alvar. What if it were my brother 
coming onwards ? 
I sent a most mysterious message to 
him. 
Enter ORDONIO, 
Alwar (starting), It is he | 
Ordonio (to hinsself as he enters), C1 
distinguish’d right her gait = 
stature 
Tt was the Moorish woman, Taidore’s 
wife, 
‘That passed me as I entered, A lit 
taper, 
In the night air, doth not more natur- 


al 

Attract ths night-flies round it, than a 
juror 

Draws round him the whole female 

neighbourhood. 

[Addressing Auvan. 

You know my name, I guess, if not my 
person. 

IT am Ordonio, the Lord 
Valdez. 

Alvar (with deep emotion). The Son of 
Valdez ! 


son of 


[Oxvoni0 watts seisurely round 
the room, and looks atten- 

at the plants, 
Zeulimes (fo Alvar). Why, what ails 


you now? 
How your hand trembles ! Alvar, speak ! 
what wish you? 
Atver, To tall upon is neck and 
weep forgiveness ! 
Ondonio returming,andaloui), Packed 
the moonlight from a ruined 


ey — 

Those only, which the pale rays visited ! 

O the unintelligible power of weeds, 

When a few odd prayers have been 
muttered o'er them : 

‘Then they work miracles ! 


‘There's not a leaf, but underneath it 
lurks 
Some serviceable imp. 
There's one of you 
Hath sot me a strange mesmge. 
Tam he. 


T warrant 





9376 


Ordenéo, With you, then, T am to 
ks 


Cams waeing his and to 

hee nec, 
And lone, » 
~ [2xit Zuumez 
‘He that can bring the dead to life 

vr 

Such was oko ites a Sir! You are 
Bur Corea strips the outward rind of 
Alvar, "Tis fabled there are fruits with 

ing rinds, 


tempting rinds, 
‘That are all dust and rottenness within, 
Would'st thou I should strip such? 
Ondonis. Thou quibbling fool, 
‘What dost thou mean? = Think’st thou I 
journeyed hither 
To with thee? 
Alwar, Ono, my lord | to sport 
Best suits the gaicty of innocence. 
Ordonio (aside). QO what a thing is 
man! the wisest heart fo 
A Fool! a Fool that laughs at its own 


Yet still a fool 1 [Looks round the cottage. 
‘You are poor! 
Alvar. What follows thence ? 
The inquisition, too—You comprehend 
Bart ee, in peril. 1 have wealth 
and power, 
an que the ame, at cae you 
And a the "Gam T ask of you but 
thi 


is, 
That you should serve me—once—for a 
few hours. 


Alvar (solemsly). Thou art the son of 
Valdez! would to Heaven 

That I could truly and for ever serve 
thee. 


es 
Ondone, ‘The slave begins to wfen 
Vonere hae 
‘He that can bring the dead. tale 
again," 


_ 


REMORSE 





ACT It 


Nay, no defence to me! The holy 
brethren 

Believe these calumnies—I know thee 
better, 


[Them twith great bitterness, 
‘Thou arta man, and ex & man TU trast 


Alvar (aride). Alas 1 this hollow mirth 
— your business, 
Ordonio. 1 love a lady, and she would 
Jove me 
Bat for an idle and fantastic scruple, 
Have you no servants here, no listeners? 
[ORDONIO steps fo the door. 
le Noetrig 2 pee 
To nd 8 A wel? ‘Well might’st thon 
hater rplites 1—_Wreteh my softer 
‘soul 
Ts pass’d away, and I will probe his con- 
1 
Ordenio, In truth this lady lov'd 
other 


“Twas icky 1 ihile eyatt le artapen, 
And wear a fool's cay 
"Alvar (walching aie agétation), Fate 
thee, Oren 
Tpi io, even to. 
pity thee, meh ear ed 
"i soins recovered: 
lo 
Alvar. Be briel, what 


lover— 
The ieee 





REMORSE 


377 





Alvar. Nay, speak out! ‘twill ease 
your heart 
‘To call him villain |—Why stand'st thou 
2 


‘Men thisk it natural to hate their rivals. 
Ondenio (hesitating). Now, till she 
knows him dead, she will not wed 


me, 
Alvar (with caper vekemence). Are you 
not wedded, then? — Merciful 


30 


Why, what ails thee ? 
What, art thou mad? why look’st thou 


pward so? 
Dost pray to Lucifer, Prince of the Air? 
Alvear (recollecting hinsself). Proceed. 
T shall be silent. 
[Atvar sits, amd leaning on the 
table, hides his face, 
Ordenia, To Teresa? 
Politic wizard! ere you sent that mes- 


=e, 
You had conn'd your lesson, made your- 
self zt 
Tn all my fortunes. Hah! you pro- 
A golden crop! Well, you have not 
mistaken— 
Be faithfal to me and I'll pay thee nobly. 
Alvar Wing “ his head). if 
and this lady! 
eed If we could make her postal, 
his death, 
Ere her lover 
She tied a little portrait round his neck, 
him to wear it. 
Alar (sighing), Ves! he did so! 
Onienie, Why no: he was afraid of 
accidents, 
of robbie, and shipwrecks, and the 
In peer =o gave it me to keep, 
‘Alvar. What! be was your friend 
then? 
Onionio (wounded and embarrassed), 


1 was his friend, — 
Now that he gave it me, 





This Indy knows not. You area mighty 
wizard — mr 

Can call the dead man up—he will not 
come,— 

He is in heaven then—there you have 
no influence. 

Still there are tokens—and your imps 

may bring you 

Something he wore about him when he 
died, 

And when the smoke of the incense on 
the altar 

Is pass’d, your spirits will have left this 

picture. 
What say you now? 
Alvar (after a pause). Ordonio, T will 


‘Weill hazard no delay. Be 
it to-night, 

In the early evening. Ask for the tani 
Valdez, 

I will prepare him, Music too, snd 


incense, 
(For T have arranged it—Musi, Altar, 


nse) 

All aul be ready. 

picture, 

And here, what you will value more, a 

purse, 

Come early for your magic ceremonies. 
Alvar, I will not fail to meet you. 
Ordonio, Till next we meet, farewell t 

[2x Orvonto. 

Alvar (alone, indignantly flings the 

piorse away and gazes passionately 

‘at the portrait), And I did curse 
thee! 

At midnight ! on my knees! and I be- 

lieved 

Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress ! thee dis- 

honor'd ! 

© blind and credulous fool! O guilt of 

folly! 16 


Here is this same 


Should not thy émerticudate Fondneses, 
Thy /ufane Loves—should not thy Mates 
Vi 


rows 

Have come upon my heart? And this 
sweet Image 

Tied round my neck with many a chaste 
endearment, 





REMORSE 


And thrilling hands, that made me weep 
and tremble— 

Ah, coward dupe! to yicld it to the 
miscreant, 

Who Sa pollution of thee f barter for 


‘This free Pde, which with impas 
sioned V 


3 jhiadewor! that’ T would: prasp—er'n 
in my Death-pang ! 


Tam unworthy of thy love, ‘Teresa, 170 
OF that unearthly smile upon these lips, 
Which ever smiled on me1 Yet do not 


som me— 
I lisp’d thy name, ere I had learnt my 
mother's, 


Dear Portrait t rescued from a traitor's 


keeping, 
I will not now profane thee, holy Image, 
Toadark trick, ‘That worst -bad man 
shall find 
A picture, which will wake the hell within 


im, 
And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his con- 
seience. 


ACT It 
Scene I 


A Halt of Armory, with an Altar at the 
tack of the Stage. Soft Music from an 
instrament of Glass or Steck. 


VAaLprz, ORDONIO, ond ALVAR in a 
Sorcerer's robe, are discovered. 


Ordonio, This was too melancholy, 
Father. 
Valites. Nay, 
Ady Alvar lov'dlned mic frog CRI 
‘Once he was lost ; and after weary search 
We found him in an open place in the 


wood, 

To which spot he had followed a blind 
boy, 

Who breath’d into a pipe of sycamore 


Some strangely moving notes: and these, 
he said, 





i eee Him we 
suedvaron the, oa top of = smnny 
heath-bank 


‘And Jower dowa pooe Alvar; fast 
His head poo the bled boy's dog. 


toma tow the had fasten’d round the 
[A cilves toy ‘is Qranshana a ae gp 
him. 


Methinks I, see him now as he then 

‘d— 

Even so !—He had outgrown his infant 
dt 


ress, 
‘Yet still he wore it, 
Alvar, My tears mist mot flow! 
I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My 
father 1 
Enter Teresa and Attendants. 
Teresa, Lord Valder, you have asked 


my presence here, 
And T submit; but (Heaven bear witness 
for me] 
My heart approves it not 1 *tis mockery. 
Ordonie. Believe you then no pew: 
natural influence + 
Believe te not that spirits throng ea 


Toe A mther that T have im 
agined it 

A ponible hing and it has sooth’d my 

Aw the cis haves but ne’er seduced 


‘To trafic with the black and frenzied hope 
That the dead hear the voice of witch or 

wizard, * [7 Atvar. 
Stranger, I mourn and blush to see you 


here, 
On such employment 1 With far other 
thoughts 
T left you. 
Ordonio (aside). ey ! ba thas. teen 
tampering with 
Alvear, O high- pare Maiden t and 
‘more dear to me 
Than suits the Stranger’s name t— 
T swear to thee 








REMORSE 


Twill uncover all concealed guilt. 
Doubt, but decide not ! Stand ye from 
the altar, 


ier rain font is heard 
Behind the scene, 
Alvar, no irreverent voice or 
uncouth charm 


call up the Departed ! 
Soul of Alvar! 
‘Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder 


Secenty te Gales of Barston unbarr'd, 
Cease thy swift toils! Since haply mia 


rainbow, 
Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, 
With nofse too vast and constant to be 


‘heard : 
Filliest- unheard! For ob, ye number- 


And rapid Travellers! what car unstunn’d, 
‘What sense unmadden'd, might bear up 
‘The: of your congregated wings ? 

(Music. 
Even now er} Suing wheel turns o'er 


eens 


ge ta, 
Youeye psn Sands, 


‘That roar and SS acortgaaibel 


A sweet, » bat a dread Gllosion 
To the “ caravan that roams by 


‘on the becalmed, waves 
fame lar, whic from Earth to 
Cases and moves in blackness! 

Ye too split 
‘The ico mount ! and with fragments many 
‘Tempest the new-thaw’d sca, whose 
Bae ay perchance, Lapland 

some Lap! 
wizard’ ski 


‘Then romnd and round the whirlpool's 
maarge ye dance, cy 





Till from the blue swoln Corse the 
Soul toils out, 
And joins your mighty Army, 
(ere behind the scenes a voice 
sings the three words, * Hear, 
Sweet Spirit.’ 
Soul of Alvar ! 
Hear the mild spell, and tempt no 
blacker Charm | 
By sighs unquiet, and the sickly pang 
Of a half-dead, yet still undying Hope, 
Pass visible before our mortal sense 
So shall om Chureh’s cleansing rites be 


Her sol sand masses that redeem the 


Sona 


Behisd the Scenes, accompanied by the 
same Instrument as before. 


Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, 
Lest a blacker charm compel! 70 
‘So shall the midnight breezes swell 
With thy deep long-lingering knell. 


And at evening evermore, 

In a Chapel on the share, 

Shall the Chaunters sad and saintly, 
Yellow tapers burning faintly, 
Doleful Masses chaunt for thee, 
Miserere Domine! 


Hark ! the cadence dies away 
On the quiet moonlight sea: 
The boatmen rest their oars and say, 
Miserere Dowine! [A long pause. 


Ordenio, The innocent obey nor 
‘Thou sainted 


Burst on our sight, a passing visitant ! 

Once mote to hear thy voice, once more 
to see thee, 

© "were a joy to met 

Aloar, A joy to thee 

What if “ee heard’st him now? What 
if his spiit 

Re-enter'd it’s cold corse, and came upon 
thee 





380 


With many fom any meters | areas ‘Tis sreeoge tease sy 


‘What (rhs sadist Eye still beaming Bat whats mean, I dare no longer 
Pity 

‘And Brother's love) he turn’d his head 
aside, 

Lest he should look at thee, and with 
one look 

‘Hurl thee beyand all power of Penitence? 

Vaties. These fancies: 


Alvar (still to Ordonio), Bat what ifhe 
had a brother, 


Who had lived even so, that at his dying 
hour, 

The name of Heaven would have con- 
‘vulsed his face, 

More than the death-pang? 

Valdes. Taly pra ting man 1 
‘Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only 
brother 


Stands here before thee—a father’s bless. 


Alvar cede to ool What, if his 
Had Peat his swoln heart and 
‘made him proud ? 
And what if Pride had duped him into 
quilt ? 
Yet still Be sale a self-created God, 
Not very ‘sitely cunning; 
And one that’ at i Mothers looking: 
Would his features to a frowning 
sternness ? 
iors petal T tell thee, that there are 
at es ar 
Yea, soi ines jerce merriment to the 
To see a most proud men, that loath 
ind, 
At evap itr and buz of coward con- 
science, 
Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypo- 


rites ! 
Away, Ls ag Now let a hear more 


_ 





Be present at these lawless mysteries, 
‘This dark rk. Paowoking ‘of the Hidden 


Already 1 tfoat—If pot high Heaven — 
Yet Alvar's Memory !—Hark ! I make 


Ags the inky, (ih and bay 
To bend ele x a Shine, ad ah 
‘That voice which whispers, when 


still Heart listens, 
Comfort and faithful Hope! Let us re- 
tire, 


Music ax before. 

‘The spell is mutter'd—Come, thou wan- 
dering Shape, 

‘Who own’st no Master in a human eye, 

Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it, 
or foul, oo 

The be Sead) 0 cana ie ees 
ul 

‘That which he grasp’d in death 1 But if 
he live, 





REMORSE 


381 





[At this instant the doors are forced 
open, MONVIEDRO and the 
Familiars of the Inquisition, 
Servants, eta, enter and fill 
the stage, 

AMonviedro, First seize the sorcerer ! 
ae ‘him not to speak ! 
‘The holy judges of the Inquisition 
Shall hear his first words,—Look you 
pale, Lord Valdes ? 
Plain evidence have we here of nay 


foul sorcery. 
Pfides ee Ganges tniSerneath this cst, 
And as you hope for mild interpretation, 
Scrrender instantly the Keys and charge 


Oneate epee i a Aer 
stupor, to Servants), te 
you not? Off with tet to the 

! 
[Ad rush out in tumult, 
Scene IT 

Interior of a Chapel, with painted 
Windows. 


Enter TERESA. 
Terea, When first I entered this 
pure spot, forebodings 


Press'd heavy on my heart : but as I 
Soch calm tinwonted bliss possess'd my 


it, 
Rares tesilen, that these sounds, 
hard 


Of trampling: uproar fell upon mine ear 
unnoticed 


As alien and as the rain-storm 
Beats oa the roof of some fair banquet 


Toon, 
Whilesweetest melodiesare warbling — 
Enter Vavvrz, 

Valder. Ye pitying saints, forgive a 
father's blindness, 
‘And extricate us from this net of peril ! 


Who wakes anew my fears, 


and speaks of peril? n 
Valdes: © best. Teresa, wisely wert 
! 


‘thou 
Rares eccl kes 1 





That picture—Oh, that picture tells me 
all! 


With a flash of light it came, in flames 
it vanished, 
Self-kindled, self-consum'd; bright as 
thy Life, 
Sudden and unexpected as thy Fate, 
Alvar! My Son! My Son !—The In- 
quisitor— 
Teresa, Torture menot! But Alvar— 
Oh of Alvar? 
Valdes. How often would He plead = 
these Morescoes 
‘The brood accurst! remorseless, opal 
murderees t 
Teresa (wildly), So? s0?—1 compre- 
hend you—He 
Valdes (with averted countenance). He 
is no more! 
Terese. O sorrow! that a Father's 
Voice should say this, 
A Father’s Heart ai itt 
Valdes. A worse sorrow 
Are Fancy'swild Hopes toa heart despair- 
ing ! 
Teresa ‘These raysthat slant in through 
those gorgeous windows, 
From yon bright orb—though coloured 


as they pass, 
Are they nt Light Even so that vee, 


Which oie oe tof oy soul, though haply 
varied 
By many a Fancy, many a wishful Hope, 
‘Speaks yet the Trath : and Alvar lives for 
met n 
Valdes, Yes, for theee wasting years, 
thus and no other, 
He has lived for thee—a spirit for thy 
spirit ! 
My child, we must not give religious faith 
‘To every voice which makes the heart a 
listener 
To its own wish. 
Teresa, _ I breath’ to the Unerring 
Permitted prayers. Must those remain 
‘unanswer'd, 
Yet impious Sorcery, that holds no com- 
mune 
Save with the lying spirit, claim belief? 





382 


‘aldez. O not to day, not now for the 
first time ” 
‘Was Alvar lost to thee— 
[Tierming off, alow, bout yet a3 to 
Aiveself, 
Accurst assassins ! 
Disarmed, o'erpowered, despairing of 
defen 


ee 
At his bared breast he seem’d to grasp 
some relict 
More dear than was his life—— 
Teresa (with faint shriek). O Heavens! 
my portrait 
And he «id grasp it in his death pang 
Off, false Demon, 
‘That beat'st thy black wings close above 

my head t 

[Oxponto enters with the keys of 
the dungeon in is Aand, 

Hush! who comes here? The wizard 

Moor's employer ! 

Moors were his murderers, yousay? Saints 
shield us 
From wicked thoughts—— 

[VALDez mores towards the back 
of the stage to mecet ORDONIO, 
and during the concluding 
Hines of Tenxsa’s speech ap- 
pears as eagerly conversing 
with Aim, 

Zs Alwar dead ? what then? 

‘The nuptial rites and funeral shall be one ! 

Here'mnoablding placeforthe, ‘Teresa — 

Away! they see me not— 7how seest 
me, Alvar! 

To thee Th T bend my course. —But first one 

‘question, 

One question to Ordonio,—My limbs 
tremble— 
‘There I may sit unmark’d—a moment 
will restore me. 
[Retires out of right, 
Ondonia (ar he adetuces with Validec), 

These are the dungeon keys 

Monviedro knew not, 

‘That I too had received the wizard's mes- 


sage, 

* He that can bring the dead to life again.” 

But now he is satisfied, I plann'd this 
scheme 





REMORSE 


To work a full conviction on the culprit, 
Aad Race aa 


Vatde 1s well, my 200! But have 
you yet discovered. 
(Where is Teresa?) what those speeches 
‘meant— 
Pride, and Hypocrisy, and Guilt, and 
‘Cunning ? 
‘Then when the wizard fix'd his eye on 
And ae ou 1 know not why, Jook'd pale 
why, what ahdyoet 


Me? va all me? 
A pricking of the blood—It might have 
hay 'd 


Valdes (comfuesed). ‘Truc—Sarcery 
Merits its doom ; and this perchance may 
us 


To the di of the murderers. 
I have their statures and their several 


faces 
So present to me, that but omce to meet 
them, 


"Ont Test yet we recognize 
1 was ied, nd aggre up and 
‘aoa aha ito Hight dad 
My ta et cy my Ba ‘daar 
As taal snake coil’d round them !— 


‘tis sunshine, 
And the blood dances freely throng it 





‘SCENE II 


REMORSE 


383 





[Tien mimicking IsrpoRe’s man- 
mer and voice, 

* A.common trick of gratitude, my lord 1° 

‘Old Grativade ! 3 would dissect 


But that in spite of your own seeming 
faith - 


T held it for some innocent stratagem, 
Which Kore had prompted, toremove the 


of witl 1 i Ta —ty fancies quelling 


nt so i renin 

}. 1 Love! and 

then we hate! and what? and 
wherefore ? 


Hatred and Love! Fancies opposed by 
fancies 
What? if one reptile sting another 
ike? 
Where is the crime? The goodly face 
nature 
epee eme the leas upcn 


i he ee 
ohne Mee ced Grant iy ha this 


oo a 
coment ‘too carly— Where's the crime 
of this? 


_ this must needs bring on the idiotcy 
Of moist-eyed Penitence—'tis like a 
dream 1 
Vabies, Wild id tally ao son! But thy 
excess of 


himself. 

‘moot I fear bath vstinged ei ea 
Page easter. on ae 
his father: and just 

the speech has commenced, 

and advances 

saci. 8 Spe had Tald a body 


Well t i moth wa fa om 





A thousand, nay, ten thousand sentient 
beings 


ing 
In place of that one man.—Say, I had 
all’ him t 110 
[Teresa starte and stops listen- 


ing. 
Yet who shall tell me, that each one and 
all 


OF these ten thousand lives is not as 
happy, 
As tabs oe life, which being push'd 


Mave Bon re these unnumbered —— 
Valdes. O mere madness ! 
[TERESA moves Aastily forwards, 
and places herself directly be- 
fore ORDONIO. 

Ordonio {checking the feeling of sur- 
prize, and forcing his tones into 
an expression of plarhet courtery), 
Teresa? or the Phantom of 
Teresa? 

Teresa, Alas! the Phantom only, if in 
truth 


The substance of her Being, her Life’s 


life, 
Have ta’en its flight through Alvar’s 
death-wound— [4 pause, 


Where— 
(Even coward Murder grants the dead a 


grave) 

© tell me, Valdex !—answer me, Or- 
donio 130 

Where lies the corse of my betrothed 
husband ? 

Ordenio. There, where Orlonio like- 

wise would fain lie t 

In the sleep-compelling earth, in un- 
piere’d darkness ! 

For while we Live— 

An inward day that never, never sets, 

Glares round the soul, and mocks the 
closing eyelids ! 


Over his rocky grave the Fir-grove sighs 
A lulling ceaseless dirge! “Tis well with 
HIM. 
[Strider off im agitation towards 
the altar, but reterns as 
Vatnz & speaking, 





Le Saheim Pepe anole: sian 

appropriate to the passion), 

rock ! the fir-grove t 
(Ze Vatpez 
Did'st ¢how hear him say it? 
hath T will ask him! 

‘Urge him not—not now ! 
mal we fla Mitac 2 cast War 
Than wine, the magic imagery ie 


‘The assassin, who pressed foremost of the 
theee—— 
Ondonio, A tender-hearted, scrupulous, 
villain 


yet ing to pro- 
ceed with his ations While 
his two companions—— 
Ordonio, Dead! dead already! what 
care we for the dead? 
Valdes (to Teresa). Pity him! sooth 
him { disenchant his spirit ! 
shews, this strange 


disclosure, 

And this too fond affection, which still 
broods 

O'er Alvar's Fate, and still burns to 
avenge it— 14°. 

These, struggling with his hopeless love 

Pubesicer bien aoa feality 

temper him, and give 
‘To the creatures of his fancy, 


(Ordsrio, Is it 50? 
Yes! yes! a aes that too 
abrupt! 


Row he of ht from deepest 


Starts =  Pewildered and tales lly. 
[Tie mysteriously. 
Father { 


What if the Moors that made my 
brother's grave, x 
Even now were digging ours’? What if 


the bolt, 
Though aim’d, T doubt not, at the son 
of Valde 


jez, 
‘Yet miss'd “ true aim when it fell = 


Ab 





Coheeas te Seeineeee 
dered, 
Leave all ba Nay, whither, gentle 


Teresa, 
Where life wet dal omeete en 


‘These walls seem threatening to fall in 
‘upon me! 60 
Detain me not | a dim power drives me 
bail guide. 
ac Ta find a lover ! 
Sule tata i-born maiden's modesty 2 
O folly and shame! “‘Tempt not my 
Tie apes, 1 fear no human 


6 
And earl hae ey ioe 


I ieee th ‘of my beloved { 
haste but to the grave 
Vat fallawbae afer Ber 


esp alge OTE eae 
He vin Atti love her—woo creme 


ire nt hy he 
Found on the wizard—he, , self 
(| To ea hr ames ay 
higher ‘Blood! Blood ! 
‘They thirst Re fo hy Moa ty, at 





REMORSE 





‘The ad up! and in the midnight 
With Hights to daale and with nets they 


isiaeidipiny ical to the ti 


rs eye 
Glares in the red flame of 
torch ! 


is hunter's 
vo 


To Isidore 1 will ich a message, 
Ad Te hi "othe cavern! aad 


iaesmr fll wo. Gnd ik ‘Thither I'll 
him, 


Whence he shall never, never more 
return f 


[Looks through the side window, 
‘A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea, 
And now ‘tis gone! All shall be done 

to-night. [2xit. 


ACT IV 
Scenn ft 


Acavern, dark, except where a gleam of 
scent ont one side at the 


it; CS aaied to be cast 
it of the 


an extinguished torch iin his hard. 
Teidgre. Faith "twas a moving letter— 
eae: moving ! 
Ais life in danger, no place safe but 


erpenie tar po to talk of gratitude,’ 
And yet—but no! there can't be such a 


Et can not be! 
‘Thanks to that little crevice, 
SME fat ie meant fn! I'll goand 
oe free, or see a he-goat's 


Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in 
sear 

Any but this crash of water drops ! 

“These dull abortive sounds that fret the 





With puny thwartings and mock op- 
position } 1) 
So ea the death-watch to a sick man's 


(3 goce ome of sight, opposite to 
the patch of moonlight : 
returns after a minutes 
elapse, in an extasy of fear. 

A hellish et” The very same T dreamt 


Twas ia in—and those damn'd fingers 


‘of ice 
Which clutch'd my hair up! 
what's the it mov’d. 
(IstD0RK stands staring at another 
recess tn the cavern, In the 
mean time ORDONIO enters 
mith a torch, and halloor to 
Ts1poRE. 
Jsidore. 1 sweat that T saw something 
moving there | 
The moonshine came and went like a 
flash of lightning. 
I swear, 1 saw it move. 
Onidenio (goes into the recess, them 
returns, and with great scorn). 
A jutting clay stone 
Drops on the lang lank weed, that grows 
beneath : 
And the weed nods and drips. 
Isidore (forcing a laugh faintly), 
Jest to laugh at | 
Tt was not that which scar’d me, good 
my lord. 
Ordonio, What scar’d you, then? 
Isidore, You see that little rift ? 
Bat a mit me! 
ights his terch at Oxpoxto’s, 
and while lighting it. 
(A lighted torch in the hand 
Is no unpleasant object here—one's breath 
Floats round the flame, and makes as 
many colours 
As the ‘thin clouds that travel near the 
moon.) 
You see that crevice there? 
My torch extinguished by these water- 
dh 


Ha !— 


drops, 
And marking that the moonlight came 
from thence, 


2¢ 





386 


I stept in to it, to sit there 
Be ory heats ncatoed twenty 


My boty bend bending forward, yea, o’er- 


Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink 
Of a buge chasm I stept. The shadowy 
moonshi 


ine 
sue ibe the vais so counterfeited Sub- 
That my fo ng aslant adown the 


Was ct ton fear? 
Fear too hath its instincts ! 
(And yet such dens as these are wildly 
told of, 
And there are Beings that live, yet not 
for the eye) 
An arm of fst above and rom behind 


Pluck’d up up and snatched me Fak vi 
‘Merciful Heaven ! 
You smile! alas, even smiles look 
ghastly here | 
My lord, 1 el ac you, go yourself and 
Onionis. Tt must have shot some 
pleasant feelings through you. 
Tsidore. a atom of a dead man's 
Should rs each one with a particular 
Yet all as cold as ever—"twas just so! 
Or had it drizzled needle-points of frost 
Upon a feverish head male suldenly 
Ordonio (interrupting him), 


lore, 
I blush for thy cowardice, 
have startled, 


Why, 
It might 


Bat tack a panic— 
‘When a boy, my lord ! 
1 coil Ihave sate whole hours beside that 


chasm, 
Push’d in huge ‘stones and heard them 


strike and rattle 
Agana ie sides + then hung my 
en 


kb 


REMORSE 





activ 


‘Low down, and listened till the heavy 
fragments 
See at aa aes 
Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which 
never 
A living thing came near—unless, per- 
Some a worm battens on the TORY 
Ch atts 
‘Onion, ARC en more coward now? 
Isidore. Call hin, dha ears flow. 
man, a coward ! 
I fear not man—but this intuman cavern, 
Tt were too bad a prison-house for, 
Beside, sotto, my Tot 
My ian gh sleep was very sorely 
By pes had goes between ws in the 
morning. 
© sleep of horrors! Now run down and 
stared at 
By Forms so hideous that they mock re- 
membrance— 
Now =m nothing and imagining 
rp 
But onl ifled with Fear! 
tee 
Had a pias breathing terror 


1 saw soa bre tonne ae 
And, I entreat your lordshipto believe me, 


of ain down tat hay whe 


Wak'd es 1 dhs beard ny dear 
‘Strange enough! 


learly, 
Than in mj y aitani Yate — thd 
chasm, ” 


Ordonio Vast i 
of 1 aoe ala 
it should be ! yet it fo— 





SCENE 1 


REMORSE 


387 





Sridore, What is, my lord? 
Abhorrent from our nature 
‘To kill a man. 
Isidore. except in self-defence, 
Ordonio, Why ile my case; and 
yet the soul recoils from it— 
Ts Boras mace least. But you, per- 


Have sterner feelings ? 
Asidore. a troubles you. 
‘How shall I serve you? By the life you 


gave me, 
By all that makes that life of value to me, 
‘My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear 


to you, ” 
Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, 
If it be innocent! But this, my lord ! 
Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 
No, nor A Sion ‘a wicked thing. The 


When ten eo oe know 'tis cheer- 
fal moon! 
Collects the Pe at crowds it round 


the heart. 

Ti meust be innocent. 

[Oxnowto darkly, and in the feel- 
ing: of self justification, fells 
what he conceives of his own 
character and actions, speak- 
ing of himself in the third 


Ondonio, Thyself be judge, 
‘One of our family knew this place well. 
Asidore. Who? when? my lord? 
Ordonie, What boots it, who or when? 
Hang wp th thy torch—I’l tell his tale to 
tot 
[They Aang wp their torches on 
souse ridge in the cavern. 
‘He was a man different from other men, 
“Ata he despised them, yet revered 


‘trite nid He? He despised? 
Thou'rt speaking of thyself! 
| Tam on my guard, however: no surprize. 
[Ther f OnDos10. 
‘What, he was mad ? 
Ondonio. Al men seemed mad to him! 
“Nature had made him for some other 
planet, 





And pressed his soul into a human shape 
By accident ar malice., In this world 309 
He found no fit companion, 
Isidore. Of himself he speaks. [Aside. 
‘Alas ! poor wreteh t 
Mad men ate mostly proud. 
Ordonio, He walked alone, 
And phantom thoughts unsought -for 
troubled him. 
Something within would still be shadow- 
ing out 
All possibilities ; and with these shadows 
His mind held dalliance. Once, as so 
it happened, 
A tincy: coos isn wider than’ the 
reat: 
To this in moody murmur and low voice 
He yielded utterance, ax some talk in 
sleep : 
‘The man who beard him.— 
Why didst thou look round? 
Uvidere, Vhae 1 pratiler thre yearn 
old, my lord! 
Tn traih be ls my darling. AsiT weal ©) 
From forth my door, he made a moan in 


sleep— 
But I am talking idly—pray proceed ! 
And what did this man? 
Ondonio, With bis human hand 
He gave a substance and reality 
To that wild fancy of a possible thing. — 
‘Well it was done! 
[Them very wildly. 
Why babblest thow of guilt ? 
‘The deed was done, and it passed fairly 
ff, 


off 
And he whose tale 1 tell thee—dost thou 

listen ? 
Isidore, 1 would, my Jord, you were 
by my fire-side, 1p 

T'd listen to you with an eager eye, 

Though you began this cloudy tale at 

midnight, 

But I do lsten—peay proceed my lod. 
Ordonio. here was I? 
Isidore, He of whom you anehaioss 
Ondonio, Surveying all things with 

quiet scorn, 

‘Tamed himself down to living purposes, 

The occupations and the semblances 





Ordonio. a 
the to a brother-traitor, 
eriiey tarrenn thas hateh’d a damned 


plot uP 
To hunt him down to infamy and death. 
What did the Valdez? Iam proud of 


the name 
Since he dared do it,— 
{ORnonI0 gray 
turns 
after a pause returns. 
Our links burn dimly. 
Uvidore, K dark tale darkly finished | 


his seen, and 
Istnone, then 


rompted— 
He made the Traitor meet him in this 
cavern, 49 

And here he kill'd the Traitor. 
Isidore. No! the fool ! 


He had not wit enough to be a traitor. 
Poor thick-eyed beetle ! not to have fore- 


seen 
That he who gulled thee with a whim- 
lie 


To murder his own brother, would not 
To murder shee, if cer his guilt grew 


jealous, " 
And he could steal upon thee in the dark ! 
Ondonio, Thou would'st not then have 
come, if— 
Asidare. Oh yes, my lord 1 . 
IT would have met him arm’d, and sear'd 
the coward. 
his robe 3 


[Isipork fhrews 
shews himself armed, and 
draws his sword. 
Onionio. Now this is excellent and 
warms the blood t 160 
My poe drawing back, drawing me 


With weak Cd womanish scruples. Now 
my 
Reckons me 


‘mien, 





engeance 
onwards with a Warrior's | 


act ty 


Anil claps deol ia eT ad 
‘Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and 
‘count it 
Se ae thoughts here- 
Ssidore, Ave all my little ones father 
leas — 


Ondonio, \ have hurl’d him down the 
Chasm! Treason 
her of it: henceforward let hin: 


lee, 
A dreamless sleep, from which no wile 
wake 


can him. 370 
His dream too is made out—Now for his 
friend, [Zn Oxpowto. 


Scene 1 


The interior Court of a or 
Gorhte Castle, with the Irom Gate of 
5 et a 


Teresa, Heart-chilling Superstition! 


Prensa _— 
Ev'n Pity’s eye with her own frozen tear. 
In vain I urge the tortures that a 





SCENE IT 


REMORSE 





No, T have faith, that Nature ne‘er per. | 
mitted 


‘Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, 
T doubt sot that Ordonio had suborned 


To act some part in some unholy fraud re 
Ass little doabt, that for some unknown 


ie hath bafited his suborner, terror-struck 
him, 


And that Ordonio meditates revenge ! 
But my resolve ts fixed! myself will 
* ‘rescue him, iM 
‘And Jean ifhaplyhe know aughtof Alvar. 
Enter Varpez. 
Waldes. Still sad?—and gazing at the 


massive door 


‘OF that fell Dungeon which thou ne‘er 
had'st sight of, 
Save what, srehanes, thy infant fancy 
it 2 
When the nurse still'd thy cries with 
‘unmeant threats. 
Now by my faith, Girl! this same wizard 
haunts thee? 
A stately man, and eloquent and tender— 
(ith a sneer, 
‘Who then need wonder if a lady sighs 
‘Eeyen at the thought of what these stern 
‘Dominicans— 


Teresa (with solemn indignation). The 
horror of their ghastly punish- 


ments 
Doth so o'ertop the height of all com- 
= : 
“That TF should feel too little for mine 


enemy, 
AF it were possible T could feel more, 
“Even thongh the dearest inmates of our 
household 7 
‘Were doom'd to suffer them. That such 
Valdes, thoughtless woman ! 
Terese. Nay it wakes within me 
‘More than a woman's spirit. 
Valdes. 


No more of this— 
‘What if Monviedro or his creatures hear 


ust 
T dare not listen to you, 





Teresa, My honoured lord, 
These were my Alvar's lessons, and 
whene'er 
I bend me o'er his portrait, Trepeat them, 
[As if to give @ voice to the mute image. 
Vakdes. ‘We have mourned for 
Alvar, 
Ofhis sad fate there now remainsnodoubt, 
Have I no other son? 
Teresa, Speak not of him ! 
That low imposture! That mysterious 
picture a 
If this be madness, must I wed « mad- 
man? 
And if not madness, there is mystery, 
And guilt doth lurk behind it. 
Valdes, Ts this well? 
Teresa. Yes, it is truth: saw you his 
‘countenance ? 
How rage, remorse, and soorn, and stupid 
fear 
Displaced each other with swift inter- 
changes 
© that f had indeed the sorcerer’s 


power, — 
I would call up before thine eyes the 


image 

Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy First-born! 

His own fair countenance, his kingly 
forchead, st 

His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on 
his lips ! 

‘That spiritual and almost heavenly light 

In his commanding eye—his mien heroic, 

Virtue's own native heraldry | to man 

Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. 

Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness 
spread 

‘Wide round him! and when oft with 
swelling tears, 

Flash’ through by indignation, he be- 
wail'd 


The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd 
© 


patriots, 
Oh, what a grief was there—for joy to 
envy, 
‘Or gaze upon enamour’d £ 
‘O my father! 
Recall that morning when we knelt 
together, 








And thou didst bless our loves! O even 
now, 

Even now, my ‘sire! to thy mind's eye 
present him, 

As at that moment he rose up before thee, 

‘Stately, with beaming look! Place, 


srturbed countenance ! 

‘Then bid me (Oh thou could’st not) bid 
me turn 

From him, the joy, the triumph of our | 

ind t | 


i 

To take in exchange that brooding aie 
who never 

Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to 


scowl, 
Valdes, Ungrateful woman! I have 
tied to stifle 
‘An old man’s passion ! was it not enough, 
‘That thou hast made my son a restless 


man, 

Banish’d his health, and half unhing’d 
his reason ; 

But that thou wilt insult him with sus- 
picion? 

And toil to blast his honour? I am old, 

A comfortless old man! 

Teresa, O Grief! to hear 
Hateful intreaties from a voice we love ! 


Enter a Peasant ami presents a 
fetter fo VALDEZ. 


Valdes reading it). “He dares not ven- 

ture hither 1’ Why, what can 
‘this mean? & 

« Lest the Familiars of the Inquisi 

‘That watch around my gates, should in- 
tercept him ; 

But he conjures me, that without delay 

Thasten to him—for my own sake en- 
treats me 

To guard from danger him I hold im- 

irison’d— 

He will reveal a secret, the joy of which 

Will even outweigh the sorrow.’—Why 
what can this be? 

Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, 





‘To have in me an hostage for his safety. 
Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect 
my servants ! o | 


nig! 
As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep 
© Avast Alvest that they could 


weight 
OF bliss, that pressed too 
heart, 


And this majestic Moor, seems be aoe 
‘Who oft and long communing wih® 


Alvar 
Hath drank i kindred Ite fon 


And guldes moto hin ho wth ret 
What if in yon dark dungeon ome 


Treachery 

Be groping for bisa “wid soem! 
poignard— 

Hence, ea fears, traitors to 1 


and duty— 
I'l free him. [Ae Text 


Scenx HI 


The mountains by moonlight, AUMADM 
calowe ina Moorish dress. 
Alhadra. You woods, thet 
touch'd by autumn seem 
As they were blossoming hues of fire aad 





‘SCENE 111 


REMORSE 


390r 





‘The flowerlike woods, most lovely in 
‘The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the 
Lie in the silent moonshine : and the 


Sole veloe, ce oe of all this world of 


Unless, pede she sing her screeching 
song, 
Toa need wolves, that skulk athirst 


blood, 
Why such a thing am 1?—Where are 
these men ? to 
I need the sympathy of human faces, 
‘To beat away this deep contempt for all 
u 
Which quenches my revenge, O ! would 
to Alla, 
‘The raven, or the sea-mew, were ap- 
point 
To being me food! or rather that my 
Could i 
Le were a eae diving in some small skiff 
Along some Ocean's boundless solitude, 
To float for ever with a careless course, 
And think myself the only Being alive ! 


My children !Isidore’s children !—Son 
of Valdez, 


life from the universal 


‘This hath new strung mine arm. 
coward Tyrant ! 

fya Woman's Heart with anguish 

forgot—even that she was a 

Mother! 

[Ste fen her eye on the earth. 

in one after 

Seay from different parts 

of the stage, & considerable 

sumber of Morescocs, alt in 

Moorish garments and Moor- 

ish armour. They form a 

circle at a distance round 

ALHADRA, am? remain 


‘To stupit 
TH 





sient till the Second én cont. | 
mand, Naomi, enters, dis- | 


tingwished by his dress and 
armour, and by the silent 
obsisance paid t0 hi on his 
entrance by the other Moors. 

Naomi. Woman! May Alla and the 
Prophet bless thee ! 

We have obeyed thy call. Where is our 
chief? 

And why didst thou enjoin these Moorish 
garments? 

Athadra {raising her eyes, and looking 
round on the circle), Woaxtiors of 
Mahomet ! faithful in the battle ! 

My countrymen 1 Come ye prepared to 


An oka deed? And would ye 
work it » 
In the slave’s garb? Curse on those 
Christian robes | 
‘They are spell-blasted: and whoever 
wears them, 
His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart 
melts away, 
And his bones soften. 
Naomi. Where is Isidore ? 
Athadra (in a deep low voice) This 
night I went from forth my house, 


ing ! 
And 1 return’d and found them still 
asleep, 
But he had perished —— 
alll Morescoes. Perished ? 
Alhadras He had perished ! 
Sleep oo, poor babes 1 not one of you 
doth know 
That he is fatherless—a desolate orphan | 
Why should we wake them? Can an 
infant's arm “ 
Revenge his murder ? 
One Moresco (to another). 
say his murder? 
Naowé. Murder? Not murdered ? 
Athadra. Murdered by a Christian ! 
[They all wt once draw their sabres. 
Athautra (fo Naomi, who astessrces from 
the circle). Brother of Zagrit 
fling away thy sword ; 
‘This is thy chieftain’s ! 


Did she 








REMORSE 


393 





To each i fee Brother who offends against 
Most isc perhaps —and what if 
Eth tag only cure? Merciful God ! 
FgoB poreand natural outlet shrivelled up 
Tgnosance and parching Poverty, 


aa, roll back upon his heart, 
And sagoate and er shy till, chang’d 


Trey a ee like on 
Phen wee | piece proteed tious 


Arnal ini their best cre uncomforted 
Ang nteation Solitude, Groaning and 


Ang Senn ee Bocce: at the clanking hour, 
Seen through ‘the steam and vapours of 


is dungeon 
p's dismal twilight ! So he 
By the lamp’ 
SGizeled with evi, tis very soul 
Cnmoulds ts, essence, hopelessly de- 
formed 
By sights of evermore deformity ! 


‘With other ministrations thou, O Nature! 
Healest ie wandering and uistem»pared 


“Thou pourest on him thy soft elloetices, 

‘Thy sunny hues, fair tn and breath- 
sweets; 

Thy fihesiey ine winds, acl 


waters! 
‘Til he relent, and can no more cndure 
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing 
Amid this ance and minstrelsy ; 
But, into tears, wins back his 


Hip esery opt etal and harmonized 
By the benignant touch of love and 
beauty. 


yr. » 

‘Tam chill and weary! Yon rude bench 
of stone, 

In that dark angle, the sole resting- 

2 1 


— 

And life's best warmth still radiates from 
heart 

Where love sits brooding, and an honest 

purpose, — [Ketires out of sight. 


Enter Tennsa with a taper, 


Teresa. It has chilled my very life—— 
my own voice scares me } 

Yet when I hear it not I seem to lose 

‘The substance of my being—my strongest 


grasp 
Sends inwards but weak witness that I 


am, 
I seek to cheat the echo,—-How the half 
sounds ” 
Blend with this strangled light! Ts he 
not here— 
[Looking round. 
O for one human face here—but to see 
One human face here to sustain me.— 
Courage ! 
Tt is but my own fear! The life within 
me, 
Tt sinks ae wavers like this cone of 


flam 

Beyond hich T scarce dare look onward ! 
[Shuatitering. 

ICL faine? Uetis inhuman den should be 
At once my death-bed and my burial 

vault? 
[Faintly screams as ALwan emerges 
from the recess. 

Alvar (ruckes towards her, and catches 
her as she is falling), O gracious 
heaven ! it is, it is Teresa! 

Shall 1 peal myself? ‘The a 
jock 


Of: ae will blow out this spark of ie, 
And Joy complete what Terror has begun, 
O ye impetuous beatings here, be still ! 
‘Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and 
cold ! 

Her pulse doth flutter! 
Teresa! 

Teresa (recovering, looks round wildly). 
T heard s voice; but often in my 
dreams 

T hear that voice ! and wake and try— 


Teresa! my 





and iry— 
To hear it waking ! but 1 never could— 





34 


rane ae et Sen e ‘Well ! he is 
Murdered b| pean 
han a die! 
‘were no. to 
Alvar (eagerly), Delle 


troubled man, 
T do forgive thec, and may Heaven 
jive 1 

Alser, Ordonio—bhe— 

Teresa. Vf thou didst murder him— 
His spirit ever at the throne of God 
Asks mercy for thee: prays for mercy 

~ 
With tears in Heaven ! 
Alwar, Alvar was: not murdered, 


(wildly). Nay, may, but tell met 
[A pause, then presses her. 
© 'tis lost again! : 
This dall confused pain— 
[A pase, she gazes at ALVAR. 
‘Mysterious man ! 
Methinks T can not fear thee: for thine 


eye 
Doth swim with love and pity—Well ! 
Ordonio— 
Oh my foreboding heart! And se 
‘suborned 


And thou didst spare his life? Bh 
Ciba se: 
many as the dj 
in the fond faithful at of his ‘Teresa 
divar. 1 can endure no more, 
Moorish Sorcerer 


Exists but in the stain upon his face. 
‘That Picture— 
Teresa (advances towards Aim), Ha! 
speak on! 


REMORSE 


wice counted o'er 


& 





act v 


Alvar. Beloved Teresa! 
4s told but half the truth. © let this 


‘Tell ele Alvar lives—that he is 
Thy mck ‘eceived ‘but ever faithful 


fas he joe 
a 


thow 
I will call ALVAR! 
oe a She falls-ov Ake ineche 
unatterable $ 


Akar. 
But hark ! a sound as of removing bars 
‘At She: dangeente outer ae ee 


Conceal thyself, my love! Ihis Ordonios 
fer the hea ot oa thane a 


father 5 

© for Nims oo (he il sy brother) 

Let me recall him to his nobler nature, 

‘That tesnesy web ne epee ae 
murder ! 

Opa deal meet pem 

pen tI source tears, 

And be once more his own beloved 
Alvar, 


@ ALYAR, 
Alvar! my Alvar! am T sure 1 hold 
thee? 
Is it no dream? thee in my 
Alvar! 





Sckney 


REMORSE 


395 





Abd as 1 brimmed the bowl, I thought 
on thee, 

Thon hast conspired against my life and 
honour, 

Plast tricked me foully ; yet 1 hate thee 
not. 110 

lalla 


Tis bat amid. a storm of rain, 
Anas © the ar-bladders that couse up 


a joust ais ‘merry tournament ; 
= Saye ofanother, 
faving his hand fo ALVAR. 
“Phe weaker needs must break. 
livar. o I per thy heart ! 
Where is a frightful glitter in thine eye 
Which oth Betray thee, Inlytornred 
This is he’ fevelry of a drunken anguish, 
Which fain ae scoff away the Pang 
——— human 
Pel feeling ! 
The death death of a man—the breaking of a 


bal 

"Tis tre I cannot sob for such misfor- 
tunes > 

See eee Pee= curses on 


i Teer inflicted them ! 
cee this chill place 


fers the soblit. 


wee ita wy Maes mechanic craft, 

Tt were an infinitely curious thing! 130 
Bat ithas life, Ordenio life, ‘enjoyment ! 
‘And by the power of its miraculous will 
i al ed movements of its 


perareey oo Deesmneatle ens 

‘I that insect on this goblet's brim 

T would remove it with an anxious pity ! 
thou? 


in the wine, 


‘There's poison in't—which of us two 

shall drink it? 139 

For one of us must die! 

Alvar, Whom dost thou think me? 

Ordenio. The accomplice and sworn 

friend of Isidore. 

Alvar. I know him not. 
‘And yet methinks, I have heard the name 

but lately, 

Means he the jbo ‘of the Moorish 
woman ? 
Isidore? Isidore? 

Ordonio, Good | good! that Lie! by 

heaven it has restored me. 

Now I am thy master !—Villain ! thou 
shalt drink it, 
Or die a bitterer death. 

Akar, What strange solution 
Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, 
‘And drug them to unnatural sleep ? 

[Atv ar takes the goblet, and throw- 
ing it to the ground with stern 
contempt. 

My master ! 

Ordonio, Thou mountebank | 

Alvar, Mountebank and villain ! 
‘What then art thou? For shame, put oy 

thy sword ! 

What boot ueapos Lise eieetaerid 


PGi: ad oye orocs hea pind. thot 
tremblest f 
1 speak, and fear and wonder crush thy 


. 
And turn it to a motionless distraction 
Thou blind self-worshipper ! thy pride, 
thy cunning, 
faith in universal villainy, 
by atallow sophisms, hy, pretended 


For all hy human brethren—out upon 
them 

What have they done for thee? have they 
given thee peace ? 16 


Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or 


made 
‘The darkness pleasant when thou wak'st 
at midnight ? 





Art happy when alone? Can't wall by 
thyself 





396 


With even step and quiet cheerfulness? 
Yet, yet thou may'st be saved — 
Ordonio (vocantly repeating the words). 
Saved? saved? 
Alvar, ‘One pang t 
Could T call up one pang of true Re- 


morse ! 
Ordonio. Vie told me of the babes that 

prattled to him, 

His fatherless little ones! 
Remorse ! 

Where got'st thou that fool's word? 
Curse on Remorse ! 

Can it give up the dead, or recompact 

A mangled body? mangled—dashed to 


atoms 1 


Remorse ! 


Not all the blessings of an host of angels | 


Can blow away a desolate widow's curse ! 
And though thou spill thy heart's blood 
for atonement, 
Tt will not weigh against an orphan’s 
tear ! 
Alvar (almost overcome by his feelings). 
But Alvar—— 
Ordonio, Ha! it choaks thee in the 
throat, 
Even thee ; and yet I pray thee speak it 
out, 
‘Sul Alvar !—Alvar!—howl itin mine ear! 
Heap it like coals of fire upon my heart, 
‘And shoot it hissing through my brain ! 
Alvar, Alas! 
That day when thou didst leap from off 
the rock 18t 
Into the waves, and grasped thy sinking 
brother, 
And bore him to the strand ; then, son 
of Valdez, 
Tow sweet and musical the name of 
Alvar! 
Then, then, Ordonio, he was dear to 
thee, 
And thou wert dear to him = 
knows 
How very dear thou wert ! 
thou hate him ! 


heaven only 


Why did’st 


O heaven ! how he would fall upon thy | 


neck, 
And weep forgiveness ! 
Onsdonio, Spirit of the dead ! 


REMORSE 


Methinks I know thee! ha! my 
tarns wild 

At its own dreams !—off—off, 
shadow ! 


Aloe. 1 fain would tell thee what t 
am, bat dare not t 

Ordondo, Cheat ! villain! traitor! what. 
soever thou be— 

I fear thee, Man! 

Teresa (rushing out and falling on 
Alvar’s neck). Ordonio ! ‘tis thy 
Brother! 

{ORDONT0 veh frremtic: wildness 
runs upon ANAK with his 
sword. TERESA Aer. 
self om ORDONIO amd arrests 
his arms, 

Stop, madman, 

Alvar. Does then this thin 


impenetrably 

Hide Alvar from thee? Toil and pain- 
ful wounds 

And long imprisonment io unwholesome 


dungeons, 
Have mareed perhaps all trait and lines 


rete 


brother, 
My anguish for thy guilt 1 
wal seat 
Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me, 
Ordenio (drawing back, and gazing at 
Alvar with « countenance of af 
once awe and terrer\. Touch me 
not! 
‘Touch not pollution, Alvar} I will die. 
[He attenspts to fail on his rword, 
reels and TERESA prevent 


Atear, We will fd means to save 
your honour. Live, 
Oh tive, Ordonio ! for our &ther’s sake! 
Spare his grey hairs ! 
Teresa. And you may yet be happy. 
Ordonio. O horror! not a thousand 
years in heaven 
Could recompose this miserable heart, 
Or make it capable of one brief joy! 
Live! Live! Why yes! “Twere well to 


Of what T ical 





live with you = = 





SCENE 


REMORSE 


397 





For is it Gt a villain should be proud? 

My Brother! I will kneel to you, my 
Brother ! [Knecling. 

Forgive me, Alvar !—Curte me with 


Attar, Call back thy soul, Ordonio, 
= ‘and look round thee ! 
fw jis the thine for greatness! Think 
that heaven-— 


Teresa. O mark his eye! he hears not 


there's fascination 


liver. "Hei, > heal him, heaven ! 
Ondonio. Nearer and nearer! and I 


hey cag to save me, and I 
ed him— 


A hasten and a father !— 
Teresa. Some secret poison 
Drinks up his spirits ! 
Ondonte (fiercely recollecting himself). 
Let the Eternal Justice 
‘my punishment in the obscure 


Twill not bear to lire—to live—O agony ! 


And fe moe alone my own sore tor. | 


(7k Bae of the dungeon are 
broken open, and in rush 
ALMADRA, and the band of 
Morescoes. 

Alhadra, Seize firet that man ! 

[ALWAR presses ommard to defend 


Orpowt0, 
Ontenis. OF, Raffians! I have hung 
away my . 
‘Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it! 
Off! he that touches me with his hand 


of flesh, ~~ 
Tit rend his limbs asunder! I have 
ih 


strengi! 
With this bare arm to scatter you like 
ashes, 





Athadra, My husband— 
Ondenio. Yes, 1 murdered him most 
foully. 
Alvar and Teresa. © horrible t 
Athadra. Why did'st thou leave his 
children 2 
Demon, thou should’st have sent thy dogs 
‘of hell 
‘To lap their blood. ‘Then, then I might 
have hardened 
My soul in misery, and have had comfort. 
T would have stood far off, quiet though 
dark, 
And bade the race of men raise up a 
mourning 
For a deep horror of desolation, 4 
Too great to be one’s soul's particular 
lot! 
Rrother of Zagri ! let me lean upon thee. 
[Strngyling 0 suppress her feelings. 
The time is not yet come for woman's 
anguish, 
T have not seen 47s blood-—Wi 
hour 
‘Those little ones will crowd around and 
ask me, 
Where is our father ? 
then ! 
Wert thou in heaven, my curse would 
pluck thee thence 1 
Teresa, He doth repent t 
kneel to thee ! 
That aged man, his 


in an 


T shall curse thee 


See, see, I 


Athadra (sternly) Why had he se 
a son? 
[Stouts from the distance y 
Rescue ! Rescue ! Alvar! 
Alvar! am the wwice of 
VALDEZ Seard. 
Rescue ?— and Isidore’s. 
avenged 2— 
The deed be mine ! 
[Swwtifenrly stabs ORDONIO, 
Now take my Life! 
Oridemio (staggering from the wound). 
ATONEMENT! 
Alear (while with Teresa supporting 
Ordowio), Arm of avenging Hea- 
ven 


Spirit un- 





398 


REMORSE 





Thou hast snatched from me my most 
cherished hope— 
But go! my word was pledged to thee. 
Ordena, ‘Away! 
Brave not my Father's Rage! 1 thank 
thee! Thou— 
[Zhen turning his eyes lamgwidly 
fo ALVAR. 
‘She hath avenged the blood of Isidore | 
I stood in silence like a slave before her 
‘That I might taste the wormwood and 
the gall, 
And satiate this self-accusing heart 260 
With bitterer agonies than death can give. 
Forgive me, Alvar! 
Oh !-could’st thou forget me ! 
[Dies. 
[ALVAR amd TERESA bend over 
the body of ORDONIO, 
Athadra (to the Moors), 1 thank thee, 
Heaven! thou hast ordained it 


wisely, 
That still extremes bring their own cure. 


t point 
In misery, which makes the oppressed 
Man 


Regardless of his own life, makes him too 

Lord of the Oppressor’s— Knew I an 
hundred men 

Despairing, but not palsied by despair, 

This arm should shake the Kingdoms of 
the World ; 

The deep foundations of iniquity ayo. 

Should sink away, earth groaning from 
beneath them ; 

‘The strongholds of the cruel men should 
fall, 

‘Their Temples and their Mountainous 
Towers should fall ; 





Till Desolation seemed a beautiful thing, | 


And all that were and had the Spirit a 
Lit 

Sang a new song to her who had gone 
forth, 


Conquering and still to conquer ! 
[AUIADRA Awrries off with the 
Moors; the stare fills with 
armed Peasants, and Set 
vants, ZULIMEZ and VALDEX 
at their head. NV NUDEz rakes 
inte ALVAR'S armies, 
Alvar, Turn not thy face that way, my 
father ! hide, 
Oh hide it from his eye ! Ob let thy joy 
Flow in unmingled stream through thy 
first blessing. & 
[Both kneel to Varna. 
Vaties. My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh 
bless him, Heaven ! 
Tereia, Me too, my Father? 
Valdes. Bless, Oh bless my children? 


[Bork rise. 

Atoar, Delights so full, if unalloyed 
with grief, 

Were ominous. Tn these strange dread 


events 

Just Heaven instructs us with an awful 
voice, 

That Conscience rules us ¢'en against our 
choice. 

Our inward Monitress to guide or wam, 

Tf listened to ¢ but if repelled with scom, 

At length as dire REMORSE, she re: 
appears, 

Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish 


fears! pay 

Still bids, Remember! and still cries, 
Too late! 

And while she seares us, goads us to our 
fate. 





ZAPOLYA 
A CHRISTMAS TALE 
IN TWO PARTS 
(1817) 
Hap wvpl xp rovadra Ady yepidvos dv Gp. 


Arup Atwexaum, 


ADVERTISEMENT 


‘Tur form of the following dramatic poem ik in humble imitation of the Winter's Tale of Shakspeare, 
‘sept that I heave called che first part a Prelude instead of a first Act, as a somewhat nearer resem- 


Mace to the plan of the ancients, of which one specimen is left us in the Eachylian Trilogy of the 
the Orestes, and the Ewmenidez. Though a matter of form merely, yet two plays, on 
Gerent periods of the same tale, might seem less bold, than an interval of twenty years between a 


fem ned second act. This is, however, in mere obedience to custom. The effect docx not, in reality, 
it all depend on the Tne of the interval ; but on a very different principle. ‘There are cases in which 
an interval of twenty hours between the acts would have a worse effect (i.e. render the imagination 
ews dispened to take the position required) than twenty years in other cases. For the rest, I shall be 
well coatent if my readers will take it up, read and judge it, ax» Christmas tale. 5. T. Conneipon. 


Parr I 


THE PRELUDE, ENTITLED | 
“THE USURPER’S FORTUNE.’ 


CHARACTERS 
Emerick, Uierping King of Ilyria. 
Raan Kivraint, ax Jilyrian Chi¢ftarn. 
Casimin, Son of Kivprins, 
Cuer Racorsi, a Military Commamier, 
ZAPOLYA, Queen of Iilyria. 


Scuxe 1 

Front of the Palace with a niagnificent 
Colonnade, On one vile a military 
Guard-hews. Sentries pacing back- 
ward and Aefore the Palace. 
Cuer Rawozzt, at the door of tic | 
GCuard-house, at looking forwards at 
some object tn the distamce, 


Chef Ragossi. My eyes deceive me not, 
it must be he, 
Who but our chief, my more than father, 
who 
But Raab Kiuprili moves with such a 
gait? 
Lo! e'en this eager and unwonted haste 


| But agitates, not quells, its majesty. 


My patron! my commander! yes, 'tis he! 
Call out the guards. The Lord Kiuprili 
comes. 
[Drums beat, ete, the Guard 
turns out, 


Enter Raaw Kaveri, 
Raab Kiuprili (making « signal t0 stop 


the drums,ete.) Silence! enough! 
This is no time, young friend, 








ZAPOLYA 


401 





Half makes me an accomplice——(If he 
live) 


[Stops Aim, 
On pain of death, wy Lord am T com: 
manded 


To alli to the palace. 
Mab Kispe Thon 
Chef Ragosst, No Place, no Name, no 
Rank excepted— 
Raab Kiuprili. Thou! 
Chef Ragossi, This life of mine, O 
take it, Lord Kiuprilit 
to tay hands, 90 
. Guardian of 


Ilyria, 
‘Useless to thee, 'tis worthless to myself. 
Thou art the framer of my nobler being + 
Nor does there Hive one virtue in my soul, 
One honourable hope, but calls thee 


father. 
‘Yet ere thou dost resolve, Inow that yon 
oi led from within, that each access 
rirators, watched 
op apa 
Pampered with gifts, and hot upon the 


Which thatfalse promiser still trails before 


them, Bo 
Task but this one boon—reserve my life 
Tit Tecan + 


teal and thee 
ruprili. My heart is rent asun- 
© my country, 
O fallen ria, stand I here spell-bound ? 
Did my love me? Did T earn his 
love? 
Have we embraced as brothers would 
embrace ? 
‘Was This Arm, his Thunder-bolt ? And 


now 
‘Must 1, hag-ridden, pant as in a cream ? 
Or, like an elas howe strong wings 


aiehee Sag aerpeai'' lds; con I” 
3 coiling can 
Strike but for mockery, and with restless 


Gore my own breast ?—Ragozzi, thou art 
witht ? . 


c 





Chef Ragowsi. Here before Heaven T 
dedicate my faith 
To the royal line of Andreas. 

Raab Kinpriti, Hark, Ragozzi | 
Guilt is # timorous thing ere perpeteation 
Despair alone makes wicked men be bold. 
‘Come thou with me! They have heard 

my voice in flight, 
Have faced round, terror-struck, and 
feared no longer 
‘Thewhistling javelins of their fell pursuers. 
Ha! what is this? 
[Slack Flag displayed from the 
Torwer of the Palace: « death- 
bell tollt, ee. 
Vengeance of Heaven! He is dead. 
Chef Ragosst. At length then "tis an- 
nounced. Alas! I fear, rot 
‘That these black death-flags are but 
treason’s signals, 

Raab Kiapritt (looking forwards 

anxiously). A prophecy too soon 
led! See yonder ! 


© rank snd cavsnama wales! the death. 
Il echoes 


‘Still in the dolefal air—and see! they 


come. 
Chef Ragozsi, Precise and faithful in 
their villainy 
Even to the moment, that the master 
traitor 
Had pre-ordained them. 

Raab Kiuprili, ‘Was it over-haste, 
Or is it scom, that in this race of treason 
Their guilt thus drops its mask, and 

blazons forth te 
‘Their infamous plot even to an ixtiot’s 


sense? 
Chef Ragosst. Doubtless they deen 
Heaven too usurp'd! Heaven's 


justice 
Bought like themselves t 
[During thie conversation music 
ts heard, first solemn and 
funereal, and then changing 
Yo spirited and triumphal, 
Being equal ail in crime, 
Do you press on, ye spotted parricides t 
For the one sole pre-eminence yet doubt- 
ful, 


2b 








SNE 


ZAPOLYA 


403, 





Wit these will ee abhorrent from the 


theone 
+ Ofusurpation t 
[Murmsurs inerease—and cries of 
Onward! Onward ! 
Have you then thrown off shame, 
Pn sta ots der ten, a loyal sub- 


Thtow off all fear? I tell ye, the fur | 


trophies 
Valiantly wrested from a valiant foe, 
Love's satural offerings to a rightful king, 
Wil hang as ill on this usurping traitor, 
This i Laid this Emerick, as 


oto a plucked from the images ans 
Upon a sacrilegious robber's back, 
[During the last four lines, aster 
Lorn Casimir, taith expres 
sions of anger and alae. 
Casimir. Who is this factions insolent, 
that dares brand 
The elected King, our chosen Emerick ? 
[Starts—then approaching with 
timid respect. 
4 My father ! 
Raab Kiuprili (turning away), Casimir! 
Hie, be a traitor ! 
sna 1 indeed, Ragozzi! have I learnt 
[Anide, 
casi Vara rmerench My father 


Raab vores 1 know thee not ! 
ag eet Yet the remembrancing did 


fight filial. 
Rash Kiuprill, A holy eame and words 
of natural di 


faty 
Are blasted Melby a thankless traitor’s Fen 


Casiins O hear me, Sire! not lightly 
have I sworn 
Homage to Emerick. Illyria's sceptre 
Demands a manly hand, a warrior’s grasp. 
‘The queen Zapolya’s self-expected off- 


At eg t and of all our 

‘The king inheriting his brother's heart, 

Hath, “amma Your rank, 
? 





Already eminent, is—all it can be— 

Confirmed : and me the king's grace hath 
appointed 

Chief of his council and the lord high 


steward. 199 
Raab Kiuprili. (Bought by a bribe !) 
1 know thee now still 
Casimir (struggling with Ais passion), 
So much of Raab Kiuprili's blood 
flows here, 
‘That no power, save that holy name of 
father, 
Could shield the man who so dishonoured 


me. 
Raab Kiuprili. ‘The son of Raab 
Kiuprili a bought bond-slave, 
Guilt’s pander, treason's mouth-pi 
trot, 
School’d to shrill forth his feeder's usurp'd 
titles, 
And scream, Long Uve King Emer 
Leaders. ya King Emerick | 
Stand backs may lent Lead us, oF Tet 
Is pass. 9 
Soldier, "Nay, Yet the general speak | 
Soldiers, Hear him! hear him ! 
Raab Kiupri Hear me, 
Assembled lords and warriors of Illyria, 
Hear, and avenge me! Twice ten years 
have I 
Stood in yo protec, honoured by the 


e) 0 


Beloved an traded 
you 
Accuses Raab Kiuprili of a bribe? 
Or one false whisper in his sovercign’s 


Is there one among 


car? 

Who here dares charge me with an 
orphan's rights 

Outfaced, or widow's plea left unde- 
fended ? 

And shall I now be branded by a traitor, 

A bought bribed wretch, who, being 


called sy son, ne 
Doth libel a chaste mateon’s name, and 
plant 
Hensbane and aconite on a mother’s 
grave? 
The underling accomplice of a robber, 
‘That from awidowand a widow's offspring 





Would steal their heritage? To God a 
rebel, 
And oe tc: Na ean he | 
peed 
L Jonr worts prow dan 


ight romantic fancies ill-beseem 
Your age and wisdom. ‘Tis a statesman's 


virtue, 
To ponte his country's safety by es 


Test may Be rte cme what wil 
‘Of these monk's morals ! 
Raab Pica sigs (aside), Hat the elder 


Made Molo, hog is ose 


pented. 
They BOASTED not their baseness. 
(Se Semon Changelog 
Infamous ling ! 
Recant this instant, and swear loyalty, 
‘And strict obedience to thy sovereign’s 
fill 


ie thy rush Derscrals 


re atom 
Emerick, Call eid guard! Ragozzi! 
selze the assassin. 
Kiuprili? “Ha !—— 

[With lowered voice, at the same 
time with one hand making 
signs fo the guard to retire, 

Pass on, fits to biel oer 

[Musie recommences,— The Pro- 

cession passes into the Palace, 
— During which time EME 
RICK ae oe KIuPRiLt regard 


stedfastly. 
Raab Kiuprili? 
What? a father's sword aor 
Against his own son’s breast ? 
Raab Kinerili.\ Twould bestexcuse him, 
Were he thy son, Prince Emerick. 7 
abjure him. 
Emerick, This is my thanks, then, 
that T have comme 
ie Scans ns tes ae par voeaiet ee 


Emerick. “vine ? 





‘Hath called me, and the people, by re- 
Of love and grace to Raab Kiuprili’s. » 
Rak Eerie: bb pti alecs ti 
soe rk By at Mt aes Kivpei 


sal Rat yt mnt 
peter Bieta 
ihn” Toran 

Emerick 


His and Tike ? 
‘ea nth tren with 


victory’ 
|, upon the face of death ! 
Ai hater esa 


ments 
nt em 
Hither tr cae $ ‘now again require 
Anitoraict of ge, ‘Zapolya snd (the 
siete Fetes osha? 
On-wean ge ‘of defect thou'st dared 
7 King Jast and solemn act— 
Ascend the = of which the law had 


merick, 
Yas thy ‘wel. dodge and Becki 

hd ter at oe he il 
sesame os 


priest's slave, but a Roman 





<x 


(P® der tre weal and freedom—and for 
2 z 19 all forth to the broad 


Deity deers, 
Reed Prince ! I listen. 
Emerick. Unwillingly I tell thee, that 


grief, her erring hopes 


Casi, Sire! speak the whole truth 
- runs her fraud"s detected t 
Emerick. According 


(exide), Yes! the Jew, 
! 
Emerick. pope the imminent risk of 


frenzy. 


Kiugrilt). Trust me, my 


‘ord a ‘woman's trick has duped 
Us too but most of all, the sainted 
See ore te me, his grace 
Fee eee a “that (the States a 
She may take counsel of her friends. 

Emerick, Right, Casimir ! 
‘Receive my pledge, lord general. It shall 

stand 
Is her own will to a; and voice her 
ppear 


$ 
Or) in trath E hold the wiser course) 
all the past passed by, as family 


Let the| , with unblenched 
sug tout rin maton 
Lire ped and si 

lg bo. 
Ie such a ole ah ok 


Cai Jord | you scarce know 
goodness. 


290 | 





ZAPOLYA 


‘The wealthy heiress, high-born, fair 
Sarolta, 
Bred in the convent of our noble ladies, 
Her relative, the venerable abbess, 
Hath, at his grace’s urgence, wooed and 
won for me. 
Emerick. Long may the race, and long 
may that name flouri: 
Which your heroic deeds, brave chief, 
have rendered 
Dear and illustrious to all true Mlyrians, 
Raab Kiuprili (sternly). The longest 
line that ever tracing herald 
Or found or feigned, placed by a bepgar’s 
soul 


Hath but a mushroom’s date in the com- 


parison = 0 

And with the soul, the conscience is 
co-eval, 

‘Yea, the soul’s essence, 

Emerick. Conscience, good my lord, 

Is but the pulse of reason, Is it con- 
science, 

‘That a free nation should be handed 


down, 

Like the dull clods beneath our feet, by 
chance 

And the blind Jaw of lineage? That 


whether infant, 
Or man matured, a wise man or an idiot, 
Hero or natural coward, shall have guid- 


ance 

Of a free people's destiny, should fall out 

In the mere lottery of a reckless natare, 

Where few the prizes and the rrr are 
countless? 

Or haply that a nation’s fate should hang 

On the bald accident of a midwife’ 
handli 

The unclosed sutures of an infant's skull? 

Casimir. What better claim can sove- 

reign wish or need 

‘Than the free voice of men who love their 
country ? 

Those chiefly who have fought for’t? 
Who by right, 

Claim for their monarch one, who having 


obeyed, 
So hath best learnt to govern ; who, hav- 
ing suff 





406 





ZAPOLYA 





Can feel for cach brave sufferer and 
reward him ? 


im 30 

Whence sprang the name of Emperor? 
‘Was it not 

By Nature’s fiat? In the storm of triumph, 

"Mid warriors’ shouts, did her oracular 





voice 
Make itself heard : Let the commanding 


Pome ta sada oe eee 
Raab Kiugrili Prince Emerick, 
Your cause will prosper best in your own 


pl 
Emerick (aside to Castnsir). i 
was thy school-mate—a bold 


spirit $ 
Bind him to us !—Thy father thaws apace! 
[Then aloud. 


Leave us awhile, my lord !—Your felend, 


Ragoezl, 

Whom you hare not yet seen since his 
return, 

Commands the guard to-day. 

[CASIMIR retires fo the Guard: 
house ; and after a time 
appears before it with Cuny 
Racozzi. 

We are alone. 
What further’ pledge or proof desires 
Kiuprili? 
Then, with your assent—— 

Raab Kiuprili. Mistake not for assent 
Tho unquiet silence of a stern Resolve 
Throttling the impatient voice, I have 

heard thee, Prince ! 

And T have watehed thee, too; but have 
small faith in 
‘A plausible tale told with a flitting eye. 

(EMERICK furms as about to call 
for the Guard. 

In the next moment I am in thy power, 

Tn this thou artin mine. Stir but a step, 

Or make one sign—I swear by this good 
sword, wo 

‘Thon diest that instant. 

Enurick, Us, ba !—Well, Sir !—Con- 

clude your homily. 
Road Kingrili (nasomewhatsuppressed 





Against all means of proof, ¢ 
The Queen mew'd up—th 


anxious care 

And love brought forth of 
twin birth 

With thy diseorery of her 
thee 


Of a rightfol throne !—Da 
scorpion, falsehood, 
Coils read in its own per 


Its sting in mise ices 


Food Kingril stetand he 


Hasl'st thou beliewes 
tale, had’st thou fame 
‘Thyself the rightful successor 
Would’st thou have  pilfere 


What people? How conve 
convened, 


Mast not the magic power 
together 
Millions of men in council, 


power 
To win or wield them? 
better 


Shout forth thy titles to } 
mountains, 

And with a thousand-fold re 
Make the rocks flatter tht 
volleying air, 
Unbribed, shout back to 

Emerick ! 
By wholesome laws to emba 


reign power, 

To patients restraint, and 
tion 

Of lawless will to amass an 
flood 

In its majestic channel, §4 nm 

And the true patriot's glory } 


Men safelier trust to Heay 
themselves 


voice). A tale which, whether true When least themselves in 1h 


or false, comes guarded 


of crowds 


ZAPOLYA 


Where folly is contagious, and too oft 
fren cen ‘men one halt better sense 


at home 
To chide and wonder at them when re- 
turned. 


aan eel: Ist i thou scoff’st 
? most of all, 
Deis waes. the defenders “of the 
7, People? 
7 Ras Aitwprili (aloud). © most of all, 
‘most mis le nation, 7 
For posi Imperial power, enormous 


bbe 
4s blown and kept aloft, or burst and 


&, ‘the bribed breath of a lewd soldiery ! 
cof such, a from the frontiers 


OWhich is the noblest station of true 


. warriors) 38> 
‘Tnx rank licentious idleness beteaguer 
Sty end C Court, 4 venomed thorn i* the 


‘OF virtwous kings, the tyrant's slave and 
tyrant, 
‘Suill ravening for fresh largess !_ But with 
‘What title claim’st thou, save thy birth? 
‘What merits 
Which many a liegeman may not plead 
as well, 
Brave though I grant thee? Ifa life out- 
‘Biead, heart, and fortunate arm, in watch 
‘and war, 
For the land's fame and weal ; if large 
“Made honest by the aggression of the 
» 
And whose best praise is, that they bring 
tes safety ¢ 
If victory, doubly-wreathed, whose under- 
‘Of laurel-leaves looks greener and more 
‘Thro? the 
| Prince 
the Ime to the throne, not 
thew 
No! (let Hyria, let the infidel enemy 


branch ¢ if these, 
t 





Be judge and arbiter between us ! 
I were the rightful sovereign ! ; 
Bmerick, Thave faith © 
That thou both think’st and hop'st it. 
Fair Zapolyn, 3 
A provident Indy— 
Raab Kiuprili, 
answer! 
Emerick. Offers at once the royal bed 
and throne! 
Raab Kiuprili, To be a kingdom's bul- 
wark, a king's glory, 
Yet loved by both, and trusted, and 
trust-worthy, 
Is more than to be king; but see! thy 


1 


Wretch beneath all 


rage 
Fights with thy fear. I will relieve thee ! 
Ho! [Zo the Guard. 
Emerick, Not for thy sword, but to 
entrap thee, ruffian ! 
‘Thus long I have listened —Guard—ho ! 
from the Palace, 
[The Guard post fro the Guard. 
Aouse with Cune Racorss 
at their head, and then a 
mumber from the Palace— 
Cner Racor demands 
Kiveritt's sword, and af 
prekends kim. 
Casimir, O agony! [Zo EMenice. 
Sire, hear me! 
[7 Kiveri, who turns from 
Aim, 
Hear me, father ! 
Emerick, Take in arrest that traitor 
and assassin ! 
Who pleads for Aés life, strikes at mine, 
his sovereign’s. 40 
Raab Kiuprili, As the Co-regent of the 
Realm, I stand 
Amenable to none save to the States 
Met in due course of law, But ye are 
bond-slaves, 
Yet witness ye that before God and man 
I here impeach Lord Emerick of foul 
treason, 
‘And on strong’ grounds attaint him with 
suspicion 
Of murder— 
Emerick, Hence with the madman ! 











Banish him, my liege lord ! 
Emerick (scornfully). Whar? to tiv, 
army? 


y 
Be calm, young friend! Nought shai 
be done in anger. 
The child o'erpowers the man. In th 
emergence 
T must take counsel for us both. Kei. 
[2xi Casman in agi: 
Emerick (alone, looks at a Cais: 
The changefal planet, ni: 
decay, 
Dips down at midnight, to be 
m 
With her shall sink the ex 
Emer 
Cursed by the lest look of 
moon : 
And my bright destiny, witt 


Shall greet me fearless in» ~ ” 
crescent. 





[Scane 11! 
Scene changes to anoth, ~ 
the back of the Palace- 
and Mountains, FE: iJ 
an Infant in Arms. . 
Zatolva, Huck 2 


ZAPOLYA 


499 





Deeaae icbatieo (inecting. 


Chef Ragessi (raising her), Madam! 
For merey’s sake! 
But tyrants have an hundred 
1 


° 
a eine get) fo\evenr To not @ 


Scarce fa Ute the doo Raab 


Kiuprili! How? 
ar ‘There is not time to tell 


Phe ya ll mein, pre my 


=e 
And seemed eal sie) Bet tine 


In fine, 
Bid me Spicy end 
“With Jotirs tothe army. The thought 
at once 
a I disguised my pris- 
ia. What, Raah Kiuprili? 
agent You! noble general ! 
TL osent ath with ‘Emericies own 
Finda} tals ‘haste—Prepared to fol- 
ay 
Ab, how? Is it joy or fear? 
lienbs seem sinking !— 


(supporting. Heaven 
befriends us.” [have left my 





The course we'll thread will mock the 
int’s guesses, 
Or scare the followers. Ere we reach 
the main road 
The Lord Kiuprili will have sent a 


troop 

To escort me. Oh, thrice happy when 
he finds 

The treasure which 1 convoy ! 

Zapolya. One brief moment, 

That praying for strength I may Aave 
strength. This babe, 

Heaven's eye is on it, and its innocence 

Is, a8 a prophet’s prayer, strong and 
prevaling! 

‘Through thee, dear babe, the inspiring 
thought me, 

When the maa clamor rose, and all the 
palace 

Emptied itsel—(They sought my life, 


oak = 

Lika w ceilt slang ying matte 
way 

To the deserted chamber of my lord.— 


Ther to the infant. 
And thou didst kiss thy father’s lifeless 


Hips, 
And in thy helpless hand, sweet slum: 
bere 


er! 
Still clasp'st the signet of thy royalty. 
‘As I removed the seal, the heavy 
arm 
Dropt from the couch aslant, and the 
stiff finger 
Seemed —s at my feet, Provident 
jeaven | 
Lo, I was standing on the secret door, 
Which, through a long descent where 
all sound perishes, 
Led out beyond the palace. 
knew it—— 
But Andreas framed it not! 
tyrant f 
Chef Ragoxsi. Haste, madam! Let me 
take this precious burden! 
[He Ancels ax he takes the child. 
Zagelya. Take him! And if we be 
pursued, I charge thee, 
Flee thou and leave me! Flee and save 
thy king! 


Well I 


die was no 
fo 





Sarolta, Yes, at my lords request, 

Me tcenaeatarahl thee 

ly poor jonate girl, to see 
‘wretched. ¥ © 

Thou knowest not yet the duties of a 
wife. 

Glycine, et Tt is a wife's chief 

To stand in awe of her husband, and 
obey him, 

‘And, fam sure, I shall never see Laska 

But I shall tremble. 


Savolta. ‘Not with fear, T think, 
For you still mock him. Bring a seat 
from the 


cottage. 
[4xit Giyetne into the ges #4 
continses 
speech looking after ee 
Something above thy rink vee hangs 
bout thee, 


SAROLTA 


And in "ty countenance, thy voice, and 


Yea, een In thy almplicty, Glycine, 
A fine and feminine grace, that makes 


me feel pe 
More as a mother than a mistress to 
{ 
‘Thou art « soldier's orphan | that—the 
coURRge, 
Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to 
give 
Sen ade ie ean doth prove 
Thou tale sprung too of no ignoble 


Or there's no faith i in instinet ! 
[Angry voices and elamowr within, 


Reenter GLYCIRY. 

Coyne uh pals sadam | there's a party 
‘And Bota Geen Taeayiati ile 
POR are stalen Bathory's 
Metilens list feare yung beam tees 


he, my lady, to 
‘That took our parts, and beat off the 
intruders, 





And in mere spite and malice, now 
charge his ot 

With ee ire Casimir and 

Fomy Goat ietieve the madam! This 


Laska (ta Bathory). We have no con- 
‘com sith yout ‘What needs your 


presenoe 
Olé Bathory. What! Do you think TIL 

‘suffer my brave hoy 

‘To be slandered by a set of coward- 
raffians, 

And leave it to their malice,—yes, mere 
malice !— 

‘To tell its own tale? 
Lasi 


The lord high steward of the realm, 
moreover— 
Saroita, Be brief! We know his titles! 
Laska. moreover 
Rayed like a traitor at our liege King 
Emerick. 
And a sald witnesses make 
Led on the assault upon his lordship’s 
servants ; to 
‘Yea, insolently tore, from this, your hunts- 
man, 
His badge of livery of your noble 
house, 





SCENE T 


ZAPOLYA 


413 





And trampled it in scorn., 
Sarvlte (to the Servants who offer to 
ere You have had your spokes. 


Wage the young men ths amd? 
T know not : 
Sh a Heide Tein the toons 


tains, 
He will not Tong ‘be absent! 
Sarolta. Thou art his father ? 
Old Bathory. None — with more 


0 prized a 
Xt Tne aco more than ove 


Te ete ake oe; now in my lady's 
presence, 

Witnessed the affray, besides these men 
of malice ; 


s10 
And if I swerve from trath— 
Glyxine, Yes ! good old man t 
My Indy! pray believe him ! 
‘Saroite. Hush, Glycine ! 
Be silent, T command you, 
[Then fo BATHORY. 
Speak ! we hear you! 
Old Bathory. My tale is brief, During 
our festive dance, 
Your servants, the accusers of my son, 
Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort, 
To our village maidens. He (could he 


do less ?) 
Rose in defence of outraged modesty, 
‘And so persuasive did his cudgel prove, 
{Your hectoring sparks so over-brave to 
women no 
‘Are always cowards) that they soon took 
ty 
And now in mere revenge, like baffied 
boasters, 
Have framed this tale, out of some hasty 
‘words 
Which their own threats provoked. 
Sarolia, ‘Old man ! you talk 
Too bluntly! Did your von owe no 
respect 
To ae Tivery of our ‘sae 
Even such respect 
Aste sep iin should gain for the 


Pataca to ory the poot lant 


— 





Zacks. Old insolent ruffian ! 
Glycine. Pardon | pardon, madam ! 
T saw the whole affag ‘The good = 


Means we  aliences annbet aay Mea) 


urself, 

Laska t tyra well, that these men were 

the ruffians | 
Shame on you ! 
Sarolta (speaks with affected anger 
What! Glycine? Go, retieg t 
[Ent Giycine, mournfully. 
Be it then that these men faulted. Yet 


yourself, 
Or better still belike the maidens" parents, 
Might have complained to ws. Was ever 


access 
Denied you? Or free audience? Or are 


we 
Weak and unfit to punish our own 
servants? 

Old Bathory. So then! So then ! 
Heaven grant’ an old man 
patience t 

And must the gardener leave his meting 
plants, 
Leave Ha youn, roses to ihe: rooting 
While ay ask their master, if 
ce 
His leisure serve to scourge them from 
their ravage ? 

Laska, Ho! Take the rude clown 

from your lady's presence 
1 wal report ‘her further will { 
‘Wait then, 
mi ieee hast learnt it! Fervent good 
old man? 
Forgive me that, to try thee, T put on 
A face of stemnnes, alien to my 
meaning ! 
[Then speaks to the Servants, 
Hence ! leave my presence ! and you, 
a! mark me! 
Those Hotere are no longer of my house- 


190 
eee lates dewdrop from a 


rose 
In vain would we replace it, and as 
vainly 





Restore the tear of wounded modesty 
ES maiden’seye familiarized tolicence.— 
‘But these men, Laska— 
Laska (aside). Yes, now "tis coming, 
Sarelta, Brutal aggressors first, then 


baffled dastards, 
‘That they have sought to piece out their 
revenge 
With a tale of words lured from the lips 
of anger 
Stamps them most dangerous ; and till 
want 
tT eat an i Inbae 
Theis seve. Discharge them ! You. 
L 


Are henceforth of my household ! 1 shall 
place you 
Near my own person. When your son 
it 


returns, 
Present him to us! 
Vedra Ha! what strangers! 
L 


What Eatipeen fiers they Giana man's 
eye 

Your goodness, lady—and it came so 
sudden— 


I can not—must not—let you be deceived. 
T have yet another tale, but— 

[Them fo SAKoLra aside. 

ac une not for all cars! 

Sa ve Ir coll 
and still ages ered 
Tts bias oe and that trim sxchasd plot, 
hose blossoms 


The quis of April showered aslant its 
thatch, 


Come, you shall shew it me! And, 
while you bid it 

Farewell, be not ashamed that I should 
witness 

‘The oil of gladness glittering on the water 

Of an ebbing grief. 
Dames bowing, shews her into 

his cottage. 

1 Refers to the tear, which he feels starting ia 
his eye. ‘The following line was borrowed tin: 
‘consciously from Mr. Wordsworth’s Krowrsiom 
=[Note by ST. C] The line is in Sweurriow, 
Book I line 60}.—Ep. 





Laske (alone). Vexation | baffled 1 
Pipl take wake lhaby Css ee 
She Fics cx a0) that cockatrice in 
on i ae wich This too plain, she 
pene 
Sheth Hen 

ete: a ti 
Is my Indy gone? 
Chew. (Pave you yet hin? 
Ts he returned ?» 
(Laska starts up from his seat, 

Has the seat stung you, Laska? 

Zak "No sere 93 ‘tis you that 
sting me 

What ! id to him ? 
yout woul ing again 


Lasha, Pelion t-Betblen 
Yess sree aa if yous ery See 
t 


Hat roe: Gege lhe Meaieaee as 
t . 


i 
Aa me anata the hypocrites 


Lesbo. I batt wham a 
Giyeine, 1 signage 


hiss Tin Laska’s 
ci tee 
wih ppl, le out 
guitare teeta and erence 
lifet 


Yet, tell met e 
Stake faclganatll ‘You will know 


What? 
oy ey 


{00 soon, 





Poor youth ! T rather think 1 grime for 


{Going. | For 1 Shs dep when ha of 


And if I see him, the tears come in my 
‘And ing eset bende and all becanse T 
‘That the war-wolf! had gored him as he 
In the haunted forest ! a 
Lash. You dare own all this? 
Your lady will not warrant promise- 
Mine, Miss ! shall 
eure 
Grieve for him with a vengeance. Odd’s, 


F [Makes threatening, signs. 
Glycine (aside). Vat Bethlen coming, 

this way 1 

[GLycINE thew cries out as if 


Oh, save me! save me! don’t kill 
Laska! 








ZAPOLYA 


Sata Nes BARE ORE BOOM 
rust sat iy soc eee 
Bethlen, 


Hush, Glycine} 
Glycine. Yes, 1 do, sens ‘or he 
just now 


(Aken. 
‘Where is Sine father? Answe os 


ol “arin time slinks of 
Stage, using threatening 


heed not Afm! 1 saw 


‘you pressing on} onward, 
And id bt gn. Dear gallant 


It i yore they seek ! 
Bithlen. My tite? 


Glycine. 
Lady Sarolta even— 
Bethlen. ‘She does not know me! 
Glycine, Oh that she did! she could 
not then have spoken 
With such stern countenance. 
thong she he PUTS THe, 
T will kneel, Bet 
Bethlen. et "Tor mie, Glyeine ! 
What have I done? or whom have I 
offended ? 


But 


[Bernien tmaters to himself ine 


Glycine (aside). So looks the statue, 
in our hall, o” the god, 
The shaft just Bown that killed (een 
pent ! 
Bethlen (muttering aside). King! 
Glycine. Alby often have T. wished gos 


a king. 
You weal protect the helpless every 
As you did us. And I, too, should not 
then 
ler fr you, Bethlen, as T do; nor 


The tears come in my eyes 5 nor dream 
bad dreams 





‘That you were killed in the forest; and 
then Laska 
Would have no right to rail at me, nor 
say 
(Ves, ages man, he says,) that I—I 
love you. 
pian Pig 
Dak te good rea Know: pot What 
This luckless morning I have been so 
haunted 
With my oe he 
Tha fa pele one, Wi ee 
Both = bs a, answers wildly. — But 


Glycine. rat 1 "tis my wire step! 
She must not see you! 
retires, 


Enter from the Cottage SMROLYA and 
BATHORY. 


Sarolta, Ae seek 
add, 

You here, Gipine? Leeaish et 

jon, pardon, Madam 


If you but pat ‘old man's son, 
nit man’ 
you you 


ison! Tneed not 


‘You could not bee hist arm 
het: No, {sll bea tay Meas 
site le el ea 

0 se, and hidden power of sym- 

‘That of Hee fates; ag al RE 

Dot me iin ah 

Coe Mi fiesb noo ey, 

Yes, in "eri tah Clyne, this sme 

saat net noble and deserving 








418 


Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle 


terror—— Me 
Glycine. ee ‘that wood is haunted 
bby the war-walves, 
Verplee and monstrous—— 
Sarsita (with a sil, Moon-calves, 


credulous girl f 
Haply some o'ergrown savage of the 
ee ee 


in fo BRYHLEN. 
tle, (O young 


REeneetater iy life's sole anguish) 
+ that 


tl 

Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, 
Bathory 

Led by a ery, far inward from the 
track, 


In the hollow of an oak, as in n nest, 
Did find thee, Bethlen, then'an helpless 


39 
‘The robe that wrapt thee was a widow's 
mantle, 


Bethien, An infant's weakness doth 
relax my frame. 
© say fear to ask —— 
And 1 to tell thee. 
Been. Strike! O strike quickly | 
‘See, I do not shrink. 
[Striting his breast, 
Tam stone, coli stone. 
‘Sarolia, ‘Hid in a brake hard by, 
Searce by both palms supported from the 


eartl 
‘A wounded’ Indy lay, whose life fast 


Ree ta ge 


waning 
Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes, 
That strained towards the babe, At 


length one arm 

Painfully from her own weight disen- 
pacing, cand 

She pointed first to heaven, then from 
her bosom 

Drew forth a golden casket, ‘Thus en- 
treated 

‘Thy foster-father took thee in his arms, 


And knceling spake : “If aught of this 
world's com! 


_ 


ZAPOLYA 





“ACT 


Can Met eal Teceive a poor man's 

That at my Wife's risk T will save thy 
child!” 

Her countenance sei as one that 


seemed! prepari pai 
eee ‘but it died 
In a faint 9 scierase te, 


Bethien, sind did leave her? ‘What! 


be Rediteacmmta hg 
Gein, Alas! thou art bewildered, 
And bg ated ot thou wert an helpless 
fant 


Mangled and left to Fert 
Saroita, 


iush, Glycine ! 
1 ihe, roundel tem 


Let it tee ei itself to air and sunshine, 
And it will find a mirror in the waters, 
Belew ‘Check him 
Bethlen. foe 0 shat I'em tial sg 
ie ae pichbe 
ber to the secret depths of earth, 
et Ha thet a ee Would 


inds t 
And T would sock ‘her! for she is not 
dead | 


She can wot diet O pardon, gracious 
Tay 1 “bs 

‘You were about to say, that he returned— 

Saroita, Lave, ‘in us 
‘still believes Cet oss 

Its objects as immortal as itself) 9) 
Bethten, And found ber stilt — 

Saroita. Alas! he did return, 

He Ieft_no spot unsearched in all the 


But she (I trust me by some friendly 
hand) . 
Had been borne off, 





SCENE T 


Bethles, ‘O whither? 
Glycine. Dearest Bethlen ! 
L would that you could weep like me ! 
O do not 
Gaze so upon the air! 
Sarcila (comtimurny the story), While 
he was absent, 
A oar troop, ‘tis certain, scoured the 


HMoaly pus ussatd tndoes! by Emerick, 
Emerick. 
on tant 
ime (to silence Bim), Bethlen! 
Bethlen. Hist! VM curse him in a 


isper! 
‘This gracious lady must hear blessings 
only. 
She hath not yet the glory round va 
head, 


Nor those strong sale wings, which 
aft 
td place, which T most 


Or else she wore my mother? 

Sarvlta. Noble youth ! 

From me fear nothing! Long time have 
Towed 


Offerings of expiation for misdeeds 
Tong pase that weigh me down, though 


inocent Y 
‘Thy foster-father hid the secret from 


For he erected thy thoughts as they 
‘expan 

Proud, Teles dt -sorting with thy 
state! 

Vain was his care! Thou'st made thy- 
self su es 

Even where Suspicion reigns, and asks 
no 


Great Nature hath 
With ae rah gifts! 


shalt receive 
All honourable aidancet 
hence! 


From me thou 
Bat haste 


‘Travel will ripen thee, and enterprize 
Bescems thy years! Be thou henceforth 


my soldier t 
And baton ‘er beticle thee, still believe 


ZAPOLYA 





419 
‘That in cach noble deed, achieved or 
suffered, 
‘Thou solvest best the riddle of thy birth t 
And may the light thit streams from 
‘thine own honour 
Guide thee to that thou seekest t 
Glycine, Must he leave ns? 
Bethien. And for such goodness can 1 
return nothing, 
}eBut some hot tears that sting mine eyes? 
‘Some sighs 
That if not breathed would swell my 
heart to stifling? 
May heaven and thine own virtues, high- 
lad 


born lady, 

Be as a shield of fire, far, far aloof 

‘To scare all evil from thee! Vet, if fate 

Hath destined thee one doubtful hour of | 
danger, 

From the uttermost region of the earth, 
methinks, 

Swift as a spirit invoked, 1 should be 
with thee! _ 490 

And then, perchance, I might have 
power to unbosom 

These thanks that struggle here. Eyes 
fair as thine 

Have gazed on me with teant of love and 
‘anguish, 

Which these eyes saw not, ar beheld wn 
conscious ; 

And tones of anxious fondness, passionate 


prayers, 
Have been talked to met 
tongue ne'er soothed 
A mother’s ear, lisping a mother's name! 
0, at how dear a price have I been 
loved 


Bat this 


And no love could return! One boon 
then, lady! 

Where’er thou bid’st, 1 go thy eit 
soldier, 

Bat first maust trace the spol, where she 
lay bleeding 

Who gave me life. 
of ravine 

Afiront with baser spoil that sacred 
forest ! 

Or if avengers more than human haunt 
there, 


No more shall beast 





Tabi they what shape they sty sage 
‘They shall ne taser to me cagh 
's blood 
Should "he ‘the ha spall to, bind thes 

Blood 


Tiedt Rermuay. 
Sarolta, Ae ayes Sr are To 


ward of 
Did T “herd from him that old 
Aree: at Dencath the self-same 
oak, 
Where the babe lay, the mantle, aa 
some jewel 
Ee te i 
Glycine. me 
And stop him! Mangled limbs do there 
lic scattered 
Till the lured eagle bears them to her 


nest, 

And woices have been heard! And 
there the plant grows 

That belog eaten gives the inhuman 


Power to put on the fell Hywna’s shape. 
ee idle tongue hath. be- 
* witched ¢hee, Glycine? 
t bape that thou had’st learnt a nobler 
faith, 


Glycine. © chide me ee dear tady 
question Laska, 
Or the old man, 
Saroita. Forgive me, 1 spake harshly. 
It is indeed a mighty sorcery 
‘That doth enthrall thy young heart, my 


And wit hah ‘Laska told thee? 


Glycine. ‘Three days past 
A courier from the king did cross that 
wood 5 


A wilful man, that armed himself on 


And never hath been heard of from that 
‘time! [Sownd of horns without, 
Saroita. pane dost thou hear it? 
Glycine. is the sound of horns! 
Our huntsmen xa not out! 
Lon Casimir 


Would not come thus) [forms agutn, 





Sarolta, 
For I believe in jae suited 
“the laat an 


coming. = 

Greet fair Sarolta from me, and entreat 

‘To be our gentle hostess, Mark, you 
add baal) 





ZAPOLYA 


How mach we grieve, that business of 
the state 
Hath forced us to delay her lord's re- 


tum, 
Lord Rudolph (aside), Lewa, ingrate 
tyrant! Yes, I will announce thee. 
Emerick. Now onward all, 

[Bxeant attendants, 


Emerick (jolus). A fair one, by my 
faith! 


If her face rival but her gait and stature, 
My good friend Casimir had Ais reasons 


too, 
“ Her tender health, her vow of strict re- 
Made carly in the convent—His word 


‘All fetions, all! fictions of jealousy. 
Well! If the mountain move not to the 


prophet, xo 
‘The prophet must to the mountain! In 
this Laska 


‘There's somewhat of the knave mixed up 
with dolt. 


Throwgh the transparence of the fool 
methou 


1 saw (xs I could we my finger on it) 
lile’s eye, that peered up from 

the bottom. 

This knave may do us service, Hot 
ambition 

Won me the husband. Now let vanity 

And the resentment for a forced seclusion 

Decoy fea wile! Jas him be feel 


Whose ‘ont nl find dlstrist begun. the 
game! [Bxit. 


ACT It 
Scene T 


d savage wood. At one side a caverm, 


overhung with ivy. ZAPOLYA amd 
Rasp Kivertts ditcowred: both, 


Raed Kinprili, Heard you then aught 
while Twas sumbering? 
Nothing. 





430 


Only your face became convulsed. We 
miserable ! 
Is Heaven's last mercy fled? 
grown jerous ? 
Raab ‘Kiuprili. O for asleep, for sleep 
itself to rest in} 
T dreamt I had met with food beneath a 


Ts sleep 


tree, 
And I was secking you, when all at 


once 
My feet became entangled in a net : 

Still more entangled as in rage I tore it, 
At lagi T freed myself, had sight of 


But as t hastened cagely, equine 
1 found ee encumbered : a huge 


Twined 1 pad my chest, but tightest 
round my throat, 
Zapolya. Alas) ‘twas lack of food : for 
hunger choaks ! 
Raab Kinprili, And now Lsaw you by 
a shriveled child 
Strangely pursued. You did not fy, 
yet neither 
Touched you the ground methought, 
but close above it 
Did seem to shoot yourself along the air, 
And as you passed me, turned your face 
and shrieked. 
Zapolya, 1 did in truth send forth a 
feeble shrick, 
Searce knowing why. Perhaps the 
‘mocked sense craved 20 
To hear the scream, which you but 
seemed to utter, 
For your whole face looked like a masle 
of torture t 
Yet achild’s image doth indeed pursue me 
Shrivelled with toil and penury ! 
Reab Kiuprifi. Nay! what ails you? 
Zapolya, A wonderous faintness there 
‘comes stealing o'er me. 
Is it Death's lengthening shadow, who 
comes onward, 
Life's setting sun behind him ? 
Raab Kiupriti. Cheerly | The dusk 
‘Will quickly shroud us, Ere the moon 


be up, 
‘Trust me I'll bring thee food ! 





422 


ZAPOLYA 


acrit 


Za Hunger’ tooth bas | Nay, thow. said well: for that and 


apolya. 

Gnawn itself blunt. O, I 

a it well 

O'er my own sorrows as my rightful rs 
jects. 

But eee 
wherefore 

Did my importunate prayers, my hopes 
and fancies, 

Force thee from thy secure though sd 
retreat ? 

Would that my tongue had then cloven 
to my mouth ! 

Bat Heaven is just! With tears T con- 
quered thee, 

And not a tear is left me to repent with ! 

Had’st thou not done already—had'st 
thou not 

‘Suffered—oh, more than e'er man feigned 
of friendship 2 

Raab Kiuprili, Yet be thou comforted | 

‘What | had'st thou faith ° 

When I turned back incredulous? "Twas 
thy light 

That \indled mine, 
go out, 

And leave thy soul in darkness? Yet 


could aoe 


0 revered Kiuprili ! 


And shall it now 


look up, 

And think thou see’st thy sainted lord 
commissioned 

And on his way to aid ust 
thase late decams, 

Which shee such long interval of hope- 


Whence 


‘And silent resignation all at once 

Night after night commanded thy return 

Hither? and still presented in clear 
vision 

This wood as in a scene? this sed 
cavern ? 

Thou darest not doubt that Heaven's 
especial hand 

Worked in those signs. 
thy deliverance 

Is on the stroke :—for Misery can not 
add 

Grief to thy griefs, or Patience to thy 
sufferance ! 

Zapolys. Can not ! Oh, what if thou 

wert taken from me? 


‘The hour of 





death were one. 


Life's grief is at its height Indeed ; the 
hard 


Necessity of this inhuman state 

Has made our deeds inhuman as our 
vestments, 

Housed in this wild wood, with wild 
usages, to 

Danger our guest, and famine at our 


portal— 
Wolf-like to prowl in the shepherd's fold 
by night | 
At once for food and safety to affrighten 
The traveller from his road-— 
[GLYCINE is Acard singing with 


ont, 
Raab Niupriti, Hark t heard you not 
A distant chaunt ? 


SONG 
BY GLYCINE 


A sunny shaft did I behold, 
From sky to earth it slanted : 
And poised therein a bird so bold— 
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted t 


He sunk, he rose, he twinkled, be 
trolled 
‘Within that shaft of sunny malst; p> 
His cyes of fire, his beak of gold, 
‘All clse of amethyst ! 


And thus he sang: ‘Adieu! adiew t 
Love's dreams prove seldom trac, 
‘The blossoms, they make no delay = 
‘The sparkling dew-drops will not stay. 
Sweet month of May, 
We must away; 
Far, far away ! 
To-day! to-day!" 


Zafolya. Sure "tis some blest spirit 

For since thou slew'st the uearpe 
emissary 

That plunged upon us, a more th 
mortal fear 

Ts asa wall, that wards off the bel 

And starves the poor besieged. 


[Seng 














If I turn back and he should be found 
dead here, 

Lepr Sp recsiencamge led 

{sould go al Again "as my 

Hy, Sa ht! eter ba loud 

‘Than bre with shame and ang 
As 


she approaches to enter the 
cavern, Kivrnitt stops Aer, 





He ie god, and did not know that thos 

Raab inp tibet the word). 

po inner: 
To kill thee, or 

Sponge yey 
Peis blood, 


Rereae tere Deen 
But most of all— ‘i 


out, 
sites hee Spat 
Caine, Whether bi Mother live, or 
a Ane tears 





















And thou did’st bring me food: and now 
thou bring’st 

‘The sweet, sweet food of hope and con- 
solation 


To a mother’s famished heart! His 
name, sweet maiden t 

Giyeine, E’on till this morning we 
were wont to name him 


Zapolya. Even till this 

this morning? 

‘This morning? when my weak faith 
failed me wholly! 

vinta fue ont that portion'st out = 


And filet cate the widow acm bby crus! 
Aa ‘The false charged the 
ones cl 
valiant youth 

With treasonous rod of Emerick— 

Ha! my sont 
And of Lord Casimir— 

Raab ) Hip (asic), O agony! my 


Glycine ‘pet my dear I 
Zopolvs and Raab epee fiz, Who? 
Glycine. Lady Sarolta 
Frowned and discharged red bad men. 
Raab Kiuprili (turning off, amd to 
iteous Heaven 
Sent me a daughter once, and I repined 
as A son was 


My dear “died, and ? oar ated a 
And Io LiThanSon diesem my curse int 


infamy. 

Zapolya etic Glycine), Sweet in- 
nocent! and you came here to 
seek him, 

And esac Mion Alas! thou fear’st ? 
Not much | 
us paw hee Indy, when I was a child, 
Embraced me oft, but her heart never 
deat so. 
For I too am an orphan, motherless ! 

Raab Kin, (to Zapolya), O yet be- 
ware, lest hope’s brief flash but 
deepen 

‘The after gloom, and make the darkness: 
stormy ! 


‘Tn that last conflict, following our 
‘The usurper's cruelty had cbs! st 


Withimany;s babs and many @ ehilding 
mother, 


ae eee 
She is all and 

Cope falar gnome 
‘That is Weart o'erflowed, a Hae dig 


eaters 


Of some fieree ali 


Is Nature's ghee and cries halves 

With OP ae tna 
saw it 

a hen ‘O my prey 


Bathory Father ‘Ves, thou deserv’st 





SCENE T 


ZAPOLYA 





Ha !—(Qtserving the cave). Had ever 
monster fitting lair, "ris yonder ! 
I well remember 
am 
deceived me not, Heaven 
me ont 
Now for a blast, loud as a king's defiance, 
To rouse the monster couchant o'er his 
ravine ! 

[Blowes tie horn—thon ao pause, 

Another blast { and with another swell 
‘To yous ye, charmed watchers of this 


Tetagly Ihave come the rghtfl ele 
Of vengeance: if in me survive the 
rite, 


Of those, whose guiltless blood flowed 
streaming here ! 
[Blows aguin louder, 
Still silent? Is the monster eorged? 
ai seein: both if 
‘Thoo, fal | be my tore 


tus oa tt about to enter, 
Krvpritt seats from the 


caverm unseen, 
Roab Kiuprili. Withdraw thy foot ! 
Retract thine idle spear, 
And wait obedient ! 


Raab Kinprili(stiliunseen). Avengers! 
« Bethlen, By a dying mother's pangs 
Fres such am I. Receive me ! 
Raab Kiuprili (still unseen). Wait ! 


Bewnre ! 
At thy first step, thou treadest upon the 
IF 
Thenceforth must darkling flow, and sink 
Jn darkness ! 


Bethien, Wa see my boar -spear 
trembles like a reed !— 

Ob, fool! mine eyes are duped by my 
own shudderi 

‘Those plied thoughts, built up in solitude, 

Year meierig year, that pressed upon 
my heart age 

As on the altar of some unknown God, 

"Then, as if touched by fire from heaven 
descending, 





Blazed up within me ata father’s name— 

Do they desert me now?—at my last 
‘ial ? 

Vorce of command! and thou, O hidden 


Lion! 
Declare ye by what 


I have obeyed 

name 

I dare invoke you ! Tell what sacrifice 

Will make you gracious. 

Raab Kiuprili (still unseen), Patience | 

‘Truth! Obedience ! 

Be thy whole soul transparent! so the 
L 


5 300 
‘Thou seckest, may enshrine itself within 
thee! 
‘Thy name? 
Bethien. Ask rather the poor roaming 


savage, 
Whose infancy no holy rite had blest, 


| To him, perchance, rude spoil or ghastly 


trophy, 

In chace or battle won, have given @ 
name, 

I have none—bat lke a dog have an- 


swered 
To the chance sound which he that fed 
me, called me. 
Rows Kiuprili (still wnseen), 
Ditth-place ? 
Bethies, Deluding spirits! 
mock me? 
Question the Night t 
its hitth-place ? 
Yet — 1 Within yon old oak’s hollow 
unk, ato 
Where the tats cling, have I surveyed 
my cradle | 
The Socieectakeael hath her nest above it, 
And in it the wolf litters!——I invoke 


thy 
Do ye 
Bid Darkness tell 


you, 
‘Tell me, ye secret ones! if ye beheld me 
‘As I stood there, like one who having 
delved 
For hidden gold hath found a talisman, 
O tell! what rights, what offices of duty 
‘This signet doth command ? What rebel 
spirits 
‘Owe homage to its Lord ? 
Raah Kinpriti (still snseen), 
guilticr, mightier, 


More, 





426 


ZAPOLYA 





‘Than thou mayest summon! Wait as 
destined hour! 
Pethien.. © yet. again, and with more 
clamorous prayer, 
Timportune ye ! Mock me no more with 
shadows ! 
This sable mantle—tell, dread voice ! 
did this 
Enwrap one fatherless ! 
Zapslya (wescen). One fatherless! 
Bethlen (starting), A sweeter voice ! 
=A voice of love and pity! 
‘Was it the softened echo of mine own? 
Sad echo! but the hope it kill’d was 


sickly, 
And ere it died it had been mourned as 
dead! 
One other hope yet lives within my soul: 
Quick let me ask!—while yet this stifling 


fear, aie 
‘This stop of the heart, leaves utterance ! 
—Are—are these 
The sole remains of her that gave me 
life? 
Have I a mother? 
[Zavouva rushes ont fo embrace 
him, BETHLRN starts, 
Hat 
Zapolya (embracing hin’), My son! 
! 


my son 
A wretched—Oh no, no! a blest—a 

3 y mother f 
(They embrace. Kv0rritt and 


Guycine come forward and 
the curtain drops, 


ACT IL 
Scene I 


A stately room in Lorn Casio's castle, 
Enter Exunicx and Laska, 


Emerick. 1 do perecive thou hast a 
tender conscience, 
Laska, in all things that concern thine 
own 
Interest or safety. 
Lasik. Tn this sovereign presence 
Tecan fear nothing, but your dread dis- 
pleasure. 





Emerick, Perchance, thou thik's 
strange, that J of all men 

Should covet thus the love of fir Sard, 

q i : 


Your Majesty's Jove and choise bing 
honour with .. 
Eoverick. Perchance, thou bast beard 
that Casimir is my friend, 
Fought for me, yet, for my seke, etal 
ht 


noug! . 
A parent's Hesing 5, bored « Sie 


curse 

Lasta (aside). Would 1 bat knew 
now, what his Majesty meant! 

Oh ot Se “tis our common talk, bow 


Not mine, an please your Majesy! 
‘here are 

Some insolent malcontents indect thet 
talk thas— 


Nay oe treason. As Bubhory's 


“Tho foo! that ran into the monsters emt 
Emerick, Well, "tis x loyal moose f 


he rids us 
Of ne ! But ar't sure the ps 
voured ? 


nae Not a limb left, an please ow 
> tinieer yt 
And that unhappy girl— 
Emerich. * out followed het 
Into the wood ? ‘ae ariel 
Henceforth then Mj belitt® 
‘That jealousy can make a hare a lita 
Laska, Scarce had I got the fit 
glimpse of her veil, 
When, with a horrid roar that made th 
leaves 
Of the wood shake— 
Emerick, Mase thee shake like * 
leaf! 
Laska. The war-wolf leapt: at tie 
first plunge he seized her; 
Forward I rushed t 
Emerick, Most marvellous! 





SCENE T 


ZAPOLYA 


Laska, Hurled my javelin 5 Emerick (with @ slight start, as one 


Which from his dragon-scales recoil- 


Emerick. 
And take, vrs 
‘ext tonguest it, 
Hold constant to thy exploit with this 


Enough t 
this advice. When 


‘monster, 
‘And leave untouched your commen talt 
aforesaid, 
What your Lord did, or should have 
done. 


Laska, My valle? 
‘The saints forbid! 1 always said, for 
my part, ‘ 
‘Was mot the king Lord Casimir’s 
dearest 
Whate'er 


7 
Was wot that friend a king? 
Aa 


"Tens all from pure love to his Majesty.’ 

Emerick. And this then was thy be 
While knave and coward, 

Both strong within thee, wrestle for the 


To sip te oa ‘and takes the place of 

Babbler! Vaal Casimir did, as thou 

He loved timate loved honours, wealth, 
dominion. 

All these were set upon a father's head: 

‘Good trath ! a most unlucky accident ! 

For he but wished to hit the prize; not 
grate 

‘The head that bore it: so with steady 
eye 

‘Off flew the parricidal arrow. —Even 

As Casimir loved Emerick, Emerick — 50 

Loves Casimir, intends Aim no dis- 
honour, 

He winked not then, for love of me for- 
sooth 


1 
For love of me now let him wink ! Or if 
‘The dame prove half as wise as she is 


He may still paws bis hand and fd al 
smooth. 
(Parsing hit hand across his brow. 


Laske. Your Majesty's reasoning has 
convinced me. 





who had been talbing aloud to 
himself» ther with scorn). Thee t 
‘Tis well! and more than meant. For 


by my faith 
I had half forgotten thee,—Thou hast 
the key? 


[LasKa dows. 
And in your ile chamber there's full 


space 
Laska. Between the wall and arras to 


conceal you. Cy 

Emerick, Here! This purse is but 
an earnest of thy fortune, 

Tf thow ete dance But if thou 


beteny 
Hark reat =ihe oll that shall drag 
is 


thee 
Shall be no fiction. 
[Exit Emericn. LAska manet 
with a key in one hand, and 
a purse in the other. 

Lasks. Well then! Here J stand, 
Like Hercules, on cither side a goddess. 
Call this (looking: at the purse) 

Preferment cia (hokting wp the key) 


Fis 
And fi: so tolden goddess : what bids 


Only:—* Tiis way, your Magoo 
hush? The household 

Are alt safe lodged’ —Then, put Fidelity 

Within her proper wards, just turn her 
round— 

So—the door opens—and for all the 


rest, 
"Tis the king 
but this 
And—“S'm the mere earnest of your 
frsture fortunes, 
But what says the other ?—Whisper on ! 
T hear you ! 
[Putting the hey to his ear. 
All very true !—but, good Fidelity ! 
If I refuse King Emerick, will you 
promise, 
And swear now, to unlock the dungeon 


deed, not Laska’s, Do 


joor, 
And save me from the hangman? Aye ! 
you're silent ! 





‘What, not a word in answer? A clear 
honsuit ! & 
Now for one look to see that all are 
At the due distance—t jer Yes 
the road wag Sg 
For Laska and bis royal friend, King 
Emerick ! 
(Exit Laska, Then easter 
Barnory and Bernien. 
Bethien, We looked as if he were 
some. God disgui 


Tn an old warrior’s venerable shape 


To guard and guide my mother, 8 
there pot 


Chapel or oratory in this mansion? 
Old Bathory. Even 30. 
Bethe. From tht place then am 1 
atheros breast-plate, both inkatd 
with 


i , 
And the good sword that once was 
‘Raab Kiuprili's. 
ee ritvoee very rms thls dap 
Sarolta shew'd me— 
‘With wistfal look, I'm lost in wild con- 
jectures ! 
icone Ms Arete me not, e’en with a 


ing guess, 
To bret fa first command a mother’s 


ey ener made known 
tome! 
“Atk mot my som,’ said she, ‘our 
emit pe 
shadow of the eclipse it paring 9 
The full wb of thy decay rine f 
ee scent glitters forth and 


Or het Aagercia Saar e:‘Ahenton 
Tow itt att Eonve ‘then 
The mth of tae and with a silent 


spirit 
Spt seth the porers that word in| 
Tha sae the and she tooked as she 


were tl 
Fresh from some heavenly vision ! 





Recenter LASKA, wot perceiving then, 
; Then narnia ent 
degree erg 
Rost seer do the 


1 sna Stammering 
Bator. {ona pes toro eh 


Bethlen, ! ‘him gently t 
He hath outwatched his hour, and half 
asleep, ts 
With ever ae open, mingles sight with 
Olt Bathory. Ho! Laska! Don'tyou 
know us f "tis Bathory 
And Bethlen 1) ae 
Laska (recovering himself). now! 
Ha! ha! An excellent trick. 
Afraid? Nay, no offence! “But T must 
But are you yd now, that 'tis you, 
Rs meee Aviding wp Ais hand as if fo 
iribe fim Wout eae 
eee ; 
Laske, No nearer, Bip 
11 it sould prove cre hi tthe 


Toa Peo ‘Non nearer! 
Bethlen, ‘The fool is drunk t 
Laske (stilt more ‘Welt 


cea J love 4 brave man to my 
Tesyeelt barred (he Sorte 
10 

Hae ae the eo from the fate 


grant it may be sof 
Glycine? 
Laska, She! I traced ber by the 


You'll oe belize eae tia Tey 
saree jy when I say 





ZAPOLYA 





The close of a song: the poor wretch 
had been sin, : 
el api to compliment the war- 


At once cee music and a meal 
Bethien (to Bathory). Mark that ! 
Laska, At the next moment I beheld 


her running, 
‘Wringing her hands with, *AesAlen ! 0 
Bethlen !* 


1 almost fear, the sudden nolse 1 made, 
Rushing impetuous through the brake, 
alarmed her. 


; ast 

‘She stopt, then mad with fear, turned 
round and ran 

Into the monster's gripe, One piteous 
scream 

Theard. There was no second —I— 

‘Stop there ! 

Who dares 


Bethlen, 

We'll spare your modesty ! 
tot honour 
Laska's brave tongue, and high heroic 

e 


Laska. You too, Sir Knight, have 
come back safe and sound t 
You played the hero at a cautious 
OF prea soa 
was it that you vent the poor girl 
forward 


‘To stay the monster's stomach? Dainties 


ly He 
Fall on the taste and clay the appetite ! 


Old Bathory. Laska, beware! Forget 
neh thou art! = 
Should'st thou but dream thou'rt valiant, 
cross thyself t 
And ache all over at the dangerous 
t 


fancy 
Laska, What then! you swell upon 
my lady's favour, 
Wigh Lords and: pertions of one day's 
1 


growtl 
But other judges now sit on the bench ! 
And haply, Laska hath found audience 


there, 
Where to defend the treason of a son 
Might end in fting up both Son tad 
Father 


Stil higher» 0 8 height from which 





You both may drop, but, spite of fate 
and fortune, 
Will be secured from falling to the 
ground. 
‘Tis possible too, young man! that 
royal Emerick, 
At peas an suit, may make 


By wheat aed the maid so strangely 
missing— 
Bethien, Soft! my good 
might it not suffice, 
If to yourself, being Lord Casimir's 
steward, 
I should make record of Glycine’s fate? 
Laska, "Tis well! it shall content eat 
though your fear 
Has all the credit of these eae 
tones. 


Laska ! 


[Then very fompously. 
First we demand the manner of her 
death ? 
Bethiew, Nay that’s superfluous t 
Have you not just told as, 
‘That you yourself, led by impetuous 


valour, 

Witnessed the whole? My tale’s of 
later date, 

After the fate, from which your valour 
strove 

In vain to rescue the rash maid, T saw 


ct 
Zaska, Glycine? 
Bethlen, Nay} Dare 1 accuse wise 
Laska, 
Whose words find access to a monarch's 


Tt must have 
170 
Bat 


ear, 
Of a base, braggart lie? 
beei 


nm 
Her spirit that appeared to me, 
haply 
I come too late? It has Itself delivered 
Its own commission to you? 
Olid Bathory. "Tis most likely ! 
And the ghost doubtless vanished, when 
‘we entered 
And found yave Laska staring wide—at 
nothing! 
Laska. “Tis well! You've ready wits! 
T shall report them, 





ZAPOLYA 


With all due honour, to his Majesty f 
‘Treasure them up, T pray! A certain 


person, 
Whom the king fiatters with his con- 


idence, 

‘Tells you, his royal friend asks startling 
questions ! vo 

"Tis but a hint! And wow what says 
the ghost ! 

Bethlen, Listen t for thus it spake: 

‘ Say thou te Lasha, 

Glycine, knowing all thy thouphtsengrossed 

Is thy new office of King’s fool and knave, 

Foreseeing thes'lt forget with thine own 
Aand 

To make dive ponance for the wrongs thos st 
caused her, 


For thy soul's safety, eth consent to take it 
From Bethlen's cwdgel'—thus. 

[Beats him off. 

Off! scoundrel ! off! 

[Laska rune away. 

Old Bathory. The sudden swelling of 

this shallow dastard 
Tells of a recent storm; the first dis- 


ruption 19 
Of the black cloud that hangs and 
threatens o'er ws, 
Bethlenw, Elen this reproves my loiter- 
ing, Say where lies 
‘The oratory ? 
Old Bathory. Ascend yon fight of 
stairs f 
Midway the corridor a silver lamp. 
Hangs o'er the entrance of Sarolta’s 
mber, 
And facing it, the low arched oratory ! 
Me thou'lt find watching at the outward 


gate: 
For a petard might burst the bars, un- 
heard 
By the drenched porter, and Saroltahourly 
Expects Lord Casimir, spite of Emerick's 
message ! 200 
Bethlen, There 1 will meet you! 
And till then good-night ! 
Dear good old man, good-night f 
Old Bathory. "yet one moment ! 
What I repelied, when it did seem my 
own, 





It can not now mislead thee. O my: 
Ere yet our tongues have leamt ante 


name, 
Bethlen !~say—Father to me? 
Bethler. ‘Now, 
My father } other lee: than thoy 


carl ¥ 
Unever had, a dearer could not Bare! 
From the base earth you raised Be 


your arms, ” 
And wrod bsp Coc off throng, at 


ing, 
Ask Heaven's blessing from thy lie 

My father t 

Bathory. Go! Go! 

[BETHLEN dresks of aud eit 
BaTuory foods apfectivetily 
after him, 

ry star now 


May eve shining ore 


Be as an angel's eye, to watch and gs 
tat o [2zxit Baraoat. 


[Scene 11] 


Scene changes to a splenidid Bedakant, 
hung with tapestry. Sxwouts ie 
elegant Night Drett, cmd ans Stexitl 


Attendant. We all did love beh 
madam ! 


Saroltss, She deserved i 


Luckless Glycine t unhappy gi! 
"fan the fete thee he 


me. 

Attendant. She was in love, aul bel 
she not died thus, 

With grief for Bethlen’s toss, and feat! 


Laska, 
She would have pined herself to del! 
he 


Attendant. He never will, I fear me 
O dear lady 1 
That Laska did so triumph o'er the olf 
man— 
Tt was quite cruel —'Yow'll de nent) 
said he, ~ 





SCENT It 


ZAPOLYA 


43n 


ro gectswenceed ina ead Work oa dread fulfilment, and the 


Or the war-twolf must have a quick 
digestion f 
Gol Search the wood by all means! Go! 
f you 1? 
Surette, Stl wretch f 
Attendant. And old Bathory answered 
With a sad smile, *Z¢ ts a witch's prayer, 
backwards." 


‘Twas a small fault for such a punish. 
ment ! 
ered eine reiendit 


anger spoke. 
Sal fle indeed Yat lave me, my 


1 feet Leer ret that only prayer can 
lighten. (2-rit Attendant, 
© ‘they were innocent, and yet have 


2 

Tn their May of life ; and Vice grows old 
in triumph. 

sit hand, that for the bad man 


hol 
Life's closing gate ?—— 
Still passing thence petitionary Hours 
‘To woo the obdurate spirit to repentance? 
‘Or would this chillness tell me, that 
there is 
Guilt too enormous to be duly punished, 
Save po of guilt? The Powers 


Are jealous claimants, 
its ordeal, > 
And ed ‘own probation !—Merciful 


Guilt too hath 


ven, 
Rather beet this, pour down upon thy 
suppliant 
Disease, and agony, and comfortless 
‘want t 


0 send us forth to wander on, unsheltered! 
Make our food bitter with despised tears! 
Let scorn hiss at us as we pass | 
Yeu, let uxsink down at our enemy's gate, 
And and a morsel of 


‘With all the heaviest worldly visitations 
_ Let the dire father’s curse that hovers 
o'er us Sa 





of wong Kiuprili be appeased. But 


oly): messi Exiptagranced el noe 
That plague turn inward on my Casimin’s 
cnet | 


wi 
Scare thence the fiend Ambition, and 
che save him! Save 


[During whe fstter part of this 
speech EMBRICK comes 
ward from his hiding-place, 
Sanowra seeing diet, without 
recognizing hist, 

In such a shape a father’s curse should 
come, 
Emerick (advancing), Fear not 
Sarolta, Who art thou? Robber? 
Traitor? 
Emerick. Friend ! 
Who in good hour hath startled a 
dark fancies, 
Rapacious traitors, that would fain dephos 
Joy, love, and beauty, from their natural 
thrones = 
Those Spe t toe angel cyes, that regal 


pes cae me, Heaven! T 
Must not seem afraid! — [Aavde, 
The king to-night then deigns to play the 
masker. 
What seeks your Majesty ? 
Emerick. Sarolta’s love 5 
And Emerick’s power lies prostrate at 
her feet, 
Saroita, Heaven guard the sovercign’s 
power from such debasement ! 
Far rather, Sire, let it descend in venge- 


ance 

On the base ingrate, on the faithless slave 

Who dared unbar the doors of ers 
retirements ! 

For whom? Has Casimlr deserved this 
insult? 

© my misgiving heart! If—if—from 
Heaven 

Yet not from you, Lord Emerick | 

Emerick, Chiefly from me. 


rp 





432 


court 

Of Beauty's star, and kept my heart in. 
darkness? 

First then on him I will administer 


ae: 

a ee ee 
Sarolta, pare Treason! Help! 
Emerick. Cs or Paras Seen 

Here’s none can hear you 
Sarolta. ideale haa Hemel 
otic Nay, why this rage? Who 

‘best deserves you? imir, yo 
ae bought implement, the jealous 


slave 

‘That mews you up with bolts and bars? 
or Emerick 

Who proffers you a throne? Nay, mine 


‘you shall be. 

Hence with this fond resistance ! Yield; 
then live 

This month a widow, and the next 2 


queen t 
Sarelta, Yet, yet for one brief moment 
Strugeting, 


Unhand me, I conjure you. 
[She throws him off, and rushes 
towards « toilet. EMERICK 

follows, and ax she takes a 

agnor, he grasps it in er 


ass al Ha! Ha! a dagger; 
‘A seemly ornament for a lady's casket ! 
"Tis held, devotion is akin to love, 
But yours is tragic! Love in war! at 
charms me, 
‘And makes your. ‘beauty worth a king's 
embraces ! 


[During thir speck Bernuen 
enters armed. 
Bethten, Ruttian, forbear! Turn, tum 


and front my sword ! 
Emerick. Vish t Yvho ts Uhis? 


Bathlen, 
Your faithful soldier ! 


@APOLYA 





And coward That devilish purpose 

1 y 
marks thee! 

What clse, this lady must instruct my 
sword ! 

Sarolta. Monster, retire! © touch 
him not, thou blest one! ca 

Tele ie ot a ee 

erie thee sa take what form 

Yon dvi ah ame 

Ech. The big wil lye ei 
with thee indeed 

ot that T mas tar fle pe 
the rack, 

I would debase this sword, and lay thee 
prostrate 

‘At this they, passmnonn's Secs tena 

Stained ith adlvons blood, ond — 


for this! -¢ 
As surely as the wax on thy death. 
warrant * wily 
Shall take the impression of this royal 
So plain thy face hath ta'en the mask of 
rebel t — 





ACT IV 
Scene ft 


A glade in a wood. Enter CASIUR 
looking anxiously around. 


Casimir. This needs must be the spot ! 
O, here he comes ! 


Enter Loxo Rupoirn. 


‘Well met, Lord Rudolph !$—— 
Your whisper was not Jost upon my ear, 
And F dare trast— 
Lord Rudolph. Enough ! the time is 
precious ! 
You left Temeswar late on yester-eve ? 
And sojourned there some hours? 
Casimir. I did so! 
Lord Rudolph, Heard you 
Anght of a hunt preparing? 
Casimir. ‘Yes; and met 
The assembled huntsmen t 
Lord Rudolph. Was there no word 
given? 
Casimér, The word for me was this ; 
—The reyal Leopard 
Chases thy mithwhite dedicated Hid, 
Lord Rudolph. Your answer? 
Casimir, ‘As the word proves false or 


true ” 
Will Casimir cross the hunt, or join the 
huntsmen ! 
Lord Rudolph. The event redeemed 
their pledge? 
Casimir. It did, and therefore 
Have I sent back both pledge and invita- 


tion. 
‘The spotless Hind hath fled to them for 
shelter, 
And bears with her my seal of fellowship! 
[They take hanits, ete. 
Lord Rudolph. Bot Emerick! how 
when you reported to him 
Sarolta’s disappearance, and the flight 
Of Bethlen with his guards? 
Casimir, O he received it 
As evidence of their mutual guilt. In 
fine, co 
With corening warmth condoled with, 
and dismissed me. 





ey lo 
With eh loko hate, ands 


riemph, 
Asif he hd oa in the tele ala 
Asd were ce ten choodag where 
inst. 
Bat Bnsh! draw back ! 


Lord Rudolph. One of the twol => 
cognized this morning; = 
‘His name is Pestaluts : a trusty ruff 

Whose face is prologue still to some di=—* 


Casimir (existe). 
‘The comrade of that ruffian is my: 
The one I trusted most and most 
ferred. 


But we must feet What makes 
king 80 late? 
1e was his wont to be an early tie 
Lord Rudolph. And bis oain 
To enthral the sluggard patare 
seh 


Ives 

Is, in good truth, the better half of the 
‘secret 

To cathral the world; for the will 
governs all. ry 

See, the sky lowers! the cross-winds 
waywardly 

Chase the fantastic ‘masses of the clouds 


With a wild mockery of the coming 
hunt! 


Casimir. 


herds tend, 








436 





And the same moment I descry him, 


I will retem to you. (Exit Given, 
[&nter Ovp Barnory, speaking 
as he enters, 
Old Bathory. Who hears? A friend! 
‘A messenger from him who bears the 
signet ! 
[Zaroiva, who Amd been garing 
affectionately after GLYCINE, 
Harts at BATHORY'S voice. 
Zapolya, He hath the watch-word !— 
Art thou not Bathory? 9 
Old Bathory. O noble lady ! greetings 
from your son ! [BaTHORY dxce/s, 
» Rise! rivet Or shall 1 
rather kneel beside thee, 
And call down blessings from the wealth 
of Heaven 
Upon thy honoured head? When thou 
Jast saw'st me 
T would full fain have knelt to thee, and 
could not, 
Thou dear old man! 
then in dreams 
Have I done worship to thee, as an 


How oft since 


angel 
Bearing my helpless babe upon thy 
‘wings 
Old Bathory, O he was born to 
honour! Gallant deeds 


And perilous hath he wrought since 
yester-ere, 
Now from Temeswar (for to him was 


trasted 2 

A life, save thine, the dearest) he hastes 
er 

Zapelys. Lady Sarolta mean'st thou? 

OM Batl She is safe. 


theory. j 

‘The royal brete hath overleapt his 
prey, 

And when be turned, a swordod Virtue 


faced him, 
My own brave boy—O panion, noble 
lady ! 


Is it he? 
ory. L hear a voice 
Too hoarse for Bethlen’s! “Twas his 
scheme and hope, 





promise to the king 
Zaske, 1 have falfilled his cede 

Have walked with 
oat Leek 


As with a friend : have 
‘Casimir : 
And now I leave you to take ce @ 
him. 
For the purposes are doebies 
friendly. 


Pestaluts (Cgecting ‘*) start Be 


your guard, mai 
Laska (in affright). Ha! bat om 
Pestalvite. Bebo! yo! 
"Twas one of Satan's imps, eee 
and threatened you 
For your most impudent hope to det 


his master! 
Lasks. Pshaw! What! you Sak 


ne makes se bert 


Patel Is't not enough to ply 
knave to others, 
But thou must lie to thine own beat? | 
Laska (fom; 
will be foend at his own post 
Watching elsewhere for the king's & 
terest. 


"Twixt Bethlen and Glycine t 
Pestaluts (swith a sneer). ‘What! de 





‘These points are tipt with venom, 
[Starts aad sees GLYCINE without, 
By Heaven ! Glycine ! 
Now as yon love the king, help me te 
seize her 

[They ie out after Givens, 
amd she shrieks without: 
then exter BAYHORY from 
the cavern, 

Old Bathory. Rest, lady, rest 1 1 feel 
in every sinew 
A young man's strength returning! 
Which way went they ? 
‘The shriek came thence. 

[Clash of swords, and Berunen's 
voice Acard frons beibinid 
the scenes ; GLYCINE enters 
alarmed ; ther, as seeing: 
Laska's bow and arrows, 

Glycine. Ha! weapons here? Then, 

Bethlen, thy Glycine 

Will die with thee or save thee ! 

[She seites them and rushes out, 
BaTHory following her. 
Lively and irregular music, 
end Peasants with Aunting 
spears cross the stage, singing 
chorally. 

CHORAL SONG 

Up, up! ye dames, ye lasses gay ! 
To the meadows trip away. 
‘Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, 
And scare the small birds from the corn. 
Not a soul at home may stay 60 

For the shepherds must go 

With lance and bow 
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 


Leave the hearth and leave the house 
To the cricket and the mouse : 
Find out a sunny seat, 
ibe and lambkin at her fect. 
Not a soul at home may stay : 
For the shepherds must go 
With lance and bow 7 
‘To bunt the wolf in the woods to-day, 
[Axewnt Huntsmen. 
Re-enter, as the Wuntsmen pass off, 
Barony, Beruten, avd Giycine. 





ZAPOLYA 


Glycine (leaning om Bethlen). And now 


‘Was it then 

‘That timid eye, was it those maiden hands 

‘That sped the shaft, which saved me and 
‘avenged me? 

Old Bathory (to Bethlen exultingly). 

ae as a vision blazoned on a 


By wing, shaped into a passionate 


Of life 2) death I saw the traitor, 
Stoop and snatch up the javelin of his 
comrade ; 
The point was at your back, when her 
shaft reached him 

‘The coward turned, and at the ed 
instant 

The braver villain fell beneath as 
sword. 


Enter ZNVOLXA, 
Zapoya. Bethlen! my child! and 


Mother 1 Queen t 
Royal Zapolya | name me Andreas ! 
Nor blame thy son, if being a king, he 


yet 
Hath made his own arm minister of his 
justice. 
So do the Gods who launch the thunder- 
bolt | 
Zapolya. O Raab Kiuprili! Friend 1 
Protector ! Guide t 
In vain we trenched the altar round with 
waters, 
A flash from Heaven hath touched the 
hidden incense— 
Bethlen (hastily). And that majestic 
form that stood beside thee 9 
Was Raab Kiuprili ! 
Zopolys. It was Raab Kiuprili ; 
As sure as = art Andreas, and the 


kein, 
Oud Bathory. Hail Andreas! hail my 
( Triwmphantly. 
‘Stop, thou revered one, 
Lest we offend the jealous Destinies 


By shouts ere victory. Deem it then 


thy duty 





48 


ZAPOLYA 





Zapelya. 
° roe tine to thine arms! sbe saved 
Ani huough her Sore forthe, she sere 
thy st 
Napier h aa 


320 

Hath other and hereditary claims 

Upon thy heart, and with Heaven- 
guanded instinct 

Mut carried on the work her sire began ! 

Andreas, Deas maid | more dear thou 

canst mot be! the rest 

Shall make my love religion, Haste we 
hence 


For as I roached the skirts of this high 
forest, 
T heard the noise and uproar of the 


ce 
Doubling its echoes from the mountain 
foot. 
Glycine, Hark} sure the hunt ap- 
proaches. 
[Horn without, and afterwards 
distant thunder. 
Zapolya. © Kiuprili 
Old Bathory. The demon-hunters of 
the middle air m0 
Are in full ery, and scare with arrowy 


fire 
The guilty! Hark! now here, now 
there, a hom 
Swells singly with irregular blast! the 
tempest 
Has scattered them ! 
[Horns heard at from different 
places at a distance, 
Zapolya, O Heavens! where stays 
Kiuprili? 
Out Bat 
rounded 1 
Andreas. My moth 
‘once in safety, 
1 too will hasten back, with lightning's 
speed, 
To seek the hero ! 


» The wood will be sur- 
fo me here. 
1 let me see face 





Higwe, cmd 
Rosh Kiupeilé ( 
guise), Since Heaven akee 


Gone! Sei papa ‘Oh no, let Bt 


Despiing of Heaven's justice! Faith 


Fae A ea ee 
‘hen observing the 
A sword! 
Hat and my sword? Capalaba 
escaped, 





SCENE 11 


ZAPOLYA 





The murderers are baffled, and there lives 

An Andreas to avenge Kiuprili's fall !— 

There was a time, when this dear sword 
id flash 

As dreadful ax the storm-fire from mine 
arms— 

T can scarce mise it now—yet come, fell 


; 
And with thee my. shame ‘and 


ter anguish, 
To ond i Ais work and thine! Kiupeili 


Can take the death-blow as a soldier 
should, 


Reenter BATHORY, with the dead body of 
PRSTALUTZ. 
Old Bathory. Poox tool and victim of 
another's guilt } 
Thou follow’st heavily: a reluctant 
ight 1 
‘Good truth, it is an undeserved honour 
That in Zapolya and Kiuprili’s cave 
A wretch like thee should find a burial- 


[Phew obsereing Krorrint, 
‘Tis he!—In Andreas’ and. Zapolya's 
name 


For thou canst be no other than Kiuprite 
Kinprili, And are they safe? 
[Noise without. 
Oli Bathory. Concealyourself, my lord! 
T will mislead them ! 
Kiuprili. Is Zapolya safe? 
Old Bathory, 1 doubt it not; but haste, 
haste, I conjure you ! 
[As he retires, im rushes Casimir. 
Casimir (entering). Monster ! 
‘Thon shalt not now escape me t 
Old Bathory. Stop, lord Casimir ! 
Tt is no monster. 
Casimir. Art thou too a traitor? 
Is this the place where Emerick’s mur- 
derers lurk? 
‘Say where is he that, tricked in this dis- 


‘guise, 
First ured’ me on, then scared my 
dastard followers? 





Thou must have seen him. Say where 
is th’ assassin? 

Old Bathory ( pointing to the iedy o 
Pastaturz). ‘There lies the ase 
sassin! slain by that same sword 

‘That was descending on his curst em- 


ployer, 
When ter thou bebeld'st Sarolta 
reseited 

Casimir. anaes providence t what 
then was he who fled me? 
[BATHORY points to the Caern, 

whence KiUPRILI advane 
Thy looks speak fearful things | Whit 
old man 
‘Would thy hand point me? 

Old Bathory, Casimir, to thy father. + 

Casinsir (discovering Kiwprili), The 
curse! the curse! Open and 
swallow mo, 

Unsteady earth Fall, dizzy rocks ! and 
hide me! 

Old Bathory (to Kiufrili), Speak, 
speak, my lord ! 

Kiuprili (holds owt the sword to 
Bathory), Bid him fulfil his 
work ! 

Casiosir, Thou art Heaven’s 
ate minister, dread spirit t 

© for sweet mercy, take some other 
form, 

And sve me from perdition and de- 
spair! 

Obi Bathory 


. He lives t 
ives! A father's curse can 
a 

Kisuprili (in a tone of pity). O Casimir | 


Casimir ! 
Old poy Look ! he doth forgive 


Hark! Nis the tyrant's voice, 
[Emmrick's twice without. 
I kneel, I kneel ! 
©, by my mother's 


Casimir, 
Retract thy curse ! 
eS 
Have pity on thy self-abborring child 1 
If not for me, yet for my innocent wife, 
Yet for my country’s sake, give my arm 
strength, 
Permitting me again to call thee father | 





“0 


Ainpril Samy 1 fngive thee | Take 
father’ 


! 

[Kruretis and Caster emirace ; 
they all retire te the Cavern 
supporting KARRI, CASI 
Min as by accident drops his 
robe, and Batnony throws 
it ower the body of Pesta- 
Lure. 

Emerich (entering). Pools | Cowards ! 
follow—or by Hell T'll make you 
Find reason to fear Emerick, more than 


all 
‘The mummer-fiends that ever masquer- 
aded 


As gods of wood-nymphs t— 
[Them sees the body of Pusta- 
Lurz, covered by Casimtn's 
cloak, 
Hat "tis done then ! 
Our necensary villain hath proved faith- 


ful, 
And there bee Casimir, and our dast 
fears 


Well t we well !— 

And is it nef well? For though grafted 
6n Us, 

And filled too with our sap, the deadly 


power 
‘Of the parent poison-tree lurked in its 
feos 
‘There was too much of Raab Kiupriti in 
Dim: 
‘The old enemy looked at me in his face, 
Rea Lewes his words did flatter me with 
duty. 
[4s Bamnrcn avers fosoardy the 
dady, enter from the Cavern 
Casimir and Barnory. 
Old Bathory (pointing to where the 
moive is, and aside te Casimir), 
‘This way they come ! 
Casiwrir (aside t Bathory), Hold then 
in check awhile, 
‘The path is narrow! "Radolph will as- 
st thee, 





ZAPOLYA 


my Father 

‘Tho shoulat have witnessed thine ox 
deed, © Father, 

Wake from that envious swoon! The 
tyrant’s fallen t 

Thy sword hath conquered 1 As I lite! 


n 
Thy blessing did indeed descead aye 
me 5 
Dislodging the dread curse, It flew bath 
from me 
And lighted on the tyrant 1 
Enter Rovoies, Barwory, eet 
Attendants. 
Rudolph and Bathory (enteriath 
fenist friends to Casimit! 
Casimir, pea Myrianst 
Rudolph. S ph rk tyrants! wo cof 


tombe hence the bol, =# 
move dowly on f 
One mosnent—— > 
Devoted to a joy, that bears ao See 
I follow you, and we will get == 
countrymen 





SCRNE TE 


With the two best and fullest gifts of 
heaven — 

A tyrant fallen, @ patriot chief restored 1 

{Axeunt CasDuR into the 

Cavern. The rest on the 


opposite side. 


(Scene UT) 
Sceme changes to a splendid Chamber in 


Castmin’s Castle, Confederates dis. 
covered. 


First Confederate. Uk can not but suc- 
ceed, friends. From this palace 
Even to aa wood, Our messengers are 


posted. 
With such short interspace, that fast as 
sound 


Can travel to us, we shall learn the 
event ! 
Enter another Confederate. 
What tidings from Temeswar? 
Stcond Confederate. With one voice 
Th? assembled chieftains have deposed 
the tyrant 5 
He is proclaimed the public enemy, 
‘And the protection of the law withdrawn. 
First Confederate. Just doom for him, 
who governs without law t 
Is it known on whom the mohair 
will fall? 
Secomd \Confederale. Nothing is yet 
decided : but report 
Points to Lord Casimir, The grateful 
memory 
Of his renowned father — 
Bxter SAROLTA. 
Hail to Sarolta! 
Sarette, Confederate friends | 1 bring 
to you a 
Worthy your noble cause ! Kiuprili lives, 
And from his obscure exile, hath re- 


turned 
To bless: es country, More and greater 
Might I disclose; but that a woman's 


voice 
Would mar the wondcrous tale, 
‘we for him, 


Wait 





ZAPOLYA 


The ber of the glory—Raab zi 


ig 

For he sings is ‘worthy to announce Me 
(Shoute of * 7 Sispal Kiuprili,’ 
and "The Tyrant's fallen,’ 
without, Then enter Kru- 
rata, CasIMin, RuDOLrH, 
BATHORY, amd Attendants, 
after, the clamone fas, sub 


Raab pers ‘Spare yet your joy, my: 
fiends ! iigher waits you : 
Behold, your Queen ! 

[Enter from opposite side, Za- 
POLYA amd ANDREAS ropwlly 
attired, with GINCINE. 

Confederate, Comes she from heaven 
to bless us? 

Other Confederates. It ist it ist 

Zapolya, Heaven's work of grace is 
full! 


Kiuprili, thon art safe t 
Kaab Kiuprili, Royal Zapolya | 
To the heavenly powers, pay we our 
daty first ; 
Who not alone preserved thee, but for 
th 


ee 

And for our country, the one precious 
branch 

Of Andreas’ royal house, © country- 

men, 

Behold your King! And thank our 
country’s genius, » 

That the same means which hare pres 
served our sovercign, 

Have likewise reared him worthier of the 
ths 


throne 
By virtue than by birth, ‘The undoubted 


3 
Pledged ‘by his royat mother, and this 
old man, 
(Whose name henceforth be dear to all 
Illyrians) 
We haste to lay before the assembled 
council. 
Al, Hail, Andreas! 
rightful king! 
Andreas. Supported thus, O friends! 
"twere cowardice 
Unworthy of a royal birth, to shrink 


Hail, Tyra's 





442 





From the appointed charge. Yet, while 
‘we wait 
‘The awfel sanction of coavened Tlyriay 
In this brief while, O let me feel myself 
‘The child, the friend, the debtor!— 
Heroic mother !— 
‘Bat what can breath add to that sacred 
name? 
gift of Providence, to teach us 
‘That loyalty is but the public form 
Of the sublimest friendship, let my youth 
‘Climb round thee, as the vine around its 
elm + 
Thow ~~. support and / thy faithful 


fruitage. 
My heart is fal, and these Poor fords 


express ni - 

‘They are bat an at te ake oper 
swelling. 

Bathory! shrink not from my filial arms! 

Now, and from henceforth thou shalt not 
forbid me 

To call thee father! And dare I forget 

The powerful intercession of thy virtue, 

Lady Sarolta? Still acknowledge me 

‘Thy faithful soldier !—But what invoca- 
i 


tion 
Shall my full soul address to thee, 
Glycine? 

Thou ower that leap’st forth from a bed 
of roses: » 

‘Thou falcon-hearted dove? 
Zafolya, ‘Hear that from me, son! 
For ere she lived, her father saved thy 


ii 
Thine, and thy fugitive mother’s ! 


Casimir, 


Chef Ragozzi ! 


victim, 
How many may claim sal 
panes fe 
A eee that brings with 
‘Than orient can 
ings 7 
On this auspicious day, 
I claim to be your hostess 
awful 


or ape aed Sa at their own: 
While mad ambition ever doth caress 
Its own sure fate, in its own restlewmes! 


END OF ZaPOLyA. 





ADDENDA 


EPIGRAMS, Etc. 


(A few 'Epigrams’ which had gained a place in Coleridge's collected works have been omitted, 
being found not to belong to him. A few others have been excluded as too trivial. But the omissions 
have been more than compensated by additions of better quality from MSS. hitherto unprinted. 

It is difficult wt this time of day to deal quite adequately with a certain class of these effusions, 
‘To exclude all, would be to mask one side of a man exceptionally many-aided : to include only one 
‘or two would equally convey a false impression. Already they have been included in 40 many 
editions of Coleridge's works as to have become part and parcel of them, and will always have 
to be taken into account in any estimate of his genius and character 

Few of the less serious of the 'Epigrams’ are entirely original: many are translated from 


Lessing, and as a rule, rentlered with no great felicity.} 


You's careful o'er your wealth, ‘tis true, 
Yet so, that of your plenteous store, 
‘The poor man tastes and blesses you— 
For you flee Poverty and not the Poor. 
MS. 1 


Sav what you will, Ingenious Youth ! 
‘You'll find me neither Dupe nor Dunce: 
Once you deceived me—only once, 
"Twas then when yon told me the 
Truth. 


MS. 3799. 


{ANOTHER version] 


$ 
Ie the guilt of all lying consists in deceit, 
Lie on—'tis your duty, sweet youth ! 
For believe me, then only we find you a 
it 


c 
When you cunningly tell us the trith, 


Aum, Anth, Heo, 





4 
ON AN INSIGNIFICANT 


No doleful faces here, no sighing — 
Here rots a thing that won by dying = 
*Tis Cypher lies beneath this crust— 
Whom Death created into dust. 
MS. 1799. 
5 
ON A SLANDERER 


From yonder tomb of recent date, 

There comes a strange mephitic blast. 

Here lies—Ha ! Backbite, you at last— 

*Tis he indeed : and sure as fate, 

They buried him in overhaste— 

Into the earth he has been cast, 

And in this grave, 

Before the man had breathed his last. 
MS. 179 

6 

Taree comes from old Avaro’s grave 

A deadly stench—why, sure they have 

Immured his sow? within his grave? 
Keaprake, 1829. 





EPIGRAMS 





7 


LINES IN A GERMAN 
STUDENT'S ALBUM 


We both attended the same College, 
Where sheets of paper we did blur 


Aad ow anh 
now we're going to our know: 
ledge, ae 


In England I, and you in Germany. 
Carlyon's Barly Vears, ete. 68 379%. 


ON A READER OF HIS OWN 
VERSES 


HOARSE Mievius reads his hobbling verse 
‘To all and at all times, 

And deems them both divinely smooth, 
His voice as well as rhymes, 

But folks say, Moevius is no ass! 
But Moevius makes it clear 

‘That he's a monster of an ass, 
An ass without an ear, 
Morm. Past, Sep 9, 179% 


9 
Jeu writes his verses with more speed 
Than the printer's boy can set ‘em ; 
Quite as fast as we can read, 
And only not so fast as we forget "em. 
Morn. Post, Sep. 23) ¥799- 


10 

Dorts can find no taste in tea, 

Green to her drinks like Bohea ; 

Because she makes the tea so small 

She never tastes the tea at all. 
Morm. Pott, Noe. 1 179 


1 

Jack dias fine wines, wears modish 
lothing, 

But pbs Pie lies Jack's estate? 

tn ‘Algebra, for there I found of Inte 


A quantity call'd less than nothing, 
Moen. Pest, Now. tb 179% 





12 
Witar? rise again with ail one's bones? 

Quoth T hope you fib, 
T trusted when I went to Heaven 

‘To go without my rib. 

Mery Rev Oe 

13 
JoB's LUCK 
Sty Beelzebub took all occasions 


camels, horses, asses, 
‘And the aly Devil did wet taka Ma spas 
‘But Heaven that brings out good from 


eae Lest 


Two al ob had aes 
Short - i ighted "Des ‘Sot to take His 


spouse | 1799 
Morn. Post, Sept. 2, Bor 


14 z 
TO MR, PYE 
On hin. pintsicroere tithe which pete) 


And without head or tail! 
Morm, Port, Jam, 24, Woo 


‘The following eight ‘Epigrams’ were 
printed in The Amumal Anthology fot 
O wouxp the 


1800 :— 
15 
fol preach lod with ight nda 
Repentance to ony Span aa 
But should vs, pisses 
Hef ay tn good sock of hens 





EPIGRAMS 


5 





16 
OCCASIONED BY THE FORMER 


T HOLD of all our viperous race 

‘The greedy creeping things in place 

‘Most vile, most venomous; and then 

The United Irishmen ! 

‘To come on earth should John determine, 

Imprimis, we'll excuse his sermon, 

Without a word the good old Dervis 

Might work incalculable service, 

At once from tyranny and riot 

Save laws, lives, liberties and moneys, 

If sticking to his ancient diet 

He'd but eat up our locusts and tilt 
honeys! 


7 
‘As Dick and I at Charing Cross were 


lara 
Whom should we see on t'other side 


pass by A 
But Informator with a stranger talking, 


So T exclaim’ Lord, what a lie!” 
Quoth Dick—‘What, can you hear 
him?" 
“Hear him ! stuff! 
1 saw him open his mouth—an't that 
enough ?” 


8 


TO A PROUD PARENT 


Tuy babes ne'er greet thee with the 
father’s name 
My Lud!” they lisp, 
can this arise? 
Perhaps their mother feels an honest 
sham 


Now whence 


e 
And will not teach her infant to tell 
lies, 
9 
Hirrona lets no silly lush 
Disturb her check, nought makes her 


blush. 
Whate'er obscenities you say, 
‘She nods and titters frank and gay, 
Oh Shame, awake one honest flush 
For this,—that nothing makes her blush. 





20 

Tuy lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast, 

It don’t surprise me in the least 

To see thee lick so dainty clean a beast, 

But that so dainty clean a beast licks 
thee, 

Yes—that surprises me. 


21 
ON A BAD SINGER 


x 

Swaxs sing before they die—'twere no 
bad thing 

Should certain persons die before they 
sing. 


22 
OCCASIONED BY THE LAST 


A Joxs (cries Jack) without a sting— 

Post obitwm can no man sing. 

And true, if Jack don’t mend his man- 
ners 

And quit the atheistic banners, 

Post obitsene will Jack run foul 

Of such folds as can only Aptwk 


23 
SONG 
‘TO RK SUNG TY THE LOVERS OF ALL. 


THE NOBLE LIQUORS COMPRISED 
UNDER THE NAME OF ALE. 


A 


Yr: drinkers of Stingo and Nappy so free, 
Are the Gods on Olympus so happy as 
we? 


» 

‘They cannot be so happy ! 

For why? they drink no Nappy. 
Ae 


But what if Nectar, in their lingo, 
Is Lut another name for Stingo? 





EPIGRAMS 


2 
Why, then we and the Gods are equally 
bl 


lest, 
‘And Olympus an Ale-house as good 28 
the best ! 
M. Past, Sep. 18, Wher. 


4 
EPITAPH 
ON A MAD MAN 
Or him that in this gorgeous tomb doth 


Tie 

This sad brief tale is all that Truth 
can give— 

He lived like one who never thought to 


die, 
He died like one who dared not hope 
to live! 


AM Peat, Sep. 33, sor. ores. 


a} 
UnpeR this stone does Walter Harcourt 


ie, 
Who valued nought that God or man 
could give ; 
He lived as if he never thought to die ; 

He died as if he dared not hope to 

live! 

[Se reprinted by Mn. HN. Coleridge in 
Etsays on his ewn Times wx ' Another Version" 
with this foot-note: “The name Walter Har. 
court has been supplied by the Editor, SC." 
‘The following adaptation is now fint printed 
from 8, T. G's papers Ep.) 


Osurr SATURDAY, SEPT. 10, 1830 
W. H. euey! 
Beneatn this stone does William Haalitt 
ic, 
Thankless of all that God or man 


could give. 
He lived Ike one who never thought to 


die, 
He died like one who dared not hope 
to live. 


Schl 30, thy. 





DRINKING vagsus THINKING | 


‘OR, A SONG AGAINST THE SEF 
PHILOSOPHY 


My Merry men all, that drink with 
This fanciful . 
Pray tell me what good is it? 
If antient Nick should come ani tke 
The same across the Stygian Lake, 
T guess we ne'er eis 


Away, each pale, self-brooding. 
That ie te in ree 
way from our 1 
To Pallas we resign sech fowl 
Grave birds of wisdom ! ye're bet o®% 
And all your trade but messing! 


My Mery men all, herd pooch #0 


And spicy bishop, drink divine! 
Let's live while we are able. 
While Mirth “and Sense sit, hand 
glove, 
This Don Phil 
Dead drank 
M. Post, Sep. a ter 


by we'll shove 
the table | 


a 


A HINT TO PREMIERS AND 
FIRST CONSULS 


FROM AN OLD TRAGEDY, VIZ. AGA) 
‘TO KING ASCHELAUS 


Turex troths should make thee 
think and pause ; 
The Grst is, that thou govern'st 
men; 





EPIGRAMS 


is cae that thy power is fram the 


ws 

And this the third, that thou must 
die {and then ?— 

ME. Pott, Sef. 27, 1201. 


28 


‘TO A CERTAIN MODERN 
NARCISSUS 


Do call, dear Jess, whene’er my way you 


come ; 
My looking-glass will always be at home. 
AM. Post, Dee. x6, vo. 


29 
* To a critic 
WHO EXTRACTED A PASSAGE FROM A 
POEM WITHOUT ADDING A WORD RE- 
SPECTING THE CONTEXT, AND THEN 
DERIDED fT AS UNINTELLIGUILE, 


Mosr candid critic, what if I, 
By ay of Soke, pall ot your 2 
And holding wp the 
Hla ha that men ich ‘fools shoul 


Behold ‘hs shapeless Dab !—and he 

Who own'd it, fancied it could se 1’ 

The joke were mighty analytic, 

Bat should you like it, candid eritic? 
MM. Peat, Deo, vb, 1Bot. 


30 
ALWAYS AUDIBLE 
Pass under Jack's window at twelve at 


Vou'll hear him still—he's roaring | 
Pass under Jack's window at twelve at 


nooo, 4 
You'tl hear him still—he's snoring ! 
Morn. Pott, Dec, 19, 801. 
3 
PONDERE NON NUMERO 


Fxiexns should be weigl'd, not tol; 
who boasts to have won 
A mnltitude of friends, he ne'er had one. 
Morn. Pest, Dee, x6, Bor 





R 
To wed a fool, I really cannot see 
Why thou, Eliza, art $0 very loth ; 
Still on & par with other pairs you'd be, 
Since thou hast wit and sense enough for 
both, 
Morn, Peet, Dec, 96, veo. 


[The twenty ‘Original Epigrams? fol 
lowing were printed in the Morming Fost 
in September and October 1802, with 
the signature * EETHE.”] 

(September 23, rf02.) 
33 * 
Wuar is an Epigram? a dwarfish whole, 
Its body brevity, and wit its soul. 


M 


CHARLES, grave or meny, at no lic 
‘would stick, 

And taught at length his memory the 
same trick. 

Believing thus what he so oft repeats 

He's brought the thing to such a pass, 
poor youth, 

‘That now himself and no one else 


he cheats, 
Save when unluckily he tells the truth. 


35 


AN evil it’s on thee, friend t of Inte f 

Ev'n from the hour thou eam’st to thy 
Estate. 

‘Thy mirth all gone, thy kindness, thy 
discretion, 

Th’ estate hath prov’d to thee a most 
complete possession. 

Shame, shame, old friend | would’st thou 
be truly blest, 

Be thy wealth’s Lord, not slave! as 
sessor, not possess'd. 


6 

Firxe lies the Devll—ask no other name. 

Well—but you mean Lord? Hush! 
we ican the same. 





EPIGRAMS: 


7 
TO ONE WHO PUBLISHED IN 
PRINT 
WHAT HAD BEEN ENTROSTED TO HIM 
HY MY FIRESIDR 
hast thou made known to 
the nation, 
My secrets and my want of penetration: 
For oe far more than all which thou 


hast penn'd 
It shames me to have ecall'd a wreteh, 
like thee, my friend 


Two this 


38 
‘ Obacuri sub lnce matigna’ VK. 
SCARCE any scandal, but has a handle; 
In a inns falsehoods have their 


‘Truth first unlocks Pandora's box, 
‘And out there fly a host of lies. 
Mtoe light, PY, ote, Bah 
‘To precipices it decoys one 
nectar-drop from Jove's own shop 
Will favour a whole cup of poison. 
39 
OLD Haney jeers at castles in the air, 
And thanks his stars, whenever 
Edmund speaks, 
That such a dupe as that is not his 
heir— 


But know, old Harpy! that these 
fancy freaks, 
Though vain and light, as floating 
gossamer, 
Always a and sometimes mend the 
A young mae idlest hopes are still 
his 
And fetch a “higher price in Wisdom’s 


mart 
Than all the wnenjoying Miser’s 
treasures, 


49 
TO A VAIN YOUNG LADY 
Dinsr thou think lesa of thy dear self 
Far more would others think of thee! 





! 
And wert thou not so self-bewitch’d, 
Sweet Anne! thou wert, indeed, 
bewitching, 


(October s, vBoa.) 
4 
From me, Aurelia! you desired 
‘Your proper praise to know 5 
Well t you're the FAt® by all admired— 
Some twenty years Agov 


42 
FOR A HOUSE-DOG’S COLLAR 


Wux thieves eet bark: when 
gallants, T am still— 
So perform both ‘master’s and 
ralerear's wil 
43 
In vain T praise thee, 
inv oui atime 
Me no one credi 
Sand tn cae oe aE 


(October gy WB.) 


“4 
EPITAPH ON A MERCENARY 
MISER 
Asoka 
at SELL-ALL 
Te sane oho saved od Seca 


life— 
"Twas but the year before ! 
And Sell-all rose an Tet im fag 





50 
SPOTS IN THE SUN 
Mx father confessor is strict and holy, 


And not her charms 
her sins! 

Good father! T would fain not do thee 

. wrong } 

But ah! I fear that they who oft and 
101 

ip Seat Werte 
‘Spot, 

Must sometimes find the sun itself too 
hot. 


5t 
Wirex Surface talks of other people's 
orth 


w 
He has the weakest memory on eaeth ! 
‘And when his own good leeds he deigns 


to mention, 
His memory still is no whit better grown ; 
But then he makes up for it, all will own, 
By a prodigious of #nvention, 


52 
TO MY CANDLE 
TUR VAREWELL EVIGRAM 
Goon Candle, thou that with thy brother, 


Fire, 
Art pd _ friend and comforter at 
Just aout thou look’st as if thou didst 
desire 


That [on thee an epigram should write, 

Dear Saag bornt down to a finger- 
int, 

‘Thy own fame len epigram of sight 

‘Tis short, and pointed, and aif ever 


i 
Yet ivi net Tig 


it and burns the keenest 
at the point, 


Valete et Plandite. 





53 

EPITAPH, 

ON MIISELE 
Serr 
Who diet ar he bad lived, a 
| Aecping, by the gout 


‘Alone and all unknown, at Edinbro? ia 
an Inn. oh 
54 
Aw excellent oat. pes commands that we 


Relate of ihe dead. al Gaetan 
good 

Bato fhe great Lord who res i 

We know nothi it that he is 

¢ kos ing good but that he 

Prien, New. 1% WB 


5s 
MOTTO 
FOR A TRANSPARENCY DESIGNED ff 
WASHINGTON ALLSTON AND £% 
‘HIBITED AT BRISTOL ON *#R0- 
CLAMATION Dav '—Jeme 29, 1814, 


We've Pe Peace, and conquer 


fast | mn, 
ai oie ea 
sprout anew, 


(The following was suggested by Colecidge a # 
: i 


We've comet wa se 





EPIGRAMS 





37 


Moxny, I've heard a wise man say, 
Makes herself wings and flies away— 
Ah! would she take it in her head 
‘To make a pair for me instend. 


MS. 81g. 


58 
MODERN CRITICS 
No private grudge they need, no personal 
ite, 


The viva sectio is its own delight ! 

All enmity, all es they disclaim, 

Disinterested thieves of our good name : 

‘Cool, sober murderers of their neighbours’ 
fame t 


Bigg. Lit, (tay), The wv 


59 
WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 


Paxrv secks the Polar rid 

Rhymes secks S. T. Coleridge, 

Author of Works, whereof—tho’ not in 
Dutch— 

The public little knows—the publisher 
too much, ‘TaGr8. 


Ted, 


60 
SENTIMENTAL 


‘THe rose that blushes like the mor, 
Betlecks the valleys low ; 

And so dost thou, sweet infant corn, 
‘My Angelina’s toc. 


But on the tose there grows a thorn 
That breeds disastrous woe 5 
And s0 dost thou, remorseless corm, 


On Angelina's toe. 
61 
THE ALTERNATIVE 


‘THis way or that, ye Powers abave me! 
1 of my grief were rid— 

Did Enna either really love me, 
Or cease to think she did. 


a4. 


afsé. 





62 
LINES. 


TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON AN ABUSIVE 
REVIEW 


WHAT though the chilly wide-mouth'd 
quacking chorus 

From the rank swamps of murk Review- 
land croak : 

So was it, neighbour, in the times before 


us, 

When Momus, throwing on his Attic 
cloak, 

Romp'd with the Graces; and each 
tickled Muse 

(That Turk, Dan Phebus, whom bards 
call divine, 

Was married to—at Teast, he kept—all 
nine) 

Fled, but still with reverted faces ran ; 

Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to 


excuse, 

They had allared the audacious Greek 
to use, 

‘Swore they mistook him for their own 
good man. 

‘This Momus—Aristophanes on earth 

Men call’d Bip all his wit and 
worth, 

Was croak’d and gabbled at, 
then, should you, 

Or I, friend, hope to ‘scape the skulking 
crew? 

Not laugh, and say aloud, in tones of glee, 

*T hate the quacking tribe, and they 
hate me!" Tafa, 


63 
AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS 


«A HEAVY wit shall hang at every lord,’ 
So sung Dan Pope ; but ‘pon my word, 
Hee was a story-teller, 
Or else the times have altered quite, 
For wits, or heavy, now, of light 
Hang each by a bookseller, 
8. T. C. 
Quoted in Alews of Literature, Dec. 10, 1825. 
See Arch. Constable and his Literary Corre 
spondente, whys, Uh. ate. 


How, 





ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE 
FROM THE SAME CITY 


As Tam rhymer, 
And now at least a merry one, 
Mr. Mum's Radesheimer 
And the church of St. Geryon 
Are the two things alone 
‘That deserve to be known 7 
Tn the body-and-soul-stinking town of 
Cologne, 1808. 
66 


‘Iw Spain, that land of Monks and Apes, 
‘The thing called Wine doth come from 


grapes, 
But on the noble River Rhine, 
The thing called Gripes doth come from 
ine! 1828, 
Mewesir of CM. Young, 187%, pwr. 


¥ 

Last Monday all z said 
‘That Mr, See 

Why, then, what said the city? 


7 tenth part sadly shook their head, 
'd and said, 
toe te 





CHOLERA CURED BEFORE. 
HAND 


Or a premonition promulgated grativ for the 
specially those resident 


Tal owes tothe betes, fr the Rese ot ee ls 
and Bears of the Stock Exchange: 


avaunt! new 
‘i ot dy Som 


carrion to feed 
‘Tho! tg De oe nt 


Ah! then ‘hontes, 
Toto eeeg “< 
For loves nor for. =] * 
You'll find i¢too true, 





FRAGMENTS FROM A COMMONPLACE BOOK 





Och ! the hallabaloo | Of all scents and degrees, 
Och ! och ! how you'll wail, (Yourselves and your shes) 
When the offal-fed vagrant Forswear all cabal, lads, 
Shall turn you as blue Wakes, unions, and rows, 
As the rae unfragrant, Hot dreams, and cold salads, 
That gushes in from beneath his | And don’t pig in styes that would suffo- 
‘own tail ;— cate sows ! 
‘TiN swift as the mail, Quit Cobbett's, O'Connell's and Beelze- 
He at last brings the cramps on, bub's banners, 
That will twist you like Samson, And whitewash at once bowels, rooms, 
So without further bletbring, hands, and manners 1 
Dear mudlarks! my brethren ! "fel ob sae 


II 


FRAGMENTS FROM A COMMONPLACE BOOK, 


Cirea 1795-97 


‘Once in the possession of John Mathew Gutch, and now (since 1268) in the British Museum, Adit, 
MSS. 2901. Some of these Fragments were printed in Coleridge's Remains, 4 vols. 1836-395 others 
are now printed for the first time, 


1 2 


Lirrte Daisy—very late spring. March. | LicHr cargoes waft of modulated sound 
Quid si vivat? Do all things in Faith. | From viewless Hybla brought, when 
Never pluck a flower again! Mem, Melodies 

_ | Like Birds of Paradise on wings, that 

[J do not think Coleridge took this a 

‘vow in public—but Landor did—{*Fae- | Disport in wild varieties of hues, 
sulan Idyll” in Gebir, Count Julian, ete. | Murmur around the honey -dropping 
1831). Rowers. 


* And 'tis and ever was my wish and way 
To let all flowers live freely. . . . 3 
I never pluck the rose: the violet's head | Byoap-nReAsTED rock — hanging cliff 
Hath shaken with my breath upon its that glasses 
His rugged forehead in the ealmy sea. 

And not reproacht me: the ever-sacred 5 

cup [Its high, o'er-hanging, white, broad- 
Of the pure lily hath between my hands | breasted cliffs, 
Felt safe, unsoil'd, nor lost one grain of | Glassed on the subject ocean, . 

gold.'—Eb.] Destiny of Nations —Ep.] 








FRAGMENTS FROM A COMMONPLACE BOOK 


455 





ar 
Wispom, Mother of retired Thought. 


22 
Nature 
Wrote Rascal on his face by chalco. 
graphic art ! 


33 
Dim specks of entity. 
invisible insects.) 


(Applied to 


4 
In this world 
‘We dwell among the tombs and touch 
‘The pollutions of the Dead—to God ! 


[See Destiny of Natiows, ll. 169-173. 
For she had lived 
In this bad world, as in a place of tombs, 
And touched not the pollutions of the 
dead. Ep] 
35 
Tue: mild despairing of a heart resigned. 


26 
Svc fierce vivacity as fires the eye 
Of Genius fancy-craz’d. 
[See Destiny of Nations, ll. 250, 251. 
Such 5 vivacity, as fires the eye 
‘Of misery fancy-craz'd, Ep] 


a7 

like a mighty Giantess 
Seiz'd in sore travail and prodigious birth 
Sick Nature struggled : long and strange 


ber pangs ; 
Hes. groans were horrible, but O11 most 


The twins she bore—Equatiry and 
Peace! 


[See Oude to the Departing Year, 10 
the original edition the second strophe 
thus ended s— 





Seiz'd in sore teavail and portentous birth 

(Her eye-balls flashing a pernicious glare) 

Sick Nature struggles! Hark! her 
pangs increase ! 

Her groans are horrible ! 
fair 

The promised twins she bears—Equality 
and Peace ! 


But O! most 


The *Ode’ was published on the last 
day of 1796. On the 6th February 1797 
Coleridge wrote of this passage to John 
Thelwall :—* You forgot to point out to 
me that the whole child-birth of Nature 
is at once ludicrous and disgusting—an 
epigram smart yet bombastic,'—ED,] 


28 
Discontent 
Mild as. an. infant low-plaining in its 
sleep. 


29 
~— terrible and loud 
As the steong Voice that from the 
Thunder-cloud 
Speaks to the startled Midnight. 


30 
The swallows 
Interweaving there, and the pair'd sea 


mews 
At distance wildly wailing! 


Ri 
On the broad mountain-top 
‘The neighing wild-colt races with the 
wind 
'er fern and heath-flowers. 


33 
A long deep lane 
So overshadow'd, it might seem one 
bower— 
‘The ay -banks were furr’d with 
Idy moss. 





456 


33 
Broav-uenasrep Pollards, with broad~ 
branching heads, 


4 
"Twas sweet to know it only possible— 
Some wishes cross'd my mind and dimly 
cheer'd it— 
And one or two poor melancholy 


Pleasures— 
Tales, Aisa pple arwarning igh og 


Silv'ring their flimsy wing, flew silent by, 
sin esi. 4 


35 
Behind the thin 
Grey cloud that cover’d but not hid the 


The round fat ‘moon Took’d small, 
[See CArinabel, Il. 16, 17. 


‘The thin grey cloud is spread on high, 
It covers but not hides the sky.—Ep.] 


36 
‘he subtle snow in every breeze, rose 
curling from the grove, like pillars of 
cottage smoke. 


[See Ye Pirtere > or, The Lover's Resolu- 


Hon, N. 148- 
‘All the ait is calm, 


The smoke from cottage-chimneys, tinged 
with light, 
Rises in columns. —Ep.] 


vv 
Hartley fell down and hurt himself. 
T caught him up angry and sereaming— 
and ran out of doors with him. ie 
it his eye~—he ceased crying 
imrmedinidy—anl his eyes and the tears 


mac 
[See this versified at the end of The 
Nightingale: a Conversation Peent— 


Fp.) 


: 


in them, how they glittered in the | 
joonlight ! 





FRAGMENTS FROM A COMMONPLACE BOOK 


8 

nes 
the never-bloomless Furze—and the 

‘transition to the Gordonia Lasianthus, 
(Which is done at great length, in 
prose. “The never 
occurs in the inthe “tine of 4 
Solitude.—Ep,] 

9 
‘The sunshine lies on the cottage-wall, 
A-shining thro’ the snow, 


40 


A maniac in the woods—She 
heedlessly the woodman's soe 
by mmbounditg bought: b= 
veconentcioal en 
“Intro, to the Tale of the Dark Ladié” 
[*Love'}, as printed in the 
Dec. 21, 1799. See * Note 1: 
And how he sonic the woodman's paths, 
‘Thro’ briars y MOSSES 
How foe ted pach Sy 
And low stubs gor'd his feet. Ep. ] 
av -_ 
SABBATH-DAY . 
From the Miller's mossy wheel 
water-drops dripp'd leisurely. me 


az 
The ra ting 
That ecole et Rae ec 
i . 
With: fast pare warble his delicious 
id oi eGR 
A cae ae 
+h ea aaa 
Se 


The Ni 
—Ep.] 





FRAGMENTS FROM A 


COMMONPLACE BOOK 


43 
HYMNS—MOON 


IN a cave in the mountains of Cash- 
meer, an i of ice, which makes its 
appearance thus: Two days before the 
new moon there sppears a bubble of ice, 
which increases in size every day till the 
fifteenth day, at which it is an efi or 
more in height ;—then, as the moon 
decreases the image does also till it 
vanishes, few, Read the whole royth 
of Maurice's Hémfoitan, 

In a list of projected works (twenty: 
seven in number !) entered by Coleridge in 
this note-book, the sixteenth runs thus : 
“Hymns to the Sun, the Moon, and 
the Elements—six hymns. In one of 
them to introduce a dissection of Athe- 
ism, particularly the Godwinian System 
of Pride, Proud of what? An outcast 
of blind Nature ruled by a fatal Neces- 
sity—-Slave of an Ideot Nature. In the 
last Hymn a sublime enumeration of all 
the charms or tremendities of Nature— 
then a bold. avowal of Berkeley's sys- 
tem E101’ The entry following «Hymns 
—Moon' § this: ‘ Hymas—Sun— 
Remember to look at Quintas Curtius— 
ib. 3, cap. g.and 4.’ There are also n 
number of similar jottings with regard to 
the Elements ; but the scheme came to 
nothing. —Ep, ] 


44 


‘Tne tongue can't speak when the mouth 
is cramm’d with earth— 

A tittle mould fills up most eloquent 
mouths, 

And a square stone with a few pious 


texts, 
Cut neatly on it, keeps the mould down 
tight. 


[The original of a soliloquy of Osorio 
(ihe ‘Ordonio’ of Kemerse}, in Osorio, 
Act li, p. 497-—Ep.] 


4S 
ANb with my whole heart sing the stately 


song, 
Loving the God that made me. 
[See Fears im Sotétende, i, 193-197. 


O divine _ 
And beauteous inland thou hast een 


my sol 
And most se inant temple, in the 
which 
1 walk Bi awe, and sing my stately 
Loving (ia God That wade we J 


46 


dowel spirit (a). 

Deep inward stillness and a bowed 
sowl (a). 

Searching of Heart, 

Fancy’s wilder foragings 

Ged't bi daliying (8). 

[See Ode om the Departing Year, 
Strophe 1. (first edition). 


(a) Long had I listen’d, free from mortal 


fear, 
With inward stillness, and a bowed 
mind. 


And in the first edition (1796), Anti- 
strophe II, : 


(4) Hark | how wide Nauxe joins her 
groans bel 
Rise, God of Nature, sel Why sleep 
thy bolts unhurl'd ? 


Soon after occurs this entry »— 

Stood up beautiful before God. 
Evidently the original of the closing 
lines of Antistrophe I, of the Que, 

‘The Spirit of the Earth made reverence 
meet, 

And stood up, beautiful, 
cloudy seat. 





before the 





458 


Further on is found— 
God's Image, Sister of the Cherabizm t 
the original of the closing line of the 
original ing 
God's sister of the Seraphim 
Tinage, 5 
47 
AND re-implace God’s Image in the Soul, 
48 
AND arrows steclled with weath, 


49 
Lov'p the same Love, and hated the 
same hate, 
Breath’d in unison! etc. ete. 


50 
© Max ! thou halfdead Angel ! 


su 
Grear things such as the Ocean counter- 
feit infinity. 
52 
‘THY stern and sullen eye, and thy dark 
brow 
Chill me, like dew-damps of th’ unwhole- 
some Night. 


My Love, a timorous and tender flower, 
Closes beneath thy Touch, unkindly 


man! 
Breath’d on by gentle gales of Courtesy 





FRAGMENTS FROM A COMMONPLACE BOOK 


And’ chee by sumbloe of tepaston’d 
‘Then ope its petals of no vulgar hues, 
[See Remorse, Act L Sc. ii, and 
Osorio, Act 1. Teresa (Maria), replying 
to Valdez’ (Velez) importumings to 
marry Ordonio (Osorio)— 
For mercy's sake 
Press me no more ! T have mo power to 


Tove him, 
His prond forbidding eye, and bis dark: 
Chill me like dew-damps of the anwhole- 


some night ; 
My lore, a timorous anc tender flower, 
Closes beneath his touch. Ep] 


53 


Wir skill that never Alchemist yet 
Made drossy Lead as ductile as pure Go 


54 
Grant me a patron, gracious Heaven t 
whene'er * 


Myunwash'd follie call for penance drear: 
But when more hideous geilt this heat 


Instead of fiery coals upon my pate, 
O let a titled patron be my fate p— 
‘That fierce comy of vi 
pests ! 
Right reverend Dean, right honourable 


Lord, see, Bart Duke, Prince, —or 
"Gy " a rc 
if aught 


3 
However nicknamed, he shall be 
ould Maras 





lit 


FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 


55 


O'ER the raised earth the gales of even. 
ing sigh 5 

And, see, Daisy peeps upon its slope ! 

I wipe the dimming waters from mine 


eyes 
Even on the cold grave lights the 
Cherub Hi 


lope ! 
[Printed (only) in the first * Note’ to 
Feems 1852 (p. 379), from a * memoran- 
dum by the author,’ who describes the 
lines as ‘the concluding stanza of an 
Elegy om a Lady, who died in early 
youth"; and as composed ‘before my rsth 
year.” Inaletter (unpublished) to Thomas 
Poole, Feb. 1, 1801, Coleridge writes or 
quotes the following with reference to the 
death of Mrs, Robinson (* Perdita’}— 
Well |— 
O'er Ppt grave the gale of Evening 


sighs, 
‘And flowers will grow upon its grassy 
slope, 
T wipe the dimming waters from mine 
eye— 
Even inthe cold grave dwells the 
therub Hope ! Ep.] 
56 
LINES TO THOMAS POOLE 


[Quoted in a letter from Coleridge to John Thel- 
‘wall, dated Dee. 17, 1796.) 

«Joking apart, 

T would to God we could zit by a fire: 





sideand joke witat voce, faceto face—Stella 
(Mrs. Thelwall} and Sara [Mrs. S. T, 
Coleridge}, Jack Thelwall and I !—as 1 
once wrote to my dear frien? T. Poole, — 


Repeatin, 
Such verse as Bowles, heart honour'd 
Poet sang, 
That wakes the Tear, yet steals away the 


Pang, 

Then, or with Berkeley, or with Hobbes 
romance it, 

Dissecting Truth with metaphysie lancet. 

Or, drawn from up these dark unfathom'd 
wells, 

In wiser folly chink the Cap and Bells. 

‘How many tales we told ! what jokes we 
made, 

Conundrum, Crambo, Rebus, of Charade; 

Hnigmas that had driven the Theban 


mad, 
And Puns, these best when exquisitely 


bad ; 
And I, if aught of archer vein I hit 
With my own laughter stifled my own 
wit, 


7 
OVER MY COTTAGE 


THe Pleasures sport beneath the thatch ; 
But Prudence sits upon the watch ; 
Nor Dun nor Doctor lifts the latch ! 


ms. 1799. 





460 


FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. 





8 
Tue Poet in his lone yet genial hour 
Gives to his eye a magnifying power : 
Or rather he emancipates his eyes 
From the black shapeless accidents of 


size— 

Tn tinctuous cones of kindling coal, 

Or smoke upwreathing from the pipe’s 
trim bole, 

His gifted Ken can see 

Phantoms of sablimity. 


59 
[Maxitian going owt for @ day's pleasure, bs 
deprived of it by the lows of his purse, “and if a 
bitter curse on his malignant stars gave a wildness 
to the vexation with which be looked upward—} 


Ler us not blame him: for against such 


wo. 


chances 

‘The heartiest strife of manhood is scarce 
proof, 

‘We may read constancy and fortitude 

To other souls—but had ourselves been 
struck 

Evn in the height and heat of our keen 


wishing, 
Tt might have made our heartstrings jar. 
Tiboo 


[This and the preceding fragment were 
printed in the ‘Historie and Gestes of 
Maxilinn’ in Slackwood's Magasine for 
January 1822. The date of the com- 
position of the first is known—that of the 
second is uncertain. —ED,] 


60 
In the lame and limping metre of 
barbarous Latin poet— 
Est meam et est tuum, amice ! et si am> 
borum nequit esse, 


Sit meum, amice, precor ; quia certe sum | 


magi’ pauper. 
“Tis mine and it is likewise your's ; 
But if this will not do, 
Let it be mine, because that I 
‘Am the poorer of the two! 
MS. Wow. 4, thor. 
[Coleridge uses this “daggere? in the 


Preface to Caristabel, See Arrexptx K.] | 


THE WILLS OF THE WIS? 
A SAPPHIC 
Vile oa mostra wee 


Lunatic Witch-fires 1 Ghosts of Lait 
“and Motion { 
| Fearless I see you weave your witht 
dances 


Near me, fr off mes ‘you, that vengt te 
weller 

Onward and coward, 

Wooing, Ribena till the swamg be 

Groans—asd "eis dark !—This wom 


M, Post, Dec. 1, Wow. 
62 
SUCH love as 
To her shove pt bau Boe 
For his 
Whose beauty lieth in the grave. 
MS. ‘4x Grom Inverness, Sep &, sep) 
63 
Wrens these celig hollies, weedine= 


Beneath th this small blue roof of 





sky— 
| Hw wa, how ea Tho! tears shold 


| Yet wil my haart Be days Co 
| For here, tmy love, thom art aot be 


am T 
Rewaint, bs 18, Boyt wert 
2 icrer with Recollections of Lavt.— 

ED. 


| 64 
| My irritable fears all rome Lore 
| Sulfer that fear to steengthen it 
way 
And let it work—twill fix the Lovell 
‘ings from. 
ats. bie 2 Decewsber 3 





PRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 


460 





65 
Sous maid, associate sole, to me beyond 
Compare, above all living creature dear— 
‘Thoughts, which have found their harbour 
in thy breast, 
Dearest! methought of Afs to thee so 
= dear! 

iS. ‘i 1804, 
Q BEAUTY In a beauteous body dight ! 
Body that veiling brightness, became 

la 


Fair cloud which less we see, than by 
thee see the light. 
as. Bo, 
67 
EPILOGUE TO 
‘THE RASH CONJURER* 
AN UNCOMPOSED PoRM 


We ask and unge—{here ends the story !) 
Al} Christian Papishes to pray 
‘That Conjurer may, 
tbe put in Purgatory,— 
For there, there's hope ;— 
Long live the Pope ! 
Remains,’ 52 Bos. 
68. 
© Tit" Oppressive, irksome weight 
Felt im am uncertain state: 
‘Comfort, peace, and rest adiew 
‘Should cue ‘at Teast untrue t 
Self-contiding wretch, I thought 
T could love thee as I ought, 
Win thee and deserve to feel 
All the Love thou canst reveal, 
And still I chuse thee, follow still, 
180s, 
69 


A sumPTuoUS and magnificent Revenge, 
ats. March r¥e6. 


jo 
Let Eagle bid the Tortoise sunward 
soar— 
As vainly Strength speaks to a broken 
Mind. 





[*Aslip tom from some old letter. . . . 
It is endorsed by Poole, ‘ Reply of Cole- 
ridge on my urging him to exert himself, 
1807." '— Thomas Poole and his Friends, 
‘by Mra. H. Sandford, 1888, i. 195.) 


7 
‘Tue singing Kettle and the purring Cat, 


The gentle breathing of the cradled Babe, 
The silence of the Mother's love-bright 


eye, 
And tender smile answering its smile of 
sleep. 

Ms. 188. 
2 
Two wedded hearts, if ere were such, 
Imprison’d in adjoining cells, 
Across whose thin partition-wall 
The builder left one narrow rent, 
And where, most content in discontent, 
A joy with itself at strife— 
Die into an intenser life. 

MS, 

73 

‘Tue builder left one narrow rent, 

Two wedded hearts, if ere were such, 
Contented most in discontent, 

Still these cling, and try in vain to 

touch | 

© Joy! with thy own joy at strife, 

That yeaming for the Realms above 
Wouldst die into intensest Life, 

And Union absolute of Love | 


as. 1208. 


4 
EPIGRAM ON KEPLER 
FROM THE GRRMAN 
No mortal spirit yet had clomb 66 high 
As Kepler—yet his Country saw him 
die 


For very want ! the Afindr alone he fed, 
And so the Bisdics left him without bread. 
The Friend for Now. yo, 1809 (1818, ii. 955 

1850, th 69) 





462 


FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 





7s 


WHEN Hope but made Tranquillity be 
felt : 

A flight of Hope for ever on the wing 

But made Tranquillity a common thing ; 

And wheeling round and round in sportive 


coil, 
Fann'd the calm air wpon the brow of 
Toil. 


MS. $1810: 


76 


T have experienced 

‘The worst the world can wreak on me— 
the worst 

That can make Life indifferent, yet dis- 
turb 

With wees "d discontent the dying 


Uhuve beheld the whole ofall, wherein 

My heart had any interest in this life 

To be disrent and tom from off my Hopes 

That nothing now is left. Why then 
live on? 

That hostage that the world had in its 
keeping 

Given by me as a pledge that I would 
liv 

That hope of Her, say rather that pure 

Faith 
In her fix’d Love, which held me to keep 


truce 

With the tyranny of Life—is gone, ah ! 
whither? 

What boots it to reply? ‘tis gone | and 


now 

Well may I break the pact, this league of 
Blood 

‘That ties me to myself—and break I 
shall, 


MS. Bia, 


7 


As when the new or full Moon urges 
‘The high, large, long unbreaking surges 
OF the Pacific main, 


MS. vie 





78 
A Low dead Thunder nvatter'd thro’ the 
night, 
As 'twere a giant angry in hie sleep— 
Nature! rs nurse, O take me is thy 


And tell ne of my Father yet unseen, 

‘Sweet tales, and true, that Tull me fen 
sleep 

And leave me dreaming, 


MS, aa 


79 
His own fair countenance, his kingly for 
head, 


His tender smiles, love's day-dawn nit 


lips, 
The sense, and spirit, and the light divine, 
At the same moment in his steadfast ¢7t 
Where Virtue’s native crest, th’ inmertil 
soul's 
Unconscious meek self 
Genial, and pleasant to his puardianange 
He suffer’ nor complain'd ;—theugh oft 
with tears 
He mourn’d th’ oppression of his helples 
brethren, — il 
Yea, with a deeper and yet holier 
Mourn'd for the rae In thee 
sabbath houts 
His solemn grief, like the slow cloud st 


sunset, 

Was but the veil of purest meditation 

Pierced thro’ and saturate with the nyt 
of mind. 


Rema 


ae 
[Sce Teresa's speceh to Valier in Ae 

morse, iv. 2.—ED.] 

80 


BREVITY OF THE GREEK AND 
ENGLISH COMPARED 


AS an instance of cot 
brevity in narration, unot 


and 
| but the Greek, oe aa 
| Tany t H q 
distich was quoted -— 





FRAGMENTS FROM 


VARIOUS SOURCES 463 





| Xpwaie drip cipdy, Pure Bpixor abrap 
Be inex, ox eipin, Hyer, 60 edpe, Bpbxow. 
“This was denied by one of the com- 


gun ng rendered the lines 


BLE ee teat of 
‘Somparative brevity, — ms poetry 
Steity ont of the quotion 
Feack finding gold lef a rope on the 
ll missing his gold used the rope which 
he found. 
S. TC. in Oneniana, sf19, ii. 103. 
eae vii, 85, he says 
That We pre him the following 
®xs his (Wordsworth's) attempt :— 
ae al ee left te} but 
“The Teft tied on the rope the 
co tod 
81 
Written on a y-leaf of copy of Field on 
the folio, 1628, under the pame of 
fern ft a 
‘" ‘her book, February 10, #7 
Rae aetee) mor bere been 


therefore I will not erase. 
ay er Yo os 






The Aerie Dots a Courier’s 


Elsewhere in College, knowledge, wit 


— 


82 


Iw the two following lines, for instance, 
there is nothing objectionable, nothing 
which would preclude them from form: 
ing, in their proper place, part eee a 
descriptive poem :— 


Behold yon row of pines, that shorn and 
bow'd 


Bend from the sea-blast, seen at twilight 
eve, 

But with a small alteration of rhythm, 
the same words would be equally in their 
place in a book of topography, or in a 
descriptive tour, The same image will 
rise into a semblance of poetry if thus 
conveyed :— 


Yon row of bleak and visionary 
By wig ee Praeeatl i 


From he oeick Leste all their tresses 
wild ‘ 


‘Streaming before them, 
Blog, Lit, vOxy, th, x05; V0, Mh 


83 
ELOENKAIAN 


The following Durleque on the Fichtean 
Egoismus may, perhaps, be amusing to the few 
who have studied the system, and to those who 
‘are unacquainted with it, may convey as toler» 
able a likeness of Fichte's idealism as can be 
expected from an avowed caricature: (S. T. C] 
‘The ical Imperative, or the Annuncia- 
tion of the New Teutonic God, EPOENKAIIIAN : 
a dthyramble Ode, by Querion Von Kinti, 
paper tain Crm 
Eut Dei vices gerens, 
(Speak English, friend hie Mie rao) In- 


perativus, 

Here of thi this market-cross aloud I ery: 

«1, 1, 11 1 itself It 

The form and the substance, the what 
and the why, 

‘The when and the where, and the low 
and 


wis, 











ES 


the hig 
The bere outside, the earth and 
u Ys 


464 


FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 





I, you, and he, and he, you and I, 
All souls and all bodies are I itself I! 
‘AILT itself Tt 
(Fools! a truce with this start. 
ing !) 
All my T! all my EY 
He's a heretic dog who but adds Betty 
Martin 1" 
‘Thus cried the God with high imperial 
tone: 
Tn robe of stiffest state, that scoff'd at 


Ys 
A pronoun-verb imperative he shone— 
Then substantive and plural-singular 


grown, 

He thus spake on :—*‘ Behold in T alone 

{For Ethics boast a eBiege of their own) 

Or if in ye, yet a8 1 doth depute ye, 

In O! I, you, the vocative of duty t 

T of the world’s whole Lexicon the 
root ! 

Of the whole universe of touch, sound, 
sight, 

The genitive and ablative to boot : 

The accusative of wrong, the nom’native 
of right, 

And in all cases the case absolute! 

Self-construed, I all other moods de- 
cline : 

Imperative, from nothing we derive ws : 

Yet as x super-postulate of mine, 

Unconstrued antecedence 1 assign, 

To X ¥ Z, the God Infinitivus {' 


Brigg. Litermria, 1847, ic 148 me sis. 


Ss 


TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST 
STROPHE OF  PINDAR’S 
SECOND OLYMPIC 

‘As nearly as possible word for word.’ 

‘Ye harp-controling hymns 

We tears tha soveripastcl harps! 


What God ? what Hero ! 
‘What Man shall we celebrate? 





eee 
But 1 ympi: tee 


The prin or eee spoils of wat, 

But Theron for the four-horsed at 

‘That bore victory to him, 

It behoves us now to voice aloud: 

The Just, the Hospitable, 

The Bulwark of Agrigentum, 

Of renowned fathers 

‘The Flower, even him 

Who preserves his pative city enect and 

safe. ay 

Blog, Lat, 1807, the go Bate fhe om 


85 
TRANSLATION OF A FRAGMENT 
OF HERACLITUS 


Is a marginal note om Seat Di 
courses, by Joha. Smith, of Qos Ob 
lege, Cambridge, 1660, | 

Remains, ik, ‘a C a 
that his author is wrong in see 
the Sibyl was noted by Heraclites‘# 
one speaking ridicaloms and 
speeches with he furious month! “This 
fragment? (says Coleridge) # is 

and misunderstood = peciWehe 

be davperd, unperfumed, imornste py 
not redolent of art. Render it thes» 


Not ber's 
To win the sense by words of 
Lip- blossoms breathing re 
Bu iy the power ef the kalboeaag Wal 
it by the 
Roll = canal throagh a tho 


Her dep place bodements, 


Enda: uéry ix + with ecatatie 
mouth." “ey. ht the po 


Manual (1816, p. 32) Coleridge 
the following ss nde eit ¥e 


same passage : ‘Multisclence (ora variety 
and quantity of acquired ce 
not teach intelli ‘But the 

with wild ecathusiastic mouth 





FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 


465 





forth unmirthful, inornate, and ra 


Lenni reaches to a4 thousand 

years er voice thi the power 

of God.” rik t oe 
86 

‘Trurn T pursued, as Fancy sketch’d the 


way, 
And wiser men than I went worse astray. 
*MSSS 1817. 
Mouo vo Essay 11, The Friend, 1828, ii. 37 5 
1B ge, ii, 27 


87 
x IMITATED FROM 
ARISTOPHANES 
(Wudes, 346, ete.) 


For the ancients too. . . bad their glittering 
varons, that (as the comic post tells us) fed a 
hest of sophie. 


GREAT goddesses are they to lazy folks, 
Who pour down on us gifts of fluent 
ch, 


speecl 
‘Sense most sententious, wonderful fine 


fect, 
And how to talk about it and about it, 
‘Thoughts brisk as bees, and pathos soft 
and thawy, 8x7. 
The Priced, s618, ii. 1795 1850, lil, 1386 


88 


NONSENSE SAPPHICS 


OWricten for James Gillman Junr. as a School 
Hexercise, for Merchant Taylors’, c. 1822-23.) 


oa 


Here's Jem's first copy of nonsense 
verses, 
All in the antique style of Mistress 


ippho, 
Latin ju like Horace the tuneful 
' 


‘Sapph's imitator ; 


Bat we Bards, we classical Lyric Poets, 

Know a thing or two in a scurvy Planet: 

Don't wo, now? Eh? Brother Horatius 
Flaccus, 


Tip ws your paw, Lad — 





Here's to Macenas and the other 
worthies ; 

Rich men of England! would ye be 
immortal? 


Patronise Genius, giving Cash and Praise 


Gillman Jacobus 5 


Gillman Jacobus, he of Merchant Taylors’, 
Minor setate, ingenio at stupendus, 
Sapphic, Heroic, Elegiac,—what a 
Versificator! 
Evsays on his own Times, 189», p 9I> 


89 
DESIRE 


Wuexe true Love burns, Desire is Love's 
pure flame ; 

It is the reflex of our earthly frame, 

‘That takes its meaning from the nobler 


part, 
And but translates the language of the 
heart. By 


90 
TO EDWARD IRVING 


But yew honored Lnvinc, are as hntle disposed 

as myself to favor such doctrine! jas that of 

Mant and D’Oyley on fnfant Boprism} 

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 
4s Reason—Truth Supreme !—Essential 
Order ! whos, 
Aitds ts Reflection, st25, ps 37% 
[Note the adoption of the opening 
phrases from he Nightingale: a Con- 
versation Poe.—ED.] 


or ok 

Catx the World Spider; and at faney’s 
touch 

Thought becomes image and I see it 
such + 


2H 





466 


FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 





With viscous masonry of films and 
threads 


u 
Tough as the nets in Indian forests found, 
Tt blends the wallers’ and the weavers’ 


trade, 
And soon the tent-like hangings touch 


the ground, 
A dusky chamber that excludes the 
y— 
But leave the prelude and resume the 
lay. 


MS. Feb es. 


92 
Savs Luther in his Zale Talt (Lon- 
don, 1652, p. 370):—! The devils are in 
woods, in waters, in wildernesses, and in 
dark pooly places, ready to hurt and 
prejudice people,” ete.—against which on 
the margin writes S, T. C— 


“The angel’s like a flea, 

The devil is a bore ;— 

No matter for that, quoth S. T. C., 
1 love him the better therefore. 


Yes! heroic Swan, I love thee even 
when thou gobblest like a goose; for thy 
geese helped to save the Capitol. 


Rewainl, bv St 836. 


93 
ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS 


{' Written in pencil on the blank leaf of a book 
of lectures delivered at the London University, 
in which the Martleyan doctrine of association 
was assumed as a true basis. 
sins, Jan. 1335, Ant. *Coleridg 


L—By Likeness 


Fonb, peevish, wedded pair! why all 
this rant? 
© guard your tempers! hedge your 
tongues about ! 
This empty head should warn you on that 
point— 
The teeth were quarrelsome, and so 
fell out, 


%.T.C. 





11. — Association by Contrat 
Papas changed marble into for ab 


Disease f vile. anti-Phidias! the, 7 


fogs! 
Hast turned my live limbs into muble 
Pegs. 


Hl. — Association by Time 
SISIPLICIUS SNEPKEN hiynilsr 
I TOUCH this sear spon mny still bein 


And instantly there rises in my mind 
Napoleon's mighty hosts from Moxwr 
lost, 


Driven forth to perish in the fangs ol 
Frost. 


For in that self-same month, and st 
same day, 
Down Skinner Street I took my hap 


way— 

Mischief and Frost had set the ten # 
play; 

I stept upon a slide—ob ? treachenet 


tread I 

Fell smash with bottom ‘braised, st 
brake my bead! : 

Thus Time's co-presence links the 


and small, ; 
Napoleon's overthrow, and Seiipkin's fil 
tip 


oF 
FINALLY, what is Reason? Yoube® 
often asked me; and this fs my aeswer>— 


Whene'er the mist, that stands ‘wit 
God and thee, 

Defecates to a pure transparesey, 

That intercepts no light and ais ® 
stain— 


‘There Reason is, and then begins Sf 
reign 


But, alas! 

—— tt stesso ti fai 
Col falso 1 81 che nom vedi 
Cid che vedresti, se l'avessi soossa. 
Dante, Paradise, Caio’ 





FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 


[With false imagination thou thyself 
‘Mak’st dull, so that thou see’st not the 


_. thing 
Which thou had’st seen, had that been 
cen off. Cary.] 


Closing words of On tie Constitution 
of Church and State, 1830. 


95 
TO A CHILD 


LrrLe Miss Fanny, 
So cubic and canny, 

With blue eyes and blue shoes— 
The Queen of the Blues ! 

As darling a girl as there isin the world— 
If she'll laugh, skip and jump, 
And not be Miss Glump! —" 855. 
[For the ‘Fragments’ which follow I 

have been unable to find dates—in many 

cases, even approximatively.] 


96 
Ture are two births, the one when 


it 
First strikes the new-awaken’d sense— 
‘The other when two souls unite, 

And we must count our life from then, 


When you lov’d me, and I lov'd you, 
‘Then both of us were born anew. 
MS, 
7 
Tas Yearning heart (Love ! witness what 


Eanhrines ty form as purely as it may, 
Round aa as to some spirit uttering 


My tough : stand ministrant night 


Like uialy F Priests, that dare not think 
amiss, 
MS. 
98 
‘These, Emmeline, are not 
‘The journies but digressions of our Souls, 
That being once informed with Love, 
must work 





467 


And rather wander than stand still, T 


trow. 

‘There is a Wisdom to be shewn in 
Passion, 

And there are stay'd and settled Griefs. 
Vil be 

Severe unto myself, and make my Soul 

Seck out a regular motion, 

MS. 


99 


His native accents to her stranger's ear, 

Skil'd in the tongues of France and 
Ttaly— 

Or while whe warbles with bright eyes 


‘pie 
Her fingers oat ice stream. of alla 
light 
Amid the golden haze of thrilling strings. 
MS, 


T STAND alone, nor tho’ my heart should 
break, 
Have I, to whom I may complain or 


iy 

Here I stand, a bopeless 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 betrothed 
wife. 


For in this world no creature that has 
life 


‘Was e’er to me ¥o gracious and so good. 
Her loss to my Heart, like the Heart's 
blood. 


JS. on fly-leaf of Mensin's Foesie, 178% 
vol 


101 


WHAT never is but only is to be, 
‘This is not Lirr— 
O Hopes Hops and Death's Hypo- 


And with perpetual promise breaks its 


promises. 
MS. 





468 


02 
ye THE THREE SORTS OF FRIENDS 
[Fins printed in Fraser's Magazine for January 
ayy. Art. 'Coleridgeiana) 
Tuouc friendships differ endless in 


degree, 

The sorts, methinks, may be reduced to 
three, 

Aspoataascs many, and Conquaintance 


But for /wquaintance T know only two— 
“The friend I've mourned with, and the 
maid I woo! 


My pear Gittmax—The ground 
and matériel of this division of one’s 
friends into ac, com and inquaintance, 
‘was given by Hartley ee he 
was scarcely five years old [r80r}. On 
some one asking him if Anny Sealey (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 équaintance !? 
“Well! ‘tis a father’s tale’; and the 
recollection soothes your old friend and 
inquaintance, —-S, T, CoLRRInGE, 


103 
I[S.T. C.] find the following lines 
among my papers, in my own writing, 
but whether an unfinished fragment, or + 
contribution to some friend’s production, 
I know not -— 


War 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, 


© Woman ! nurse of hopes and fears, 
All lovely in thy spring of years, 

‘Thy soul in blameless mirth possessing; 
Most lovely in allliction’s tears, 

More lovely still than tears suppressing. 

Allsop's Letters, Comversations, amd Revollecr 
tions of 5. T. Cobaridge, 89%, ii. 75. 





FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 


104 
CHARITY IN THOUGHT 


Of which he who bas wot a lie 0 
much, 
Wilt by Charity’s gauge sardy hive 
mach too little. 


105 


PROFUSE KINDNESS 
Negros oi oun ae wider aun sie 
Hesoe 


Wat a spring-tide of Love to det 
friends in a shoal ! 
Half of it to one were worth double the 
whole ! 
‘This and the peeceding Gest pelnted ia the 
Poetical, ete., Works, Baye 


peculiar art, 1 know; 

Others may do like actions, tet not sé. 

‘The Agents alter Thitsgs, and that whi 
flows 


Powerful from these, comes weaker 
from those. 
MS. 


107 
EAcH crime that once estranges fret 


virtues 
Doth bie the memory of their fess 


More dim and vague, till each con® 
Sry eonsideot 

Can have the passport to our 

Siga'd by ourselves, And fitly are th 
punish’d 

Who prize and seek the honest san 


as 
A safer lock to guard dishonest treaso® 


Rewaint, ic ete 








FRAGMENTS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES 


469 


——  _ > 


108 


Wueare’en I find the Good, the True, 
Fair, 
I ask no names—God's spirit dywelleth 
there ! 

‘The unconfounded, undivided Three, 
Each for itself, and all in each, to see 
Tn man and Nature, is Philosophy. 

MS. 

109 

©! Surzastrtion is the giant shadow 
Which the solicitude of weak mortality, 
Its back toward Religion’s rising sun, 
‘Casts on the thin mist of th’ uncertain 

Rt fature, 

as. 


ter. 
And we in this low world 
Placed with our backs to bright Reality, 
That we may learn with young un- 
wounded ken 
The substance from its shadow. 
Destiny of Nations, MN v2) 


i110 
Ler clumps of earth, however glorified, 
Roll round and round and still renew 
their cycle— 
Man rashes ike a winged Cherub through 
‘The infinite space, and that which has 
been 


Can therefore never be again—— 
MS. 
11 
As the appearance of a star 
To one that’s perishing in a Tempest. 
us. 
12 
A wInp that with Aurora hath abiding 
Among the Ambian and the Persian 
Hills. 
MS. fifty ST. C1 
113 
And snow whose hanging weight 
Archeth some still deep river, that for 


‘Steals underneath without a sound, 
MS. 





114 

‘Tue Moon, how definite its orb ! 

Yet gaze again, and with a steady gare— 

‘Tis there indeed,—but where is it not?— 

Tt is suffused o'er all the sapphire 
Heaven, 

Trees, herbage, snake-like streams, un- 
wrinkled Lake, 

Whose very murmur does of it partake t 


And low and close the broad smooth 
mountain is more a thing of Heaven 
than when distinct by one dim shade, 
and yet undivided from the universal 
cloud over which it towers infinite in 
height. 

MS. 

ng 


Barony. clouds of reverence, sufferably 


right, 
That ‘ate the dazzle, not the Light ; 
‘That veil the finite power, the boundless 
wer reveal, 
Itself an earthly sun of pure intensest 
white. 
MS. 


116 


‘Twas not a mist, nor was it quite a 
cloud, 
But it pass'd smoothly on towards the 


son— 
Smoothly and lightly between Earth and 
Heayen = 
So, then a cloud, 
It scarce bedimm’d my star that shone 
behind it : 
‘And Hesper now 
Pans'd on the welkin blue, and cloudless 
brink, 
A golden circlet! while the Star of 


love 
‘That other lovely star—high o'er my 
head 


en 
Shone whitely in the centre of his haze 
+ « «one blue-black cloud 
Stretch'd like the [wore #lleg.) o'er all the 
cope of Heaven. 
MS. 





47° FRAGMENTS FROM 


VARIOUS SOURCES 





x "7 


TO BABY BATES 


You come from o'er the waters, 
From famed Columbia's land, 
And you have sons and daughters, 

And money at command. 


But I live in an island, 
Great ‘in is its name, 
With money none to buy land, 
The more it is the shame, 


But we are all the children 
Of one great God of Love, 

Whose mercy like a mill-drain 
Runs over from above, 


Lullaby, lullaby, 
Sugar-plums and cates, 

Close your little peeping eye, 
Bonny Baby B—s. 


118 
EXPERIMENTS IN METRE 


TuHeRE in some darksome shade, 
Methinks I'd weep 
Myself asleep, 

And there forgotten fade. 

aS, 


119 
Oxcr, again, sweet Willow, wave thee ! 
‘Why stays my Love ? 
Bend o'er yon streamlet—lave thee ! 
Why stays my Love? 





‘Of have I at evening straying, 


Stood, thy branches long surveying, 
Graceful in the light breeze playing. 
Why stays mmy Love? 
aS, 
120 
(The flowing little poem, eeblenty a vey 
early production, was sent to Mr, D. Stans 
the Aforming Zest, in a eevee trom Greta Hall 
Oct, 7, Boe ‘to fill wp a flame” ln the dest= 
Letters frose the Lase Poets to Danil Stvet, 
Printed for Private Circilasion, #89, p16) 


ALCEUS TO SAPPHO 


How sweet, when crimson colours dant 
Across a breast of snow, 

To see that you are in the heart 
That beats and throbs below. 


All heaven is in a maiden’s bles, 
In which the soul doth speak, 
That it was you who sent the fiush 

Into the maiden's cheek. 


Large steadfast eyes ! eyes gently rolled 
In shades of changing bise, 

How sweet are they, if they behold 
No dearer sight than you ! 


And can a lip more richly glow, 
Or be mae fale than tie 


‘The world will surely answer, No! 
I, SAFPHO, answer, Ves! 


Then grant one smile, tho’ it shee! 


‘mean 
A thing of doubtful birth 5 

That I may say these eyes have sea 
The fairest face on earth 1 





ADAPTATIONS 


[Coleridge rarely quoted, even his own verses, correctly. Sometimes this arcse from mere careless. 
ness, bur more often, I think, he acted deliberately. Sometimes he altered the aense of his original, 
that he newer perverted it to the injury of the writer’s reputation either for matter or form. Often he 
expanded ond illuminated the passage he manipulated, See Atheneum, Aug. 20,, 1899; Art; 


“Coleridge's Quotations.'—Rp.} 


{Lorp Brooke] 
INCONSISTENCY 


iv is a most unseemly and unpleasant 
thing to see a man’s life full of ups and 
downs, one step like a Christian, and 
another like a worldling ; it cannot choose 
bat pain himself, and mar the edification 
of others,'—[LricHTon,} 

‘The same sentiment, only with a 
special application to the maxims and 
measures of our Cabinet and Statesmen, 
fad been finely expressed by a sage 
Poet of the preceding Generation, in 
lines which no Generation will find in- 
applicable or superannuated. 

‘God and the World we worship both 
together, 

Draw not our Laws to Him, but His 

to ours; 
Untrue to both, so prosperous in neither, 

‘The imperfect Will brings forth but 

Flowers t 
Unwise as all distracted Interests be, 
Strangers to God, Fools in Humanity : 
Too goad for great things, and too great 


While at aig sare hot’ waits upon *T 
wou'd, 
(Aide to Repectiom, ‘Moral and Religious 
Aphorisms,” No. XVU- 192s, p93.) 





[The lines (with one variant, ‘still ' for 
‘both’ in the first line) had been printed 
by Coleridge, as Motto to the Lay 
Sermon, addressed to the Higher and 
Middle Classes, in 1817 ; and have often 
been quoted as of his own composi- 
tion, I thought them Daniel's, ent 
failing to find them in his works, 1 put 
a query in Notes and on ‘A corre- 
spondent (Sth Ser, ii, p. 18) gave the 
reference to Loni Brooke's Works, in 
Grosart’s Fudler's Worthies Series, tiv 127. 
[A Treatise of Warres, St, bxvi.] 


“God and the world they worship still 
together 5 

Draw not their lawes to Him, but His 
to theirs 5 

Untrue to both, so prosperous in neil 

Amid their own desires still raising 
feares ; 

Unwise, as all distracted powers be ; 

Strangers to God, fooles to humanitie. 


‘Too good for great things and too great 
for good."} 


[Downe] 
‘THE recluse hermit ofttimes more doth 
know 
Of the world's inmost wheels, than workd- 
lings ean. 





ADAPTATIONS 


man Ch hake rate al 
an epitome of God's 
and en ricellno turtbes 


(Samoer Daxter] 
7 
Must there be still some discord mixt 


am 
ASS peepee 
Rest with contention tun'd to notes of 


With words unto destruction arm'd more 


strong . 

Than ever were our foreign Foemen’s 
swords ¢ 

deep, tho’ not yet bleeding 

nels? 

What War left scarless, Calumny con- 
founds. 


Making as 
‘wou 


. . . . 

‘Truth lies entrapp’d where Cunning finds 
no bars 

Since no proportion can there be betwixt 

Ouractions which in endless motions are, 

And ordinances which are always fixt. 

Ten thousand Laws more cannot reach 
so far, 

But Malice goes beyond, or lives com: 
mixt 

So close with Goodness, that it ever will 

Corrupt, disguise, or counterfeit it still. 

And therefore would our glorious Alfred, 
who 

Join‘ with the King's, the good man’s 
Majesty, 

Not Jeare Law's Jobyrinth without a 
clue— 

Gave to deep Skill its just authority, — 

. . . . 





But the last Judgement (this his Jury's 
er ee 


‘man, 
Adapted from an eller Poet. 


‘Motto to Chayter XU1L. of the General Tutre- 
duction to The Friend, 1818, 6 ep 


" 
BLIND is that soul which from this truth 


‘can swerve, 

No state stands sure, but on the grounds. 
of right, 

Of virtue, knowledge ; judgment to pre~ 


And all the #8 of learning 
‘Though othe (iki = press Meena 


serve, 
Yet in the trial they will weigh too light. 


‘Motto to Chapter XL. as abore, 1818, 15. 


Motio to Chapter 1. of ‘The Landing Plare* 
in Thr Prind, 18, kot = 


first fs from. Daniels 
Pa ‘ie Tomas Egerton ; the 
second and third from his uss 


‘but Coleridge has 
vod sonata ea aa 





ADAPTATIONS 








his than Daniel's, 
nine entire lines are Coleridge's. —Ev.] 


(Miron) 
THE oppotitionists to ‘things as th 
are,’ are divided into many and diferent 
classes. . . . The misguided men who have 
enlisted under the banners of Liberty, 
from no principles or with bad ones : 
whether they be those who 


admire they know not what 
And know not whom, but as one leads 
the other : 
oe whether those 
Whose end is private Hate, not help to 
Freed 


lom, 
Adverse and turbulent when she would 


To Virtue, aa 


{This passage is from the first of the 
Conciones ad Popwinw, lectures delivered 
at Bristol, February 1795, and published 
there in the same year, Coleridge re- 
printed the lecture in Te Friemd (1818, 
ii, 248; 1850, ii. 179). The first quota- 
tion is really from Paradise Regained, iii. 
$0; but the second contains only a few 
words of Milton, which will he found in 
two disconnected passages in Sasson 
Agonistes [Woman is to man] 

‘A cleaving mischief, in his way to virtue 
Adverse and turbulent (Il. 1039-40) © 
and 


‘Yet so it may fall out, because their end 
Ts hate, not help to me. Ep.) 


1?) 


NAPOLEON 


Then we may thank ourselves 
Who meee by the magic name of 


Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike 
Briton, go, 


Seidler pases | | 





Is 

Hang up thy rusty helmet, that the hee 

May have a hive, or spider find a loom ! 

Instead of doubling drum and thrilling 
fife 


Be lull’d in lady's lap with amorons flutes, 
But for Napoleon, know, he'll scorn this 
calm: 
‘The ruddy planet at Ais birth bore sway, 
‘Sanguine adust his humour, and wild fire 
His ruling clement. Rage, revenge, and 
cunning 
Make up the temper of this eaptain’s 
valor. 
Phe Prien, 16, fh 105. tox. 
[The lines are used as a motto to 
Essay VI., and are stated to be ‘adapted 
from an old Play.’ But in subsequent 
editions the reference is withdrawn, and 
we may assume that Coleridge, if he 
did not create the lines, made them his 
own, The ‘calm’ was probably the 
* Peace‘of Amiens.’—Ep.] 


[Sournwewt} 


A Sober Statement of Human Life, or 
the Trwe Medium 


A cHANce may win that by mischance 
was lost : 

The net that holds no great, takes little 
fish; 

In some things all, in all things none are 


crost j 
Few all they need, but none have all 
wish: 
Unmedled joys here to no man befall ; 
Who least, hath some; who most, hath 
never all ! 


[Although it was by inadvertence that 
these lines were printed in the Aemains 
as Coleridge's, they have been so often 
included in his works that I am fain to 
retain them here as his by adoption. The 
title is his. ‘The verses form part of a 





474 


Turmez. The text here printed is that 
found im Swit Peter's Complaint, With 
ether Poems, London, 1599.—Eb.} 


[Bowzes} 
I yet remain 
‘To moum the hours of youth (yet mourn 
in vain} 
wisely thoa hast 


The better path—and that high meed 
which God 

Assign’ to Virme tow'ring from the dust, 

Shall wait thy rising, Spirit pare and just ! 

© God | bow sweet it were to think, that 
all 


iy 
Who silent mourn around this ball 
Might hear the voice of joy —but "tis the 
will 


Of man's great Author, that thro’ good 
and ill 
Calm he should hold his course, and so 
sustain 
His varied lot of pleasure, toil and pain ! 
179% 


[It is for the same reason that I include 
these lines which the editor of the Xe- 
mains assumed to be by Coleridge, be- 
cause they ‘were found in Mr. Coleridge's 
handwriting in one of the Prayer-Books 


free, 
| Like a frail Bark, weary 


ADAPTATIONS 


stanza does not appear in aay of the 
editions 


many of Bowles’s poems I but 
been able to consult, it probably origisaly 
belonged to the hae 3 poem. —Ep,} 


Rooierakg ad el 
Eicroal Lond and from the wal 


T tur to The 

From frightful storms ma Eno eed 

On much Be pene Grace will be te 
stow'd. 

‘The nails, the thorn, and thy two haw’ 


thy face 
Benign, meek, re er 
To sinners whom their sins 


goad. 

Let not thy justice view, O arene 
My faults, and keep it from thy secred #2! 
[A dime almost entirely illegible.) 
Cleanse with thy blood my sins, 9» i 

incline 

More readily, the more my years 1oqatt 
Peeeiee aid, forgiveness: and este. 


ae not think ob beara 
of Coleridge's, but an_xaapatia a 
something i 
jn it sou Goa eae 





APPENDIX A 


THE RAVEN 


following is the original version of this 

as printed in the Merming Jeut, March 

aq. There was no title, the verses being 
solely by the burlesque letter, which 

ied with the verses when they next 
appeared, in the AX®GAL AnTHoLoay, 100, 


“Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar, 
‘Mid the green alders, by the Mulla's shore"; 


in the same, manner as the igloga Secunda of 
the Shepherds Caesar. Cunpy." 


UNDER the arms of a goodly oak-tree 


‘Then they trotted away : for the wind blew 
‘One acorn they left, and ne more mote 
you spy. 
Next came il Raven, who lik'd not such 
He belonged, I Dati, tthe witch 
NCHOLY 
Blacker was he than blackest jet, 
Flew low tm the rain; his feathers were 


wet. 
‘He pick’d up the acom 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, 
Ofer hill, o'er dale did the black Raven 
go! 


Many Autumns, many Springs 
‘Travell’d he with wand'ring wings ; 
Many Summers, many Winters— 
1 can’t tell balf his adventures, 
At length he return’d, and with him a 
She, 
And the acorn was grown to a large oak 


tree, 

‘They built them a nest in the topmost 

And young ‘ones they had, and were jolly 

But en. me Woodman in leathern 

His trow like @ pent-house hung over his 
eyes. 

He'd an axe in his hand, and nothing 
spake, 

Bot with many a hem! and a sturdy 
stroke, 

At last he brought down the poor Raven's 
own 

His young ones were kill'd ; 
not depart, 

And his wife she did die of a broken 


heart | 
‘The branches from off it the Woodman 


for thoy could 


did sever ! 

And they floated it down on the course of 
the River = 

They sawed it to planks, and its 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 





A tempest aroze which no ship could with- | They be sunk! Ofer the topmas them 
stand. water rolls ! 

It baig’d on a rock, and the waves rush’d 
in fast : 


‘The auld Raven flew roend and round, 
and caw’d to the blast. 

He heard the sea-thriek of their perishing 
souls— 


APPENDIX B 


GREEK PRIZE ODE ON THE 
SLAVE TRADE 


[RROWNE GOLD MEDAL, 
CAMBRIDGE, 1792] 


In maximis Comitiis, Jul. 3, 1792. 


Sons sasmea Skxvoaco 1x ExsuLEs 
Ixmaae OCCIDENTALIS, 


Aaaatixs 742 alphueroe erepsies 
‘Thay? paced 'Qeeard i Fas 
"Adore galas ér Cpas rérwjas, 
Dae re warpapar 
Evia udv Upacrar épopéenow, 
“Aust xpowoiew aixplur ox’ d\sGr, 
Ola xpds Bporay Frador Bporet, rh 
Aewd Myorn. 
Hei kipw Naor Gorlw yepeeres 
Avotedroct dupadels xaxciss, 
Md road Aids, Bpdneral re #Mdya 
"Amarteres, 
"Anal leo" words rporpter 
"Orrdrescs Baxpusece’ duly, 
Tlocedsxs x dja xpadla arévater ! 
Arora yp 











APPENDIX C 


47 





“ANA ris? Bx uahlyapor, oat 


“0, dpa Kajpur’ "EM, edddourw 
"4 kardancov xegaddy ddias ! 


"O, Mywr rho ieee joe eee a 


‘Tidya Aaxpiwy cen aradeyuaw 
‘Nov Gee raw erepors fevapra 
‘Tas Alas druzbuerow reBvdtes 

“Tipe Sépacder, 


*"Euméoe 8 axrais ABunpow oixér? 

A xdpus xovot Axapus BOE\uera 7° 
OLd ¥ teeter xamvpois difraut 
Berea Aoi, 


‘Tdzpidos réppw swoparubyor 
‘Tijpas 0b pix Gos dxdpors lon 


"TO Blur mouplyara Sivror al al 
Aypa guody 


+06 gépiy Maryp da deowwodG 


‘ Zrddeew Bplpor redon wivwSes 





*O8* wepoeds txréraras yap Hy 


& 


presale nil ynpediet th 
* Sdxpuov i ay 
* Obdenbe Tr udheee, rabeover 

* Oaduar’ droteur, 


ue ral Waider O¢uuros 
vie Tohdven 


Avdeulfovear 
“"Ipov 98! "EXe oe olpas 8, 
*Mdrpor dd@haw,” 


Toi” Erewyar, luepberra widdov 

Adpas,  Nicas wep’ bxot Apdduvber 

Taw dvmplduaw tdxas, Opedupls 
‘Apart reprra. 


Xaip’, 8 «0 vaugs 'ENw rbv olen’ | 
brillant tees dow Baits repoia 
Aaxpdwy fvroabe yédwra Oeion 

Zt orepavioe, 


“Hide Mola viv "Aperiy dradis, 
Zalo ueurdada ewene gids 
18" eiRoylaus mpd ales’ 
Obvou! dége. too 
Samvet Taviox Coremipcy, 
Coll, Jes, Scbolaris, 


APPENDIX C 


TO A YOUNG ASS 


‘The following early version of these famous 
fines Is printed from the unique copy in the 


asics A Calertgs ren by him oo Mr. 
William Smyth, who was Profesor of Modem 


History at Cambridge from x807 until his death 


intended or prin, fr Mr, Bement Marley Cate 
lated Just a 

Coleridge 

differs but lithe from 


MS. wns contributed by him to Tike CAmuricleer 
(Magazine of Jesus Coll. Camb.) for Easter Term 
1591-—E. 


MONOLOGUE TO A YOUNG JACK- 
ASS IN JESUS PIECE —ITS 
MOTHER NEAR IT CHAINED 
TO A LOG?! 


Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race! 

T love the languid Patience of thy face : 

And oft with gentle hand I yive thee bread, 
1 Address to a young Jackass, and its tether’ 

Mother, f0 Familiar Verse, Merming Chromicie, 

Dec. 39, 1794 and Souruny MS, 


L 3. friendly band. Ch, 








APPENDIX D 


‘DIX D 


OSORIO 


A TRAGEDY?! 


Printed from the transcript sent by Coleridge to Sheridan in r797 (called * MS. 1.”); with various read: 


ing», and notes written by Coleridge in another contemporary trazscript (called * MS. 1 


‘)presented by 


kim 'to 4 friend. ‘There are also a few readings from a copy of Act 1. in Coleridge's autograph, 


found among the papers of Thomas Poote (called * 


DRAMATIS PERSONA 


Resonsx. 
=Manguis Vaupez, Father | 
4 the two brothers, and 


‘Osorio. 
VELEE 


Donna Teresa's Guard 
ian. 
Dox Atvan, the eldest son. 

=DON OxDONt0, the youngest 
sor, 

FRANCESCO =MONVIEDRO, @ Dominican 
and Ingwisifor, 

= ZuLuiny, thefaithfulattend- 
ant on Alvar. 

Fexpivanp=Isipone, a Moresco Chief 
fain, ostensibly a Chris- 
fan, 

=Naomr, 

= DONNA TERESA, 2” Orphase 
Heiress, 


Aumet . 
OsoRI0 - 


MAvRICE 


Naomi 
Mania . 


ALIIADRA, } 
wef 
Fer- 
DINAND, 
FAMILIARS OF TIE INQUISITION. 

Moors, SERVANTS, etc. 


Time, The reign of Philip IL., just ot 
the close of the civil wears against the 
Moors, end during the Rest of the per- 
secution which raged agsinst them, 


2 So on the wrapper of the MS. I. ; in MS. II. 
Coleridge has described the poem 38 ‘Osorio, a 
dramatic poem.’—En 


SALWADRA, Wife to Lridore, 


Poole MS."}-Ev, 


shortly after the edict which forbad the 
wearing of Morewco oppared under pain 
of death 


‘Mra.—None of the MSS. has a list of the 
characters—Ep. 


ACT THE FIksT 


SCENE. —Tihe sea shore om the coast of 
Granada. 


VeLuz, Mania. 


Maria, U hold Osorio dear: he is your 
som, 
And Albert’s brother. 
Veles, Love him for himself, 
Nor make the living wretched for the 
dead. 
Maria. 1 mourn that you should plead 
in vain, Lord Velez ! 
But Heaven hath heard my vow, and 1 re= 
‘main 
Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living. 
Valet. Heaven knows with what delight 
T saw your loves ; 
And could my heart's blood give him back 
to thee 
1 would die smiling. 
thoughts ! 
‘Thy dying father comes upon my soul ro 
With that same look, with which be gave 
thee to me: 


But these are idle 








480 


APPENDIX D 





I held thee in mine arms, a poweres | My Albert's sire ! if this be 


be, 

While thy poor mother with a mute 
entreaty 

Fix’d her faint eyes on mine: ab, not for 


wretcbednen 
| ‘That eats away the life, what were it sh 


‘you, 
If in a most assur'd reality 
He-shoaid revorn; end 90 eam 


this, 
That I ea let thee feed thy soul with | Saile artim from my arts? 


And witi-low adgaials seeks (nays iby 
life, 

‘The victim of a useless constancy. 

I must not see thee wretched. 

Maria, 

{M1-barter'd for the garishness of joy ! 

If it be wretched with an untired eye 20 

To watch those skiey tints, and this grees 
‘ocean ; 

Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, 

My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea~ 


To shape sweet visions, and live o'er 


again 

All past hours of delight ; if it be wretched | 

To watch some bark, and fancy Albert 
there ; 

‘To go through each minutest circumstance 

Of the bless'd meeting, and to frame ad= 
ventures 

Most terrible and strange, and hear Aim 

them = 

{As once I knew a erazy Moorish maid, go 

Who dress'd her in her buried tover's 
eloaths, 

And o'er the smooth spring in the moun- 
tain cleft 

Hung with her lute, and play'd the self- 
same tune 

He used to play, and listen'd to the 


shadow 
Herself had made) ; if this be wretched- 


ness, 

And if indeed it be a wretched thing 

‘To trick out mine own death-bed, and 
imagi 

‘That I had died—died, just ere his return ; 

‘Then see him listening to my constancy ; 

And hover round, as he at midnight 
ever 40 

Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon ; 

Or haply in some more fantastic mood 

‘To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers 

Build up a bower where he and I might 
dwell, 


And there to wait his coming! Q my sire! 


‘There are woes 


fe 


‘Te oy wes ee 
Ataria. ‘Ab, what, busy for ve Ost 


After his noe. yours ae eT 
absence 


His still-expected, never-failing letters 
Almost endear'd to me! Even then what 
tumult f 
Velex. O power of youth to feed on pler 


Spite of conviction! 
less t 


ieee 
Yos; Tam 01d-—1 ve wo pens dans 
Hectic and unrefresh’d with rest 
Maria (with great tenderness), Mp 
father! 
ist ty 
Wits Sellen My hears wes bunt- 


And yet [could not tell me, how ay sleep 
Was throng’d with swarthy faces, and T 


a 

‘The merchant-ship in which my sof "= 

captured — 

‘Well, well, enough—eaptured in sight of 

land— 

We might a3 ai Ihave seen jt from ou 
Marie Carey He did. not peri 
Veles 1 conhondly Nore ne 

aptly thou f 
‘Thou ne'er didst wisls to area 
Osorio | 

Saw them both founder in the soem tt | 

Him and the pirate: both the vesisioa | 

der'd. 

Gallant Osorio! —_[Panses, then tosleri | 

O belov'd Manta, 


=| 





OSORIO 





Would’st thoa best peove thy faith to 


generous 
And most delight his spirit, go and make 
His brother happy, make his aged father 
‘Sink to the grave with foy ! 

fara. For merey’s sake 
T have no power to 


! 
His prond forbidding eye, and hi dark 


Chill me, og ee ert mawbste! 
some night, 
My love, a timorous and tender flower, 
Closes beneath his touch. 
Velox. You wrong him, maiden, 
You wreng hit, by my soul! Nor was i 


To charter by such unkindly phrases 
‘The stir and workings of that love for you 
‘Which he has toil'd to smother, "Twas 
‘not well— 
Nor is it grateful in you to forget 
Wis wound and perilous voyages, and 
ow 


‘With an heroic fearlessness of danger 90 
He roamed the coast of Afric for your 
All 


Ibert. 
It was not well—you have moved me even 


‘to tears. 
Maria, © pardon me, my father! par- 
don me, 
Tt was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 
A most ungrateful speech! But T’ am 
burried 


Beyond myself, if T but dream of one 
Who alms to rival Albert. Were we not 
Bom pare day, Mee twins of the same 


Noreed i in ree ¢radile? Pardon me, my 
father | 


99 
A six years’ absence is an heavy thing ; 
Yet still the hope survives — 
Veles (looking forwards). Hush—hush | 
Maria, 


Maria. 1 is Francesco, our Inquisitor ; 
‘That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel! 
Enter FRANCESCO aed ALMADRA. 
Francesco (to Veles). Where is your son, 
my lord? Oh! here he comes. 
Enter Os0R10, 


My Lord Osorio | this Moresco woman 
(Alida ber same) ‘asks audionce of 
¥ 


c 





Otorie, Hail, reverend father | 

may be the business ? 
Francesco. © the old business—a Mo- 

hammedan t 

“The officers are in her husband's house, 

And would have taken him, but that he 
mention’d 119 

Your name, nsserting that you were his 
friend, 


‘What 


Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic. 

But L know well these children of perdition, 

And all their {dle fals{eJhoods to gain 
time ; 

So should have made the officers proceed, 

But that this woman with most passionate 


outeries, 
(Kneeling and ‘holding forth her infants to 
‘me 


So work’d upon me, who (you know, my 
Tord |) 
Have human frailties, and am tender- 


hearted, 
‘That I came with her. 
Osorio. ‘You are mereiful. 120 
[Looking a AtIADRA. 
T would that T could serve you; but in 
truth 
Your face is new to me, 
[ALHADRA és about 0 apes, but és 
interr} 
Francesco. ye, aye thought 80 ; 
And so I said to one of the famitiars. 
A likely story, said I, that Osorio, 
The gallant’ nobleman, who fought so 
bravel 
Some four years past agninst these rebet 
Moors 


Working so hard from out the garden of 
faith 

To eradicate these weeds detestable ; 

‘That he should countenance this vile 
Moresco, 

Nay, be his friend—and warrant him, for- 

sooth | 130 

Well, well, my lord It isa warning to me: 

Now T return. 

‘Aihadre, My lord, my husband's name 
Is Ferdinand : you may rementber it, 
‘Three years ago—three years this very 

week— 
You left him at Almeria. 

Francesco trivmphantly). — Palpably 

false ! 
‘This very week, three years ago, my lord f 





482 


APPENDIX D 





(Vou needs must rcolect i by your 

atese wom oad ight ea need 
fiends 

‘Who took and murder'd your poor brother 
Albert. 


[MARIA Jookr af FRANCESCO with 
dixgust and horror,  OBORIO'S 
appearance to be collected from 
the speech that follores, 

Prancesco (to Veles and 
Osoris), What? is he fl, my ibn? 
How strange he looks ! 440 

Velez (angrily). You started on him too 
abruptly, father ! 

‘The fate of one, on whom you know he 

doted. 

Osorio {starting as in a sudden agitation). 

Obeavens! 7 doted ! 

(Then, as if recovering himself, 
Yost T porep en bist 

[Osorio walks to the end of the 

tage. Vaiss flloms sothing 


Maria er aye following them). 1 do 
not, cannot love him. Is my heart 
hard? 

Is my heart hard? that even now the 
thonght 

Should force itself upon me—yet I feel it ! 

Francesco. The drops did start and 
stand upon his forehead ! 

1 will retarn—in very truth I grieve 

‘To have been the occasion, Ho! attend 
‘me, woman ! 

Alhadra (to Maria}. O gentle lady, 
make the father stay 150 
‘Fill that my lord recover. I am sure 
‘That he will say he is my husband's friend, 
Maria, Stay, father, stay—my lord will 
s00n recover. 
[Osorio end Veuez returning. 
Osorio (to Veles as they return). Strange! 
that this Francesco 
Should have the power so to distemper ma, 
Veles. Nay, ‘twas an amiable weakness, 


son! 
Francesco (fo Osorio). My lord, I truly 
‘Tut! name it not 
A sudden seizure, father ! think not of it 
As to this woman's husband, I do know 


him : 
1 know him well, and that he is a Christian, 





Francesco, 1 Nord, your sens. 
antldhen ed Linear 


Doth not prevail 
Ovorie. Nay, nay—you know me bet. 
You hear whet Ihave saldiy Bass 


oe (Pec fread er 


‘The Count Mondejaz, our great genenl, 
‘Writes, that the bishop we were idk of 
dangerously, 


Has sicken’d 
Francesca, Eves 
Osorio, T eamst return my answer, 
ay loeb? 

Osoria, tes morning, and wal 
not rv 

How bright and strong your seal for the 
Cathal faith. . 

Francesco, You ate 100 kind, sy tei! 

‘overwhelm me, 


You 
Oseris, Nay, say not 30, Ap for ths 
Ferdinand, 


“Tis certain that he soay a Cathelie 
What changes may have bappen'd ithe 


enrs, 
T cannot say, but grant me thi, pe 
father f 
Tl go and sift him: if I find tim sows 
Xoutl grant nse your soe 
‘To Heise 
Fran Jord yor have lt. 
Ouerle (to (& Alhadra), + eat ene 78 
home within an bour. 


Meantime return with us, od take ple 
ment. » 
Athadra. Nov it cay Soa 


may not 
1 will stay Fess 
‘era (a, Whois tis Feil 


11 eter few minutes, and when oe 
[Brenne wo nee BEs ces, a 
Alhadra. Hiab! there be ts 
re fo eih tim 
be “SAAR hed been betrayed | 
moarmih of her feelings it 
§ This stage direction existe only in MSL 
and there it is interpolated —Ep, 





OSORTO 


a She checks er- 
pet recollcting Manis 
manner towards Al 


NCESCO, 
says in @ shy amd distrustful 
manner 


You hate him, don’t you, lady ! 
inet ria dloy Haley my heart is 


ise “he fell Inquiitors, these 


Rekeeane eee adicnitn 
‘That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger 
And half unsheathed it. 
Maria, Be more calm, T pray you. 
Alkadra, reciting he stalk'd along the 
192 
Close onthe ounan's tgs my soul 


“Twas with hard toll 1 made myself re- 
member 

‘That his foul officers held my babes and 
husband, 

To have leapt upon him with a ‘Tyger's 


And hurl'd him down the ragged precipice, 
‘O—it had been most swoet | 
Maria, Hush, bush | for shame, 
‘Where is your woman's heart? 
Athedra. O gentle Indy t 
Youhave no skill to guess my many wrongs, 
and strange. Besides 1 am a Chris- 
tian, (froadealiy)? 20% 
And, ce Se never pardon, ‘tis their faith | 
Afaria. Shame fall on those who so 
have shewn it to theo 1 
Athedrs. 1 know that man ; ‘tis well he 
knows not me ! 
Fim yesrsags, and he was the prime agent, 
Fon vere ‘ago the Holy Brethren seized 


Meri What might your crime be? 
Solely my complexion, 


oy eniede 
‘Nay, nay, not hare him. I try not to do it; 
and in this form it stands in the Poole MS. 


2 In Pooke MS, this line was originally — 
‘These wolfish Priests! these lappersup of 
Blood. En 


2 "(irowieatly)" only in MS. I.—Ro. 





‘They cast me, then a young and nursing 
mother, 


Into a dungeon of their prison house, 

‘There was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, 

No touch, no sound of corfor! “The 
black air, 

Tt was a toil to breathe it | 


ests 
T have seen 


‘The gaoler’s lamp, the moment that he 
enter’d, 

How the flame sunk at once down to the 
socket. 


O miserable, by that lamp to soe 
My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard 
bread 


Brought rice for the little wretch was 


My mage had dry'd away lis natural food & 

In darkness I remain’d, counting the clocks 

Which haply told me that the blessed sun 

Was rising on my garden, When Tdozed, 

My: tnfant's monsings mingled. with sy 
dreams 

And Gees me, yom. wens a; mosbery 


Tshould scarce dare to tal you, that its 
noises 

And peevish cries $0 fretted on my brain 

That T have struck the innocent babe in 


anger | 

Maria. © God! it is too hamible to hear! 

Aldadra. What was st then to suffer? 
“Tis most right 

‘That such as you should hear it, Know 


you not 
‘What tay ‘makes you mourn, she bids 
‘ou heal? 230 
Great/evfla ask preat pastioas. to redrens 
them, 
And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence, 
aria, You were at length deliver'd? 
Alhadrs. Yes, at length 
L saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven, 
"Twas the first time my infant smiled | No 
more, 
For if T dwell upon that moment, Indy, 
A fit comes on, which makes me o'er 


again 
Al T then was, my knees hang loose and 
di 


rag, 
And my lip falls with such an ideot laugh 
“That you would start and shudder t 
Maris. But your husband ? 


1Ch Fragments from an Barly Common 
place Book, No. 18, pr 454-—Bas 





APPENDIX D 


Athadra, Sagan pinnae 


heart * 
He worships Nature in the hill and valley, 
OS Ra es but loves it 


sender ALBERT disguised as 
is Mcxeled/ and de Avorieh pers 
ments. 
Albert (not observing Maria and Atha- 


ering: 
Have summon’d up my heart to ask el 
24! 


‘Who hides himself among the Al; 
A week has scarcely pass'd since first I 


saw him ; 
He has new-roof'd the desolate old cottage 
Where 


Zagri lived—who dared avow the 


And died one of the faithful! There | 
he 


too, " 
‘As in defiance of the royal edict,? 
(ALMADRA advances fo ALBERT, 
who has walked to the back 


stage mear the rocks, 
Son s her veil, 
ae pee foresco! you are 
castle 260 
Or thee Val and ha by dos 


A pest, the cate of the Sin 





Speak to him, lady ! none can ‘hear you 


we tera ‘Approaches wearer to Kine. 
Tpmy baat us friends—uncowl your 


For yom hn, and the nha 
healing. 


1 peap your lah St 
ost ‘Ais head). Calm—very 


“Tis all too tranquil for reality t 
hod, sha. spin vin itt ee Ream 


voice. 
‘That voice | that innocent voice! She is 
no traitress | 
eae dea, a phantom of my sleep, 
[Me start 2 and abruptly ad~ 
srt ony a 


[They advance 40 the front of the 


Alhadra, He is indeed a Christian. 
Some were Knight, that falls in love of 


Rata you. 
a ere 
Alhadra, These renegudo 





E OSORIO 


485 





whonr 
NWith blindest trust, and a betrothed maid 
‘Whom T was wont to call not mine, but 


me, 290 
ee gree mem necting lacking 
“This maid so idoliz’d, that trusted friend, 
Polluted in my absence soul and body ! 
And she with him and he with her con- 
To have me murder'd in a wood of the 

mountains : 

But by my looks and most impassion’d 
Troused the virtues, that are dead in no 

‘man, 

‘Even in the assassins’ hearts, They made 

‘their terms, 

Semen genes Seeeniig thas from 


Albers (6 (é Maria). You are lost in 
thought. Hear him no more, sweet 


t 
Market Feo mom to night Iam a} 
@ dreamer, 
And mast things bring on me the idle 
Wot, sit tape en? 


rude rock, 
Ao out tt grove of firs 
“Whose threaddy leaves jow breathing 


‘Made a soft sound most like the distant 


ocean, 
T stay'd as tho! the hour of death were 


(Asa K wes einig fn die wotld of spt, 
Por all eee d voreel' Es 


“The dws, fe clammy, and the night 
Black, , close | and ere the midnight 
Sees oo, micallog all sounds of 
‘That woods and sky and mountains seem'd 


‘one havock | 
‘The second flash of lightning shew'd a 
1 rose 
F bared my head to 








And with loud voice and clamorous agony 
Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that 
made me, 
Pray'd that Remorse might fasten on their 
‘And cling, with poisonous tooth, inextri- 
cable ‘320 
As the gored lion's bite! 
Maria. A fearful curse t 
Athadra. But dreamt you not that you 
return’d and kill’ him? 
Dreamt you of no revenge? 
Albert (his voice trembling, and in tones 
of deep distress), She would have 


died, 

Died in her sins—perchanee, by her own 
hands ! 

And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds 

1 might have met the evil of frenzy 


And leapt myself into an unblest grave ! 
I pray'd for the puni that 


For still I loved her! 
‘Alhadra. And you dreamt all this? 
ree GE 
wild | 
‘Alhsdrs. ‘There is no room in this heart 
for puling love-tales. 
Lady! your servants there seem secking 
us 
ee ee 
‘Stranger, farewell! I guess 
‘hot who you are, 
Nor: iyo) 90: icra Alpacas 
Your mien noble, and 1 ow, pre 
With obscure of 
Wales sill cay my efor, oF pre 
sented 
Tricks of 8 faney. pamper’. with: long: 
If (as it sometimes happens) our rude 
startling, 
While your full heart was shaping oat its 
‘dream, 340 
Does you 10 hy yoo nok gene wi 


You have ty sytipathy, and so frewell 
But if some undiscover’d wrongs oppress 
you, 


And you need strength to dag them into 
‘The generous Velez, and my Lord Osorio 


485 


APPENDIX D 





Have unm and will to aid a noble safferer, 
Ner shall you want my favourable 


[Exeunt MARIA amd ALMADRA. 


enough. 35° 
How sad she look'd and pale! bet not 
We gui, 


Amd ber cals tones—sweet as 2 song of 


mercy! 
Uf the band spirit retain’ bis angel's woice, 
Hel scare were bell And why not 
tmsocent ? 
Wha memet me meee ight wel chews 


Bt ey she at him, be had aa 


AN! tee fam tamper’ ‘What if this 
ware 2 le 
Poet tie assxssin? who should tell 


af wee eth? ‘Osorio would mot tell 
tim. 


Yet why one We? All else, I know, was 

truth 360 

No stat! no jealousy of stirring coa- 
science ! 

And she rferr'd to me—fondly, me. 
! 


thougbe 

‘Qowid she walk here, if that she were a 
traitress ? 

Hore where we play'd together in our 
childood ? 


Mere where we plighted vows? Where 
ber cold cheek 

Received my last kiss, when with sup- 
press'd feelings 

‘She had fainted in my arms? It cannot 
be! 

Tis not in nature!” I will die, believing 

What I shall mect her where no evil is, 

No treachery. no cup dash’d from the lips! 

PMH haunt this scene no more—tive she in 
Peace ! 37 

Wer twsband—ay, her hustand! May 
this Angel 

New-mould his canker’'d heart! 
me, Heaven 1 

Pen L may pray for my poor guilty 
brother t 


EXD OF ACT THE smst. 


Assist 


Ferdinand. ‘Torice you have avé py 
life. Once in the battle 

You gare it me, pext rescucd ine bor 
muicde, 


When for my follies I was made to wee 
‘With mouths to feed, and not a mors fe 


Now, but for you, a dungeon's amy sees 
Had pillow’ my soar Ita: : 


wy ta tome? =? neon ela 


te) 
Seeking foe her own fl Het 


A Set toa cea » 
You have ft in your power to sve Rt 


greatly. 
Ferdinand. As bow. ey Nord? 1791 


Ferdinand ! you are a mess, and know 
work. 
1 veld you what 1 wish'd—now for 


She love the man you kf 
Ferdinand (sohing ar 2s stent elroy 
fora fest, my 
Oxoris. od is eh pa Be 
will not wed me, 
Ferdinand. You sport with me, sed 





Ly 
Ferdinand. Vcan bear this, and any tag 
more grievous 





OSORIO 


487 


From you, my lord !—but how can I serve |  Ouorio (aloud, thee to exprit his con- 


you here’ 
Ororis, Wir enela mouth set speeches 


wolemnly, 
‘Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious 
antics. 
[Ferdénand. 1 am dull, eserioat Ido 


not comp: 
Orerin in blont terms]! you can play 


the soroerer, 
‘She has no faith in Holy Church, ‘tis true, 
Her lover school'd her in some newer non+ 


sense : go 
Yet stil a tale of spirits works on her. 


She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, 
Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her 


eye. 
‘Such ones do love the marvellous too well 
Not to believe it, We will wind her up 

Will a ssege masa, tbat she knove oot 


With fumes of frankincense, and mum- 


mery— 
‘Then lave, as one sure token of his death, 
‘That portrait, which from off the dead 


1 det isthe wophy oy cm 


Feribnand (with hesitation). Just vow t 
should have cursed the man who 


told me 
eens a waht ay toed and I re- 


Beek osnant An 
Ororio, ‘Where lies your seruple? 
Ferdinand, That shark Francesco. 

Orario, O} an o'ersiz'd gudgeon | 

1 baited i, svy hook with panied mitre, 

‘And now 1 play with him at the end ofthe 


ine. 
‘Well—and what next? 


You know, i ld me he ay ved 


Haid loved you with fncantious tenderness. 
‘That if the young man, her betrothed hus- 


band, 50 
Return’d, yourself, and she, and an unborn 


Must perish. Now, my lord! to bea man! 
1 The words in square brackets are interpolated 


in MS.T. ‘They are iu their place, as here, in 
MS. IL=Ep, 





tempt he speaks in the third person), 
‘This fellow isa man! He kill'd for 


hire 
One whom he knew not—yet has tender 
scruples. 
{ Then turning t FeRDINAND. 
Thy hums and ba's, thy whine and starn- 
meting. 
Pish—fool | thou blunderst through the 
Spell on inlay ! 
thy vi 
frp ieee ‘My lord—my lord ! 
1 can bear much, yes, very much from 
But there's a point where sufferance is 


meanness 
Tam no villain, never kill'd for hire, 60 
My gratitude—— 
Osorio. ©} aye, your gratitude ! 
“Twas a well-sounding word—what have 
you done with it? 
Ferdinand. Who proffers his past favors 
for my virtue 
‘Tries to o'erreach me, is a very sharper, 
‘And should not spenkof gratitnde, my lord 
1 knew not ‘twas your brother ! 
Osorio (evidently alarmed). And who 
told you? 
Ferdinend. He himself told me, 
Osorio. ‘Ma! you talk’d with him? 
And those, the two Morescoes, that went 
with you? 
Ferdinand. Both fl in night-brawl at 
Malaga. 
Ororia (in a few voice). My brother 1 
Ferdinand, Yes, my lord! 1 could 
tell you : 
Iubrust away the thoughts fe drove me. 
But listen to me now, 1 pray you, listen | 
Osorio. Villain | no more! I'll hear no 
more of it. 
Ferdinand, My Jord! it much imports 
your future safety 
‘That you should hear it. 
nara (turning of from Ferdinand), Am 
I not a man? 
‘Tis.as it should be! “Tut—the deed itself 
‘Was idle—and these after-pangs stil idler { 
Ferdinand, We met him in the very 
you mention'd, 
‘Hard by a grow of firs. 
Osori Enough} enough ! 
Ferdinand. He fought us valiantly, one 
wounded all ; 





488. 


APPENDIX D 





In fine, compell'd a par! 
Osorie icing at ri ‘ait in thought}. 


He promis'd us I know not what—in vain t 
"hh th a look ead volo which oresew’d 


Me ssid Waa mean you, fens? My 
hase Totti a popes ti 
‘Who make life dear to me, and if I fall 
‘That beother will roam Earth and Hell for 


vengeance. 
“There was a likeness In his face to your's. 


At length I said (if that indeed 7 said it, 
And Gat no spirit made my tongue his 


organ), 
‘That woman’ Is now pregnant by that 
brother, 


And he the zaan who sent us to destroy you. 
Me drove a thrust at mein rage. [told him, 
He wore her portrait round his neck—he 


A a he mae the eck ta 
propp'd him back ; 
Ay, just as You loak now—only less ghastly! ! 
‘AL last recovering from his trance, he threw 
His sword away, and bade us take his life— 
Teas not wort his keeping, 
And you kill'@ him? 
© blood hounds! may eternal wrath flame 
round you ! 
He was the image of the Deity, [4 pause. 
It seizes me—by hell! I will go on! 
What? would'st thou stop, man? thy pale 
Jooks won't save thee ! 
[Them swiidenty pressing his forehead. 
Oh! cold, cold, cold—shot thro’ with icy 


col 
Ferdinand (aside), Were he alive, he 
had return’d ere now. 
‘The consequence the same, dead thro’ his 
plotting ! 
Grorlo O'thia \onetsernble dying -sorey 
110 
‘This sickness ofthe heart! [A pane. 
‘What if 1 went 
And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on 
weeds ? 





Ay! erage: to Beaven | 0 fool 

‘What have I done but Peta 
destin’ 

Or the blind elements stier’d tp within 

Tf good were meant, why were we made 
these beings ? 

And if not meant—— 


and. How feel you now, mynd? 
{Osonto starts, don at hit 


into a smi 
Grove, & gust of the seal! Thi 


oO" gras al folly-—all! Idle ws 
Now, Feainand car tt ow 
aid me 


Poin | ie to voice: Tp 
first f sa casa aed pat 
‘That I must slink away from wickedsst 


Like a cow'd dog ! 
Osorio. "Anat dot dooce 


stay ! of tate T havo wated 
A stranger that lives nigh, stil eke 


weeds, 
Now in the ramp, now on the wile 


Now clamb'ring, like a runaway lee 
Up to the summit of our highest meet 
1 have wench i aie ‘morning-tide #94 


12 
nes he mong. ‘Then 1 sie 
1 bead it mang o'er the plat A 
Some ei Cae, ume ‘orator dark 


employm 
Osorio, What m his name be? 
Ferdinand. my pee 
‘Only Francesco bade an officer 
Speak Tey name, as lord of tke 


Soe was question’é, who and what be 
"This was st answer: Say to ae 


+ He that eam bring the dead to Be 


Osoria. A strange reply | ni’ | 
Ferdinand. i ‘of hin is strange 
| 





OSORIO 





He call'd himself a Christian —yet be 


wears 
‘Fhe Moorish robe, as if he courted 
death. 
Ouorie. Where does this wizard live? 
Rardinand (pointing te distenc). You 
that brooklet ? 


‘Troe couse bch thro’ a narrow 
fdas yousce the piace. 
Ovarie. How shall T know it? 
Ferdinand, You can't mistake. Tis ® 
_ small green dale 
Built all around with high offsloping 
‘And from its shape our peasants aptly call 
it 
‘The Giant's Cradle, ‘There's a lake in the 
midst, 150 
And round its banks tall wood, thatbranches 
over 
And makes a kind of faery forest grow 
Down in the water, At the further end 
A puny cataract falls on the lake ; 
And there (a curious sight) you seo its 
shadow 


For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, 
Up through the foliage of those faery 


trees, 
His cot stands oppasie—you cannot iss 
Some tee yards up the hill a mountain 
such vi lower boughs and scarlet 


ear a oe hy 

Osorio. T shall not fail to find it. 

[Bxit Osomio, FERDINAND goet 
inte his howse. 


Scene changes. 


Tike inside of a cottage, around which flowers 
‘end plants of various kinds are seen. 


Acornt and Mavxice. 
Aikert. He doth believe himself an iron 


soul, 
And therefore pats he on an tron out- 
ward » 


And those same mock habiliments of 


strength 
Hide his own weakness from himself. 
Maurice, His weakness | 





Come, come, speak out! Your brother is 
a villain 

Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which 
is yours 

You suffer him to hold ! 

Albert. Maurice! dear Maurice ! 

‘That my return involved Osorio's death 

1 trast would give me an unmingl'd 
pang- 170 

Yet bearable, But when I. see my father 

Strewing his scant grey hairs even on the 


ground 
Which soon must be his grave; and my 


Maria, 

Her husband proved a monster, and her 
infants 

His ae Maria t—all would 


All petit !—and 1 (nay bear with 
¢ 1) 


Could not survive the complicated rain | 
Maurice (much affected). Nay, now, 

I have distress'd you— you well 
know, 

I ne'er will quit your fortunes! true, 'tis 
tiresome. 179 

You are a painter—one of many fancles— 

You can call up past deeds, and make them 
live 

On the blank canvas, and cach little he 

‘That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled 


forest, 
‘You've learnt to name—but /— 
AlSert, ‘Weil, to the Netherlands 
We will return, the heroic Prince of 


Orange 
Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance 
Of our past service. 
Maurice. Heard you not some steps? 
Aitert, What if it were my brother com- 
ing onward ! 
Not very wisely, (but ls creature id 
me) 189 
1 sent a most mysterious message to him. 
Maurice. Would he not know you? 
Albert. 1 unfearingly 
“Trust this disguise, Besides, be thinks me 
dead ; 
And what the mind believes impossible, 
‘The bodily sense is slow to recognize. 
‘Add too my youth, when last we saw each 
other ; 
Manhood has swell'd my chest, and taught 
my voice 





~P 


APPENDIX D 





A bearser note. 
Maurice, Most tree! And Alva's 
Duke 
Did not improve it by the snuboleome 
viands 


He gave so scantily im that foul dungeon, 
\owprisonment. 


speak. 
How do you find yourself? “Speak to me, 
Allbert. 


Albert ing his Aand on his heart). 
‘little flattering here; bat more of 
sorrow} 

Osorie, You know my same, perhaps, 
better than me. 

1am Osorio, son of the Lord Veber. 

Albert (groaning aloud). The son of 
Velez ! 


[Oson10 wuts leisurely round the 
room, ond looks attentively ot 
the plants. 

Maurice.“ Why, what ails you now? 

(Auman grays Mavuice's damt 
im agitation. 

Maxrice, How your hand trembies, 

Albert | Speak ! what wish you? 

Auert, To &8 spon his neck and weep 

in angeish f 

Overia (returning), All very carious! 


Whee a few odd prayers have been enut- 
ter'd o'er them. 
‘Then they work miracles ! I warrant yor, 
‘There's not a leaf, but wndermenth it lurks 
Some serviceable imp. ‘There's one of you, 
Who sent me a strange message. 
Albert, Lams be! 
Osoris, 1 will speak with you, and by 
[Ene Mavnice. 
je. * He that can bring the dead to 
life again, 
Sach was your message, sir! 
dallard, 
Rat one shat strips the oxrward rind of 


‘You are no 


things 
Alberts "Ts (bed there are fete with 
tempting rinds 220 
‘That are all dust and rottenness within, 





Would’st thou 1 should strip such! 
Oneria. ‘Thos 


thee? 
No. no! may lord! tox 
beet of mc = 
Onario (dance bach as if stg al 
ph icicle is ara 
© what a sbing ts Aten te et 


Atel ata, a at its own fy, 
Ye Rar P reegiennly 


A yo a poo. Now 1 awe sat 
Con quench toe Ramey 


poverty, 
And for this service, all L ask you is 
‘That you should serve me—oece—for afer 
‘ours. 

Albert |solemnly}, Thou art the wat 
Velez! Would to Heaven 
‘That I could truly and for ever seree thet! 
Osorio. The canting scoundrel soles 


thee! 
Albert, re Nias; this cow sith) Deket 
your busisess t 
Ororie, | lowe a lady, umd she wos! 
love me 
‘But for an idbe amd fantastic scruple 
Hen Do Srey oa 


ter te the door. 
Albert = Gitien toat false © 


Toschai? “wal anight'st thow look 
maser Maria! Wretch 1 my solter 
ae 








OSORIO 


As and 1 will his 
Is paid away. ‘probe his eon- 


? you kill'd him? hey? 
Qurie, Vil dash thee to the 


earth, if 








= 
qucan, lover— 
The fellow— 


"Nay, speak ont, “twill ease your 
‘To call him villain! Why stand'st thou 
Men. 


to hate their rivals ! 
and 














Osorio. If we could make her certain of 
‘his death, 
‘She needs must wed me, Ere her lover 


Yes! he did sot 
afraid of 


it, 
, no! he was 


accidents, 
Of robberies and shipwrecks, and the like, 
In secrecy he gave it mo to keep 
‘Till his return, 
Fete a he was your friend 
Osorio (wounded and embarrassed). 1 
was his friend, “A peruse. 
‘Now that he gave it me 
‘This lady knows not. You are a mighty” 
Can call this dead man up—he will not 
come— 290 
He fs in heaven then !—there you have no 
influcnee— 
‘Still there are tokens ; and your imps may 
bring you 
Picereing De cee abet Ei Jeet 
pd abies ioe emake ot the. neorentcreie 
tar 
Is pass'd, your spirits will have left this 
picture. 
‘What say now? 
Albert ecu @ long pause), Osorio, 1 
it. 
Osorio, Delays are dangerous. It shall 
be to-morrow 
ee Ask for the Lord 
I will prepare him. Music, too, and 
incense, 
All shall be ready. Here is this same 


jeture— 300 
AS tee w egal wake ee 


For-tart bias rw 
ai rh egy 
portrait). And 1 did curse thee? 





USUKIU 


493 





ear ee es won nance conn 
“Teenpest the new-thaw’d sea, whose sudden 
eee re es 
‘Then round and round the whitlpool's 

mange ye dance, 
Nk from: the blae-swoln corse the soul 
Feeryoas clehiy 

‘ae "Soul of Albert! 

| Hearth ml pet and tempt no blacker 





the sickly 
| ee 40 
Sone Chueh Seacsiog rites. be 
He (eal masses that redeem the 





Se ee i an 





‘Stretch’d on the broad top of a sunny 


heath-bank ; 
Axl, lawer down, poor Albert fast asleep, 
His a upon ‘the blind boy's dog—i 


To mi how he had fasten'd round the 
A silver toy, his grandmother had given 
im. 70 
er I ce 
He ia des was grown 00 sot 
Yet stil he wore fe 
Albert (aside), My tears must not flow— 
I must not clasp his knees, and cry, my 
father! 
Osorie. ‘The innocent obey nor charm nor 
is in heaven, Thou sainted 
it 
Burst on our sight, a passing visitant | 
Once more to hear thy voice, once more to 
see thee, 
© ‘twere a joy to me. 
4 ert (abraie Riprea eee 
‘What if thou heard’st him now? Meh 
is spirit 
rn Soom hid Sue aes 
With many a stab from many a murderer's 
? 
What A his steadfast eye still beaming 
‘And Brother's: lope oliay Sica Be joes 


Last shoud look at the, and with one 


SAitere (ald oo. Osorio). But what if this 
same brother 

Had ted owen 25, tha at his dying 

(thes caenaeol ente eoees Soa 


ene than the death-pang? 
Idly-prating man ! 
nes was raat 


virtuous. 
Albert (still ts Osorio), What if his very 
virtues 





OSORIO 








with pity—=I will lean on 

[Axewnt ALBERT and MARIA. 
Reenter Veunz end Oson10. 

Velo: You shall not see the 
pictus you own it,? 

) This mirth and raillery, sir! 

re in 150 

| Velen think 1 did not scent it 





Cpcleagaaly opr 














‘With such a grace and terrible majesty, 
epee oes cere, goed fortune. And how 


‘He seem’d to suffer when Maria swoon'd, 


And half made lowe to her! 1 suppose 
you'll ask me 


Ta this, your meny mood 1 you'se i allt? 
Veles, Why, no !—not all, FE have not 


yet discover'd, 

‘At least, not wholly, what his speeches 
meant. 

Pride and hypocrisy, and guilt and cun- 
ning— 

‘Then when he fix'd his obstinate eye on 
you, 

And you pretended to look strange and 
tremble, 


—why—what ails you now? 
Osorio (with a stupid stare), Me? why? 


what ails me: 
AA pricking ofthe blood —it-might have 


His speech about the corse and stabs and 
murderers, 
Had reference to the assassins in the 
eee S 
phy a py ye Assas- 
@. . 
sins ! what assassins | 
Velez, Well-acted, on my life! 
curiosity 
Bane eee ee ae ravenous as winter 


‘He shows OSORIO the picture. 
'd—dup'd ¢ 
‘That villain. Y 
Velez, Dup'd—dup'd—not 1, 
As he swept by me— 


496 


APPENDIX D 





Velez, He caught his garment up and 
hid his face. 
It seem'd as he were straggling to sup- 


press— 190 
Osorio. A laugh | alaugh! © hell ! he 
Jaughs at me! 


at 

Veles It heaved his chest more like & 
violent sob, 

Overs, A choking laugh t 

[A pause—them very wildly. 
I tell thee, my dear father ! 
1am most glad of this ! 

Veles, Gilad !—aye—to be sure, 

Orria, 1 was Denumb'd, and stagger'd 
up and down 

Thre darkness without Nght —dark-—dark 
And every vnc of ths my flesh did fect 
As if a cold toad touch'd itt Now ‘tis 
sunshine, 
And the blood dances freely thro’ its 
channels ! 199 
(He turns off—then (to hivseif) 
svimicking FIRDINAND'S man 
mer? 
+A common trick of gratitude, my lord | 
Old gratitude! a dagger would dissect 
His own full heart,’ ‘twere good to see its 
colour! 

Veles (looking intently at the picture), 
Caim, yet commanding! how he 
bares his breast, 

Yet still they stand with dim uncertain 
looks, 

As penitence had run before their crime. 

‘A crime too black for aught to follow it 

Save blasphemous despair! See skis man's 


face— 
With what a difficult toil he drags his soul 
To do the dend, [Zhen to Osonr0, 
© this was delicate flattery 
‘To poor Maria, and 1 love thee for it! 
Osorio (in « show woice with a reasoning 
faugh). Love—love—and then we 
hate—and what? and wherefore? 
Hatred and love. Strange things! both 
strange alike ! 212 
What if one reptile sting another reptile, 


1 In MS. II, Coleridge has written opposite 
mediately supposes that this 


to whom the whole secret had been betrayed. 
D, 





‘Where is the crime? ‘The goodly 


Nature | 
Hath one trail less of slimy flth upos i 
Are we not all predestined rottennest 
And eold dishonor? Grant I that 


Had given a morsel to the hungry Worm 
tnt ee mor ‘Where's the pat 
this 


‘That this must needs bring om the Mitey 


Of moist-eyed penitence— tis Bike a 
Vete. Wild talk, my ebild ! bet 


Now who shall te me, that each ose se 
all, 
Of these ton thousand lives, i not 


me to be merry, 
pore spon this plemme 


1 Opporite the passage In SES. HI, dhe Ste 
Ing is written in the banal 
Ce malheus, ditesyous, eat Te bien die ae 
etre 


De mon corps tout sanglant, mille fet 
vont naire. 
Quand ta mort met Te comble asx mance @e7% 


soutfert, 


Le bem ee de vert 
+ bean soalagwnent tre mani : 





OSORIO 





Onrio, Dead—dead already !—what 
care I for the dead ? 
Veles, The beat of brain and your too 


Fe. 
Albert, fighting with your other passion, 
‘Ursetile you, and give 

these your own contrivings. 
Po 


240 


Is it s0? 
“You see through all things with your pene- 


tmabon. 
| Now fam calm. How fares it with Maria? 
[pPBs Betrt doth acde to see her. 
Velez Nay—defer it ! 
Defer it, dear Osorio! Twill go. 
(Bit Vewe. 
Osorio, A tim of the sun lies yet upon 


the sea— 
‘And now ‘tis gone! all may be done this 
night ! 


Beater a Servant, 
Osorio, There is 1 man, once a Moresco 
chieftain, 


One Ferdinand, 
Servant. He lives in the Alpuxarras, 
Beneath a slate rock, 
Osorio. Slate rock? 
Servant. Yes, my lord! 250 
4f you had seen it, you must have re- 
member’ 


Bae tigs of were hischidren bad worn up 


dambering. 
Wea, ie may be 30. 
| Servant. Why, now I think on’t, at this 
‘time of the year 
(Ts nia i Bd by vines. 
Owris (in a muttering voice). The 
cavern—aye—the cavern, 
‘He cannot fail to find it, 
[7o the Servant. 
‘Where art going? 
You must deliver to this Ferdinand 
Aletter. Stay till E have written it. 
Ege the Servant. 
Ororie (alone). “The can't stir 
when the mouth is eta ‘d with mould, 
Alittle earth stopsup most eloquent mouths, 
And m square stone with a few pious 


texts 
Cut Gare Ag it, keeps the earth a 


tot Papeete 
Now 45, 457 





Scene changes to the spoce before the castle, 
FRANCESCO and a Spy. 


Francesa. Yes! yes! 
of all their lives, 

Ifa man fears me, be is forced to love me, 

And if L can, and do not ruin him, 

He is fast bound to serve and honor me! 

[ALBERT enters from the castle, and 
is crossing the stage. 

here—there—your Reverence | 
Phat is the sorcerer, 

[Francesco runs wp and rudely 
catches hold of ALWERT, AL- 
wERT dashes him to the earth. 
FRANCESCO and the Spy make 
an uproar, and the servants 
rush from out the castle, 

Francesco. Seize, seize and gag bim! 
or the Church curses you ! 

[The servants seize and gag ALERT, 


I have the key 


Enter Vutrz and Osorio, 


Osorio (aside). This is mast lucky 1 
Francesco (inarticulate with rage). Sec 
you this, Lord Velez? 
Good evidence have I of mast foul sorcery, 
And in the name of Holy Church command 


you ayt 

‘To give me up the keys—the keys, my lord ! 

Of that same dungeon-hole beneath your 
castle. 


‘This imp of hell—but we delay enquiry 
‘Till to Granada we have convoy'd him, 
Osorio (to the Servants). Why haste you 
not? Go, fly and dungeon him ! 
‘Then bring the keys and give them to his 

Reverence, 

[The Servants Aurry off ALRERT. 
OSORIO goer wp to FRANCESCO, 
and pointing af At.went. 

Osorio (sith a laugh). *He that ean 
bring the dead to life again." 
Francesco, What? did you bear it? 
Osorio, Yes, and plann'd this scheme 
‘To bring conviction on him. Hol # 
wirard, ato 
‘Thought I—but where's the proof! I 
plann’d this scheme. 
‘The scheme has answer'd—we have proof 
enough. 
Francesco. My lord, your pious policy 
astounds me. 
1 trust my honest zeal— 


2K 





APPENDIX D 


"Osorio. 

It has but raised veneratlon for you, 
But 'twould be well to stop all intertalk 
‘Betwoen my servants and this child of 


darkness, 
| Francesco. My lord | with speed Pll go, 
make swift return, 


of me. 

By Heaven, ‘twas well contriv'd! And I, 
forsooth, 

1 was to cut my throat in honor of con- 


science. 

‘And this tall wizard—ho !—he was to pass 

For Albert's friend! He Aaré a trick of 
his manner. 

He at ane isch As Doce nas 


Aes wie ber. Ors tafe of Bec love 

By lamentable tales of ber dear Albert, 

And his dear Albert! Yea, she would 
have loy'd him. jor 

He, that can sigh out in a woman's ear 

Sad recollections of her perish'd lover, 

And sob and smile with yesring sym srmpathy, 

And, now and then, as if by accident 

Pass his mouth close enough to soa Oe 


cheek 
‘With timid lip, he takes the lover's place, 
He takes his place, for certain! Dusky 


rogue, 
Aires ase seme betting sts thy 


‘hen seal aay and roll upon my grave, 
“Til soy sds shook wie lange? Bes 


‘They want Byblos | thy blood, Osorio! 
[exp oF acr rte riinp,) 


ACT THE FOURTH 


Scene tue Fresr.—A cavern, dark ex- 
cept where a gleam of moontight £3 seen 
on one side of the further end of it, sup- 
pods neve hal os te fives cote tn « 
Part of the cavers out of sight. 





And yet—but no! there can't be such a 
villain, 
Tt cannot be! 
‘Thanks to that little cranny 
‘Which lets the moonlight in! I'll go and 
ssit by it. 


‘To peop ata tree, or sce a he-goat's 
Ot hate 5 eo crite esa ee ee 


mair 
1 was justin and thove dam fingers 


bie regen ‘Ha | what's 
[FERDINAND —— at 
it staring 


Ais 
Ferdinand, | ewean, Une Satie 
“The moonshine oe sd ea RT 
of lightning. 7 “~~ 





OSORIO 


‘tt was not that which frighten'd me, my 
lord! 


Ororio, What frighten'd you? 
Ferdinand. ue ‘see that little cranny? 
But first 


L his forch at Osonio's, and 
while lighting it. 
[A lighted torch in the hand 
| Is no unpleasant object here—one's Lreath 
| Floats round the flame, and makes as many 


colours 
As tied) thin clouds that travel near the 


| “lel see aay ‘cranny there 2)? 

| ‘Well, what of that? 
Ferdinand Twalk’d up to it, meaning 

| meters: 


When T td reach'd ie within twenty 
paces— 

(Fexpexaxp ee as if he fet the 

Do a my lord ! oe 


[Osonr0 gves and eters. 
Osorio. Tt must bave shot some pleasant 
‘thro’ you? 
Ferdinand. Mf every atom of a dead 
man’s flesh 
‘Should move, cach one with a particular 


‘Yet all as cold as ever—'twas just so ! 
if it drizzled needle-points of frost 
feverish head made eaddenly bald— 
interrupting him). Why, Fer- 
dinand ! I blush for thy cowardice. 
‘Mt would have startled any man, I grant 
| thee. 
| Bat ruck a panic, 
F When a boy, my lord | 
1 could bave sat whole hours beside that 
chasm, 


40 
‘Push’d in buge stones and heard them thump 
and rattle 


its horrid sides ; and hung my head 
Histen'd il the heavy frag- 


ments 
with faint splash, in that still groan- 
ing well, 
“Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which 
never, 
3 The square brackets (which appear in both 


MSS.) seem to indicate that these words were 
an ‘aside."—Ep, 





‘A living thing came near; unless, per 
a 


Some blind- worm battens on the ropy 
mould, 
Close at its edge. 
Osorio. Art thou more coward now? 
Ferdinand, Call hitn that fears his fellow- 
men a coward. 49 
Tfear not man, But this inhuman cavern 
It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. 
Besides (you'll ugh; my. lord) bak rue 
itis, 
My lost night's) sleep was very sorely 
aunt 
By what had a ’d between usin the morn= 
ing, 
I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, 
And dor'd and started, dox'd again and 
started, 56 
I do entreat your lordship to believe me, 
In my last dream— 
Well? 


1 was in the act 
Of falling down that chasm, when Albadra 
Waked me, She heard my heart beat ! 

Osorio. ‘Strange enough ! 
Had you been here before? 

Ferdinand. Never, my lord! 
But my eyes do not see it now more clearly 
‘Than in my dream T saw that very chasm. 

(Osorio stands in a deep stwdy— 
_then, after a pawse. 
Osorio. There is no reason swiy it should 


be 0. 
And yet it ds. 


1 Against this passage Coleridge has written 
in MS. II. —"'This will be held by many for a 
mere Tragedy-dream—by many who have never 
‘given themselves the trouble to ask themselves 
from what grounds deems pleased’ ia Tegely, 
‘and wherefore they have become so common. 
belleve, however, thatin the presentease, seks 
is here psychologically true and accurate. Prov 
phecical dreams are things of nature, and explice 
abile by that law of the mind in which where dim 
ideas are connected with vivid feelings, Percep- 
tion and Imagination insinuate themselves and 
nix with the forma of Recollection, till the Pre- 
sent appears to exactly correspond with the Pust. 
Whatever is partially like, the Imagination will 
gradually represent as wholly like— law of our 
ature which, when it is perfectly understood, 
woe to the great city Rabylon—to all the super- 
stitions of Men !'—En. 





APPENDIX. D 


unpleasant. 
Atleast I find it so! But you, perhaps, 
Have nerves? 
Ferdinand. Something doth trouble you. 
How can I serve you? By the life you 


gave me, 7 
By all that makes that life of value to me, 
My wife, my babes, my honor, I swear to 


Name i and I will fol to do the thing; 

{a nck ples why nl enc 

is not a 

Rivne pepo wi a Theda 
ness 


(When ten yards off, we know, "tis chear 
ful moor 
crowds it round the 


justification and pride, it appeared to himself 
ees ba pied ei es eee 








OSORIO 


[OsoR10 graye 

ff frove FERDINAND, then, 

Gfter « pause, returns, 
Osorie. ‘Our links burn dimly. 
ae A dat tale darkly fist d 
130 

Tall what be dd. 

Osorio (fercely), “That which his wisdom 


‘He made the traitor moet him in this cavern, 

h to be a traitor. 

1 not to have fore 
seen 

That he, who guif'd thee with a whimper’ 
lie 

To mwarder Air ctx Jrotker, would not 
scruple 

To murder thee, ife'er his guilt grew jealous, 

And he could steal upon'thee in the dark ! 


Ozverie. Thou would’st not then have 
come, if —$ 


beetl 


Ferdinand. ‘© yes, my lord | 
T would have met bim arm’d, and scared 


the cownrd ! 141 
throws off his robe, 
hse Aimaelf armed, end dees 


Osorio. i, Now hc ete, and warms 


Stem 
Jess! Die thou first. 


Oson10 disarm: Fer- 
DINAND, and im disarming 


fortabile thoughts : 
‘And all my little ones father- 


Ales, throves his sword 
recess, opposite to which they 


‘nging. wildly troands 
Osorie), Still T can strangle thee ! 
Nay, fool! stand off. 
ae cial Go fetch thy 


Tees alavD tarrici in the recess 
‘teith his torch. Os0n10 follros 
Bive, amd in a mowent returns 
alone, 





Osorio, Now—this was luck | No blood 
stains, no dead body I 150 
His dream, too, is made out. Now for his 
friend. [Bvit. 


SCENE changes to the court before the Castle 
of Veunz, 


MARIA and her FostTeR-MorHen.* 


Maria. And when I heard that you 
desired to see me, 
T thought your business was to tell me of 
him, 
Foster-Mother. 1 never saw the Moor, 
whom you describe. 
Maria, 'Tis strange | he spake of you 
familiarly 
As mine and Albert's common. foster- 


mother. 
Foster-Mother. Now blessings on the 
man, whoe'er he be, 
‘That join'd your names with mine! O 
my sweet lady, 
AAs often as I think of thove dear times 
When rons little ones would stand at 
160 
On cach 4 side of my chair, and make me 
Jearn 


All you had learnt in the day; and how to 
talk: 


2 Against this line Coleridge writes in. MS: 
11. :—'Osorio has thrust. Ferdinand down the 
chasm. I think it an important insance how 
Dreams and Prophecies codperate to their own 
completion.’ Ep. 

2 The whole of this scene between Maria and 
her foster-mother was omitted as unfit for the 
stage in the acted Kemorre, but was afterwards, 
with the exception of the 
printed in an appendix vo 
editions. All of it but the first speech originally 
appeared, under the title of “The Foster: Mother's 
‘Tale; a Dramatic Fragment,’ ax one of Cole- 
ridge’s contributions to the Lyrical Ballads, 
1798 (wide p83 of the present volume), and 
continued to appear there, with some further 
comission as regards the opening grt, in the later 
editions of vo rox, and 180s. Cottle in his 
Eariy Recollections of Caleridige (Lond. x8y7, 
vol. L pp. 34s 238 prints a version of it, with 
some slight variations, from = copy in Coleridge's 
own writing, given to him by the poct in the 
summer of 1797-—ED. 





s02 


APPENDIX D 


i aia reese Hes Bid ae SE ak Se ‘turn'd—and ere his twen+ 
Tis more like heaven to come, tinh 


Aas been | 
Barte eS sy aaa this strange 


\ amcattd rats cca ope ped oa 
Breeds In eo Jove-sick maid—who gazes 
at 


‘Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye 
She gazes idly! But that entrance, 
mother! 


Fater-Mother. Can no one bear? it 
a perilous tale 


170 
Man. No one. 
Fouter-Mother, My husband's father told 


it me, 
Poor ol Leoni. bape pete brie 
te oof and could fell and 


With ae arm. You know that huge 
round beam 

‘Which props the hanging wall of the old 
chapel ? 

Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, 


He found wrapt i lined 
He found w baby weap fn signe, tne 


cate cease ‘Well, he brought 
him 


And oes eet ‘at the then Lord Velex’ 
180 

And so rate be grew NP & pretty boy. 

A pretty boy, but most unteachable— 

And never learnt a prayer, nor told a 


‘But knew the names of birds, and mock'd 
their notes, 





And whistled, as he were a bird himself 

And all the autumn “twas bis only play 

‘To get the seeds of wild flowers, and 
plant them 

With san. and water on the stumps of | 


Oh Flac wis pation staple fr the WOR 
A pena man —he loved this wm 


The voy loved him—and, when the fiat 
‘him, 


taught 
He soon could write with the pen; and 
from that time 


to 


He nd anal ough of 
Aad eee he pray'd, he never pe sry 


nor in. 
pagel it was fo elt ait 


“The late Lord Vele ner was weared with 
And once as by the north side of the 
A ry in deep. dis. 
“The earth held under them with such a 
‘That the wall totter’, and had. wellnigh 
Right on their heads, My ford was sorely 
‘A fover said blm » and he made confes- 
Or atthe heretical and lamless lawless talk 

‘Which ough is, tenet a0 Be 
And btn that fog, 3 Seas 
oscar = child—it:simem broke Ni 
fein Sa ee 
Who sung a doleful song about green 


How sweet it were on lake or 
To hunt for food, and be a naked man, 


Maria. "Tis a 
Poet 
‘His rosy face besoil'd with: 
And what became of him? 
Foster-Mother, We 





OSORIO 


53 





‘after they arrived in that new world, 
of bis dissuasion seized a boat, 


supposed 
He liv'd and died among the savage men, 


Enter VELEZ, 
Veles, Suill sad, ee This same 


wirard haunts 
oe Lebel palceres that hang 


head, 
Biya tino ‘him to these holy brethren ! 
Veles (with a Aind of sneer). A. portly 
‘man, and eloquent, and tender ! 
fn truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn 
‘That their rude grasp should seize on swch 


a vietien, 249 

Maria. Tho pater of their ghastly 
Deh 50 o'ertop the height of sympathy, 

eit feel too little for mine 


Ah far too ltle—if were possible, 
1 could feel more, even tho’ my child or 


Were doom'd to suffer them | 


shings are— 
Vélez, Hush | thoughtless woman | 
Maris. Nay—it wakes within me 
More than a ed spirit. 


rete No more of this— 
sinc na more 
Foster-Mother, _ My honor'd master | 


‘Lord Albert used to talk 50, 
Maria, Yes | my mother ! 
‘These are my Albert's lessons, and 1 con 


ast 
With more delight than, in my fondest 
hour, 2 


‘That such 


Lbend me o'er his portrait, 
Velez (to the Faster-Mother). My good 
woman, 
‘You may retire. 
[Avie the Foster-Moturr, 
Velex, We have mourn'd for Albert, 
Have 1 no living son ? 
ic ‘Speak not of mim! 


Maria. 
‘That oe imposture—my heart sickens at 
If it be madness, must { wed a madman? 


And if not madness, there is mystery, 
And guilt doth lurk behind it! 





Veler. Is this well? 
Maria, Yes! it is truth, Saw you his 
countenance? 260 
How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid 
fear, 
Displac'd each other with swift inter- 
changes ? 


ges 

If this were all assumed, as you believe, 

He must needs be a most consummate 
actor ; 

And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 

I never could be safe, And why assume 

‘The semblance of such execrable feelings? 

Velex. Ungrateful woman! Thave try’d 

to stifle 

An old man’s passion | Was it not enough 

‘That thou hast made my son a restless 


v man, 270 

Banish'd his health and half-unhinged his 
reason, 

But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion, 

And toil to blast his honor? 1 am old— 

A comfortless old man! ‘Thou shalt not 


stay 
Beneath my roof! 
[FRANCESCO enters and stands list- 


ing. 
Veles, Repent and marry him— 
Or to the convent, 
Francesco (muttering). Good! good | 
very good ! 
Maria. Nay, grant me some small pit- 
tanec of my fortune, 
And 1 will live a solitary woman, 
Or my poor foster-mother and her grand- 


sons 

May be my houschold, 
Francesco (advancing). 1 abhor a liste 
a8o 


ener ; 
But you spoke so, I could not chuse but 
hear you. 
I pray, say lord twill you embolden me 
To ask you why this Indy doth prefer 
‘To live in lonely sort, without a friend 
Or fit companion ? 
Veter, Bid her answer you. 
Maric, Nature will be my friend and fit 
companion, [ Txrms off from then, 
© Albert! Albert! that they could return, 
‘Those blessed days, that imitated heaven | 
When we two wont to walk at evening. 
tide ; 
When we saw nought but beauty; when 
we heard ago 





‘The voice of that Almighty One, who lov'd 
ray isle ‘that breath'd, and wave that 
sired f 

O we have listen’d, even till high-wrought 
‘Hath half-assumed the countenance of 
And the deep sigh scem'd to heave up & 
OF bliss, that press'd too heavy on the 

Teen But in the convent, lady, you 
Such aids eae igace preserve you from 


‘There might dwell, 
Marla. ‘With tame and credulous faith, 


her 
Had once a mind, which might have given 


Reactors 
sree uthing ‘it rage), Where is 


Palas sd bape sesh father, since 
he left 


Franceseo. isons’ genrons naa 
‘hath deceiv'd him 


That Ferdinand (or if ‘not he his Frnt 
T have fresh evidence—are in! 
Nine netea tube see enc oct 
Maria. ‘Thou man, who call'st thyself 
the minister gut 
‘Of Him whose law was love unutterable | 
Mi is thy soul so parch'd with cruelty, 
colar thirstest for thy brother's 


ep rat rake 1 bie long 
ith 
Heed it mot, fnther | 
Francesco. Nay—bnit 1 must heed it. 
Maria. robe bai ‘miserable man! 1 fear 
Nor ine a nile which soon may weary 


me. 
Bear witness, Heav'n! 1 neither = 
‘nor hate him— 


But Of “tis wearisome to mourn, Re aria, | 


Suill mourn, and have no power to remedy ! 
(2xit Maria, 


i : 


int 


i 





OSORIO 


505 


‘His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts | Sfaurice, I seek # dear friend, whom for 


away, 
And his bones soften 1 
Naomi. ‘Where is Ferdinand ? 
Alhadre (is a deep low voice). ‘This 
night I went from forth my house, 
and 


eft 
‘His children all asleep; and he was living ! 
And 1 return'd, and found them still 


He had perish’ 1 
csestheng [poor babes ! tet als 


Theat be Bs fshertss, weanslate epbar 
Why should we wake them? Can an in- 
fant’s arm 
Revenge his murder? 
One to Another. Did she say his murder? 
Naomi. Murder’d? Not murder'd? 
Alkadrs. —— Murder'd by © Christian | 
They alt, at once, drav their sabres, 
A (t@ Naomi, who on being ad- 
dressed again advances from the 
. of Zagri? fling 


vaway thy sword, 

‘This is thy chieftain’s ! 
[He steps forward to take 

Dost thou dare receive it? 


For I have sworn by Alla and 
[No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's 
heart 


the 


‘Shall heave no groan, till f have scen that 


‘Wet with the blood of all the house of 
Velez! 359 

iho: Enter Maurice. 

3 1 aspy! 

Speco (They seize him. 
Mourice. Off! off | unhand me, slaves | 
(After muck struggling he diten- 
‘gages himself and draws his 


reord. 
Waomt {ie Aldara) Speak! shall we 
ail him ? 


Maurice, Yes ye can kill a man, 
| Some twenty of you! But ye are Spanish 
slaves! 


| And slaves are cruel, always cow~ 
cr ch 


Atkedra, That man has spoken truth. 
‘Whence and who art thou? 





aught T know 
‘The zon of Velez hath hired one of you 
To murder! Say, do ye know aught of 
‘Albert? 
Athadra (starting), Albert?—three years 
go I heard that name 
Murmur'd in sleep! High-minded for- 
er! 
Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand 
among us, 370 
(Maurice stands among the Morescoes. 
Alhadra, Was not Osorio my hnsband’s 


friend? 
Old Man, He \il'd my son in battle; 
yet our ehiefiain 
Foreed me to sheathe my dagger. See— 
the point 
Is bright, unrusted with the villain's blood ! 
Aihedra, He \s your chieftains mur- 
derer | 
Naomi, He dies by Alla! 
All (dropping on one knee), — By Alla! 
Alhadra, This night a reeking slave 
came Toud pant, 
Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed, 
Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks, 
He read the seroll, 
Maurice. part ? 
Alhadrs. Ves, Task'd it, 
He answer'd me, *Alhadra! thou art 
worthy 
A nobler secret ; but T have been faithful 
‘To this bad man, and faithful 1 will be." 
He said, and arm'd himself, and lita torch : 
‘Then kiss'd his children, each one on its 
pillow, 
And hurried from me. Bat I follow’d him 
At distance, till [ saw him enter there, 
Naomi. ‘The cavern? 
‘Alhadra. Yes—the mouth of yonder 


Tes pu 


cavern. 

After a pause T saw the son of Velex 

Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise 
enter'd— 

‘There was another and a longer paso— 

And onee, methought, I heard the clash of 
swords, got 

And soon the son of Velez reappear’é. 

He flung his torch towards the moon in 
sport, 

And seem’d as he were mirthful ! I stood 
listening 

Impatient for the footsteps of my tmushand | 





APPENDIX D 


{ TE did not dare call, Ferdinand | 
should hear no answer, A brief 


1 flame burnt dimly cfc a chasms beta, 
while I a feeble 


spake, groan 

ene Cian ins cage Tt was his last | 
this death groan | 

Mawrice. Comfort her, comfort her, Al- 
‘Father t 


‘agony, that cannot be remember'd, 
Listening with horrid hope to heara groan ! 
Bat T bad heard his last—my husband's 

-death-groan t 
Naomi. Haste | let us got 
Alhadva. —_ L look’d far down the pit. 
My sight ns bounded ie jutting frag- 


ment 

‘And it was stain‘ with blood ! “Then first | 
I shrick’d | 

My eyeballs burst emp nin grew hot os 


And Aaa ati = ee ee wet roof 
ood. I saw them ae . 


4 oat P 
And wat leaping wildly down the can 
‘When on the fart | saw 





Scexx tim Finst.— Tite Sex Shore, 
NAOMI ond a Moresco. 
Moreseo, “This was no time for freaks of 


‘And when ey pour within a sie of is 
We could not curb them in, ‘They swore 
11. we at dakota 
To sal from Spain and eave that man 
Moree 2 Wer i thas? - 


from the path of 
upcing fom te “her eye: for 
10 


dally with fantastic shapes, 
And smiling, like a sickley moralist, 
Gives some resemblance of her own eon 
To the straws of chance, and things inani- 


mate. 
1 seek her here; stand thou | the 


ponder'st thou 30 deeply? 
mt | ee “Fer 


Toone | me, ae a wil Banke ‘and naked 


Lor isan tothe dashing btlows 
1 me 1 sid ve dy 


And waked without a dream of what ag 


Fs? 


Wisely ‘ordain’d, that 
Might tring ee 





OSORIO 


5o7 





Athadre. ‘Would to Heaven 
hat it had brought its last and certain 


care! 
“Phat ruin im the wood, 

Naowi. It is a place 
‘OF ominous fame ; but "twas the shortest 


Toad, 
Nor could we else have kept clear of the 


30 
Yet some among us, as they scal'd the 
wall 


, 
Matter’d old rhyming prayers, 
Alkadra, ‘On that broad wall 
1 saw a skul poppy Krew beside it, 
‘There was a ghastly solace in the sight ! 
Naowi. 1 mark'd it not, and in good 
truth the night-bird 
(Curdled my blood, even till it prick’d the 


‘Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the 


[Looking rownd impatiently. 

Wir don’t they come Twill go forth and 

[Est Naos. 

Athass | (etons), ‘The hanging woods, 
that touch'd by autumn seom'd 

LAs they were blossoming hues of fire and 


40 
‘The hanging woods, most lovely In decay, 
‘The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the 


Lay in the silent moonshine; and the 
owl, 
(Strange! very strange!) the scritch owl 
wak'd, 
Sale voice, ae eiete a al ek, word ot 
yt 
Why sich a nga 11 ‘Where are these 


Lnced the eae of human firces 
To “a this deep contempt for all 


Whieh coe tay revenge. care 


‘The raven eo tad tol mew were: ieppolniea 
"To being me food, or rather that my soul 
‘Could drink in life from the universal air ! 
It were a fot divine in some small skiff, 
Along some ocean’s boundless solitude, 
"To float for ever with a careless course, 
And think myself the only being alive ! 
(Naowtt re-enters, 
Naomi. Thy children — 
Alhadrs. 2 Whose children? 





[A panse—then fiercely. 
Son of Velez, 
This hath new-strung my arm! ‘Thou 
coward tyrant, 59 
‘To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 
Till she forgot even that she was a mother! 
[A noise—enter « part of the 
Morescoes; and from the 
opposite side of the stage a 
Moorish Seamge. a 
Moorish Seaman. The boat is on the 
shore, the vessel waits. 
‘Your wives and children are already stow'd ; 
Lleft them prattling of the Barbary coast, 
Of Mosks, and minarets, and golden 
crescents. 
Bach bed | pes oor dream ; but all 


Dancing, Jn, thought, 
timbrels | 
[Enter Maurice and. the rest of 

the Morescoes dragging in 
FRANCESCO. 
Francesco. O spare me, spare me! only 
spare my life | 
Aw Old Man, All bail, Albadra! O 
that thou hadst heard him 69 
When first we dragg’d him forth t 
[Them turning to the band. 
Here ! in her presence— 
[He advances with his sword at 
about to kil! him, MAURICE 
Leaps in and stands with his 
drawn sword between FRAN- 
sco and the Morescoes. 
Nay, but ye shall not ! 
Shall not? Hah? Shall 


to finger-beaten 


Maurice. 
Old Max, 
not? 
Maurice. What, an unarm’d man? 
A man that never wore a sword? A 
priest? 
It {s unsoldierly ! L say, ye shall not ! 
Old Man (turning to the bands). He 
bears himself most like an insolent 
Spaniard | 
Mawrice. And ye like slaves, that have 
destroy'd their master, 
But know not yet whnt freedom mens; 
how holy 
And just a thing it is! He's a fall'n foe! 
Come, come, forgive him | 
All, No, by Mahomet | 
Francesco, O mercy, mercy! talk to 
them of mercy | 80 





OSORIO 





Osorio. Mall, wizard! In my 


Tpour'd forth a ibation to old Plato; 
mea ere oe bev, Lsboueh of 
Sa eaiCte fer pei) Sbave ot 
heart to gi 
"ha pach ot ie thon 


rie oth. pte it). Thou hast 
conspired against my life and 


ast trick me foully ; yet I hate thee 
Why stolid Tate thee? ‘This same world 


seaieattiae sore ofsis, 
And we theair-bladders, that course up and 


down, 
And and tilt in tournament, 
rere fab bile stk foc of another, 
[Waving his hand at Avvext. 


“Dhe Sesser must needs break! 

Sapigly pares or east 
There a frightful glitter ine a 
Wich dot teeny tse oy-c0n 
“Tins ep rnken age 

Which fain would scoff away the pang of 
And gl ech bana feng! 

as. ‘ecling ! feeling ! 

‘The of a man—the a a 








c 


Osorio, What meanest thou? 
Albert, There's poison in the wine, 


Seale ee os which of us two shall 


ere eat tel 
Albert. Whom dost thou think me? 
Oserie. ‘The accomplice and sworn 
friend of Ferdinand. 
Alsert, Ferdinand | Ferdinand | ‘tis a 
name I know not, 
Osorio, Good! oat tat let by 
Heaven | it has restor'd 
‘Now I am thy master ! Villain, thou shalt 
drink it, 


Or die a bitterer death, 
Albert. ‘What strange solution, 
Hast thou found out to satinfy thy fears, 
‘And drug them to unnatural sleep 
eee 


‘Mountebank and villain ! 

What then art thou? For shame, put up 
thy sword | 

‘What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm? 

1 fix mine ‘eye ‘upon thee, and thon 


tremblest ! 
I speak—and fear and wonder crush thy 


‘And turn't to a motionless 
‘ow ind iver hy hy 
ae 
shallow sophisms, thy pretended scom 
Fo ty am rtiea—a apn 
‘What. bates thay danal Sel tbst ions 
they given thee peace? 
oad toes oC sree i os eee eae 
ea cae eee 


At hp hen soe? canst walk by thy- 
Albert, pang— 
Cosh Lal pee Pang of He Daoeer 


He told me of the babs, that 
ai ams 


Rh alah Gntinee Remorse! re- 
Where gott'st thou that fool's viel 


Not all the blessings of an host of angels 

‘Can blow away # desolate widow's curse 

And tho’ thon spill thy heart's Blood for 
atonement, 


Osorie, Ha! it chokes thee in the throat, 
BS cise ans eT ey es x oral 


Sill tbat Albert | How tin rane cart 
Heap it, lke coals of fire, upon my heart ! 
And aot it hissing through my bein 

‘at a day, a, wa, tei Fag fone 
Into te waves, and grasp'd thy sinking 
‘And bore him ‘to the strand, then, son of 

Velez! 
‘How sweet and musical the name of Albert! 


knows 
How very dear thou wert | 
thou hate him 
O Heaven! how be would fa upon thy 
neck, 219 
And weep forgiveness ! 

Osorio. Spirit of the dead | 
Mola 1: 1 eso Wiel" Ha Lay benln 
At its ome, ee fantastic 

shadow | 


(He eee ahd hes Go the attitude 
Aistenin ; 


And 6 is ths too my madness? 


f one that treads 





___penetrabily eee 
Hide Albert from thee? ‘Teil and painful 


And long imprisonment in 





OSORIO 





Could recompase this miserable heart, 
‘Or make it capable of one brief joy. 
Live ! live!—why yes! “were well to 
live with you— 
For is it fit 4 villain should be proud? aso 
My brother! Twill kneel to you, my 
brother ! 
[Proms Almself at Atamnt’s feet. 
Forgive me, Albert !—Curse me with for- 


giveness ! 

Alert, Call back thy soul, my brother ! 
and look round thes, 

Now is thetie for grenimess. Think that 


leaven—$ 
Maria 0 tack Mis eye! he hears not 
‘what you say. 
Osorio {pointing at wacaney), Yes, mark 
his eye | there's fascination in it. 
Thou suidM thou didst not know him. 
‘That is het 
He comes upon me ! 
Allert (lifting his eye to heaven). Heal, 
© heal him, Heaven ! 
Ovwrie, Nearer and nearer! 
cannot stir! 
Will no one hear these stifled groans, and 
wake me? 260 
He would have died to save me, and I 
kill’ him— 
A husband and a father! 
Meria, Some sceret poison 


And I 


p 

Osorio there reotating himself), Let 
the eternal Justice = 

Prepare sy; ualthment fn the obscure 


E will not bear to live—to live ! O agony! 
And be myself alone, my own sore tor- 
ment! 

[The doors of the dungeon are burst 
open with « crash. ALHADRA, 
sears, and the Sand of 

‘Morescoes enter. 
bd inde (ie (solating at Osorio). Seize first 


i ‘The Moors press round, 
Albert (rushing in emong them). Draw 
thy |, Manrios | and defend 
my brother, 
[A seupte, during which they dis- 
arm Mavaice. 
1 have flung 


away iny sword. 
Woman, my life is thine ! to thee T give it. 





Off! he that touches me with his hand of 
flesh, 271 

T'll rend his limbs asunder! T have strength 

this bare arm to seatter you ke 

ashes 1 

Athadrs. My husband— 

‘Osorio, Yes! I murder’d him most foully. 

Albert (throws himself on the earth). O 


horrible t 
Athadra. Why didst thou leave his 

children ? 
Demon | thot shouldst have sent thy dogs 


hell 
‘To lap their blood. ‘Then, then, 1 might 
have harden'd 


My soul in misery, and have had comfort. 

T would have stood far off, quiet tho’ dark, 

And bade the rice of men niive up 
mourning 

For the deep horror of « desolation 

“Too great to be one soul's particular lot ! 

Brother of Zagri ! let me lean upon thee. 
[Struggling to suppress her anguish. 

‘The time is not yet come for woman's 

anguish— 
1 have not seen his blood. Within an 


our 
‘Those little ones will crowd around and 


ask me, 
Where is our father? 
[Looks af Osorio, 
shall curse thee then | 
Wert thou in heaven, my curse would 
pluck thee thence. 
Maria. See—sce! he doth repent. 1 
kneel to thee. 
Be merciful ! 
[MARIA dacels f0 ber. ALitaDRA 
regards her face wistfully. 
Atkadre. ‘Thon att young and innocent; 
“Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet T will 


not. 291 
‘And for thy sake none of this house shall 
peristy, 
Save only he, 
Maria, ‘That aged man, his father ! 
Athadra (sternly). Why bad he such a 
son? 
[The Moors preston. 
Maria (still Anecling, amd wild with 
afright). Yet spare his life 1 
Te must not murder him ! 
Albadra. And fs it then 
An enviable lot to waste away 





sta 


APPENDIX E 





With inward wounds, and like the spirit of 
chaos 


qd 
‘To wander oa disquietly thro’ the earth, 
Crsing, all lovely, things? v0, let him 


asec ace pron 
Wit the bond oxy om Ns mercy! no 
! 


mercy 509 
[Naomi advances with the seord 
‘Why 


Oserie (with great majesty| O woman ! 
1 have stood sileot Eke a slave! before 


thee, 
That { might taste the wormrmood and the 


And satiate this self-accusing spirit 
‘Wak binterer agonies than death can give. 
[The Moors gather rownd him im 2 
crewed, and fuss off the stage, 
DES, 11. ‘worm’ has the place of slave,’ 


Regandiess of his own life, makes Sint 
(the oppressors. Keer | 


mo 
Deopaiting, Dut not palsied 
‘This arm should shake the se 


world ; 

| “The deep foundatlans of iniquity 

Should sink away, earth grossing fom 
beneath them ; 

‘The strongholds of the crue me dl 

‘Their temples and their mountalnoas ores 
should fail ; 

‘Till desolation seem’d = beautiful 


And alf that were and bad the spect of ie 
‘Sang a new song to him who bad poor 
forth ef) 


‘Conquering and still to conquer f 





THE ZND 


APPENDIX E 


THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT 
MARINER 


AS IT FIRST APPEARED IN THE Lrxscar. 
BALLADS, 17OB—WITH THE CHANGES 
MADE IN TIKE SECOND EDITION (1800) 
SHEWN IN THE Yoor-NoTiEs, 


[The poem was greatly altered on its reappears 
ance in ifoo, The tithe was changed to ' Thue 
Axciext Maxivan, A Port's Keven’; and 
the ' Argument’ to the following :— 


“How a Ship baving fint mailed 10 tho 
Equator, was driven by Storms, to the cold 

‘ountry towards the South Pole; how the 
‘Ancieat Mariner, cruelly, and in contempt of 
the laws of hospitality, killed a Sea-bird ; 
fad how he was followed by many stmnge 
Judgements: and in what manner be eame 
back to his own Country." 


Sal 
phrases) ‘A ncpent “becea'AP 
cient"; “me breathy me motion (ine x12} mame 
* soithonten xh 


Most of the extreme 


in the foot-notes. Em.) 


THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT 
MARINERE. 


IN SEVEN PARTS 


ARGUMENT 


Howa Ship having gassed the Line was ddves 
‘Uy Storms to the cold Country towards the Seat 
| Pole; and how from thence ste made har cone 








t 


THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE 





to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific 
‘Ocean ; and of the strange things that befell ; 
‘and in what manner the Aneyent Marinere came 
‘back to his own Country: 


Thos an ancyent Mi 
Aut iescogpek cue of rest 


" By thy long grey beard and thy glittering 
“Now wherefore stoppest me? 


' ‘The Bridegroom’s doors are open’d wide, | 

“And Tam next of kin ; 

“The Guests are met, the Feast is set, — 
* May’st bear the merry din, 


But stilt he holds the wedding-guest— 
‘There was a Ship, quoth he— 10 | 
‘Nay, iCthou‘at got laughsome tale, 
* Marinere | come with me. 


Me holds him with his skinny hand, 
‘Quoth he, there was a Ship— 
sNow get thee hence, thou grey-beard 


Loon | 
Or my Staff shall make thee skip. 
He holds him with his glittering eye— 
‘The wedding guest stood stil 


And listens like a three year's child ; 
‘The Marinere hath his will 


‘The wedding guest sate on a stane, 
‘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— 
Merrily did we deo} 


Below th Kick, below the Hil, 
Below the Light-house top. 


‘The Sun came up upon the left, 
‘Out of the Sea came he : 

‘Aod the shone bright, and on the right” 
‘Went down into the Sex. 


inet mon 
‘the mast at noon— 
The wedding-guest 
For he heard the loud bassoon. 


‘The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall, 
Red as a rose is she ; 


c 


eer 


Nodding their heads before her goes 
‘The merry Minstralsy. 


‘The wedding-guest he beat his breast, 
‘Yet he cannot chuse but hear: 

And thus spake on that ancyent Man, 
‘The brightweyed Mariners, 


Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, 
A Wind and Tempest strong! 
| For days and weeks it play'd us freaks— 
Like Chaff we drove along, 


40 


Listen, Stranger | 
And it grew wond'rous cauld : 

And Ice mast-high came floating by 
As green as Emerauld. 


‘Mist and Snow, 


And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen ; 

Ne ahapes of men ne beasts we ken— 
The Toe was all between, 


‘The Ice was here, the Ice was there, 
‘The Ice was all around : 


Like noises of a swound,? 


At length did cross an Albatross, 
Thorough the Fog it came ; 
And an it were a Christian soul, 
 hall'd it in God's name. 


‘The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, #~ 
‘And round and round it flew: 

‘The Lee did split with a Thunder-fit, 
‘The Helmaman steer'd us thro’, 


And a good south-wind sprung up foes 
‘The Albatross did follow ; 

‘And every day for food or play, 
‘Came to the Marinere’s holla { 


‘th goon 
But now the Northwind came more berce, 
‘There came « Tempest strong! | 
And Southward sll for dnys and weeks) 
Like chaff we drove along. 


And now there came both Mist and Snow 
And it grew wondrous cold = 


2 Léa Awild and ceaseless sound, 
(Unis test of 1798 was afterwards restored.) 


2b 





dhe 








THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE 





With fae unslack’a, with black tips 


ame Jaugh, ne wall = 160 
Then while thro’ drouth, all dumb they 


suck'd the bleed 
sail ! a sail ! 


stood, 
1 bit my amt ai 
And ery'd, 


With threat unslack'd, with black lips 
tak'd, 


Agape they hear'd me call 
Gramercy ! they for joy did grin 
And all at once thelr breath drew in 

‘As they were drinking all, 


‘She doth not tack from sie to side— 
Hither to work ox weal 

Withouten wind, withouten tide, 
‘Sho ateddies with upright keel. 


160 


‘The western wave was all a flame, 
‘The day was well nigh done ! 

Almest upon the western wave 
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! (thoughe I, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast abe nieres and neres ! 

‘Are those Ser Sails that glance in the Sun 
Like restless gossameres ? 


Are those Aer naked ribs, which fleck’d? 
‘The sun that did behind them peer ? 
And are those two all, all the erew, 
That woman and her fleshless Phoere? 180 


His bones were black with many a crack, 
black and bare, T woen ; 
Jet-black and bare, save where with rust 
‘Of mouldy dansps and. charnel crust 
‘They're pateh'd with purple and green. 


41h azpaBa 
Are thove Aer Rils, thro’ which the Sun 


“That Woman, wed her Dare? 


Her tips aze red, her looks axe free, 
Her are as gold: 

Her skin is as white as leprosy, 

[And she & far liker Death than the 
Her flesh muakes the still air cold 


‘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 
And whistled thro’ his bones ; 
Thre’ the holes of his eyes and the hole of 


Half. hinds and half-groans. 


With never a whisper in the Sea 
Ol darts thy Sica 
While clombe above the Eastern bar 
The homed Moon, with one bright Star 
Almost atweon the tips, 


One after one by the horned Moon 

| (Listen, O Stranger F 10 me) io 

Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang 
And curs'd me with his oc, 


200 


= 





Four times fifty living men, 


‘With_never a sigh o1 
‘With Banny Thump, a ees famp, "aro 
‘They dropp’d down ane by one. 


‘Their souls did from their bodies fly, — 
‘They fled to bliss oF woe 
And every soul it pass’d me by, 
| Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.’ 


| w 


“1 fear thee, ancyent Marinere } 
“T feas thy skinny hand ; 
+ Andi thou art Jong, and lank, end trewa, 
* 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 ; 
And Christ would take no pity on 
‘My soul in agony. 


ae 








THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE Siz 


“The song wind reach the ship imac 
iropp'd down, like a 1 330 
Beneail fee Rghmnog and moon 

"The dead men gave a groan, 


‘They groan’d, they stirr’d, thoy all uprose, 
Ne spake, he mov'd their eyes : 

It had been strange, even in a dream 
‘To have seen thave dead men rise. 


‘The helmsman steer’d, the ship mov'd on ; 
Yet never a breeze up-blew ; 
‘The Matneres sl 'gan Work the topes, 
‘Where they were wont todo: "330 
is'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 pall'd at one rope, 
he said to me— 
And T quai’ to think of my own voice} ) 
How frightful it would be ! 


+ ‘The derslight. damr!a— they dropp'd their 


‘And cheste?4 round the mast 340 
Sweet sounds rose slowly thro’ their mouths 
‘And from their bodies pass'd, 


Around, around, flew cach sweet sound, 
‘Then darted to the sun : 

Slowly the sounds came back again 
‘Now mix’d, now one by ane. 


Sometimes a dropping from the sky, 
IT 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 isan angel's song 
‘That makes the heavens be mute. 


It ceas’d : yet still the sails made on 
‘pleasant noise till noon, 
A hoise liko of a hidden brook 
month of Jane, 
ing woods all night 
Singeth a quict tune. 


¥ Th 337) 398 omitted. 


N48. Scottickh Qo Lard. 


360 








Listen, © listen, thou Wedding-guest !? 
*Marinere! thou bast thy will : 
* Por that, which comes out of thine eye, 
doth make 
* My body and soul to be still.’ 


Never sadder tale was told 
Toa man of woman born ; 

‘Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest ? 
‘Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn, 


Never sadder tale was heard 
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 ; 
‘Thought L. Tam as thin a 
‘They cannot me behold. 


‘Till noon we silently sail'd on, « 
‘Yet never a broese did breathe = 

Slowly and smoothly went the ship 
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. 

‘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 ; 

Bat in s minute she "gan stir 
With a short uneasy motion— 

Packwards and forwards half her length 
With a short uneasy motion. 


gto 


390 


‘Then, like a pawing horse let go, 
‘She made a sudden bound : 

It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell into a swound. 


How long in that same fit flay, 
T have not to declare ; 

Rut ere my living life return'd, 

T 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 cress, 

‘With his cruel ow he lay'd full tow: 
“The harmless ATbatross, 


1 962-977. These four stanmas omitted. 


awe 





APPENDIX E 


‘The spint who ‘bideth by himsedf {could not draw my een from their: 
“te thee lama of mist amt snow, ‘Ne turn them up to pray. 

He low'd the tend thar lew'd the rman 
"Whe shot hise wih his bow. ato | Anes eos.) 


‘The other was 2 softer voice, oa aw 
As soft as honeydew - ‘Of what might else be seen. 
(Quote be the man hath penance dome, 

“And penance mare «i da 


= 
Fast Yorn 


Bug teil soe, eel se | pend agi 
“Thy soft sepome cenewing— 

~ Whar makes that sbtip dirve om a> fast? 
Wir is the Geen deumg ? 


Secosp Vor, 
. Ir res my hair, tana my ak 
‘Silt as 2 Shave beetoee his Lorch Like a meadow-gale of 


+The Quam hati no biter 


Bis grou Srght oye most sientiy 
“Up te the moon & =u 


Tbe may know which exp to 

* Bor she grades him amouth or grim 
‘See, brother. see! how gmoney 
*Sbe locket down oo 


esr Voce 

“But way drives am that ship-so fee 
Whioaen wave or wind * 
Seasp Vor 
“Theat & ce away ete, 
Amt Goses fee Dect 


Fly, Grother ay! more Sagi. more Sgt 
‘Or ee shall be bein 

Sur dew amt sow tier ap wil ge 
Wren the Manners = taser 3 teemd 





Townke, amd we were satin oe 
Meas Sue weer 
Dee night cole sight, the mou ea 





L 


THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE 


T tum'd my head in fear and dread, 
‘And by the holy rood, 

The bodies had advane’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 but like a torch, 
‘A torch that's borne upright. 
‘Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on 
In the red and smoky light. 


1 pray’d and turn'd my head away 
Forth looking as before. 

‘There was no breeze upon the bay, 
No wave against the shore, 


“The rock shone bright, the kirk no Tess 
‘That stands above the rock + 

The moonlight stoepd in silentness 
“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. 


A little distance from the prow 
‘Those crimson shadows were : 

1 wuen'd my eyes upon the deck— 
O Christ | what saw I there? 


Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat ; 
‘And by the Holy rood, 

‘A man all ight, a seraph-m 
‘On every cone 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, 
Like music. on my heart. 


500 


510 


‘And I saw a boat appear. 


‘Then vanish'd all the lovely lights :? 
‘The bodies rose anew : 


211 syresy6. ‘This stanza omitted, 





With silent pace, cach to his plice, 
Came back the ghastly crew, 

‘The wind, that shade nor motion made, 
‘On me alone it blew. 


The pilot, and the pilot's boy 
T heard them coming fast = 

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy, 
“The dead men could not blast, 


Tsaw 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: 
The Albatross’s blood. 


540 


vu 


This Hermit good lives in that wood 
Which slopes down to the Se. 

How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 

He loves to talk with Marineres 
‘That come from a far Contrée, 


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. 


‘The Skiff-boat ne'rd : I heard them talk, 
“Why, this is strange, 1 traw ! 

‘Where are those lights so many and fair 
‘That signal made but now?” 


“Strange, by my faith | the Hermit sid — 
“And they answer'd not our cheer, 561 
“The planks look warp'd, and see those 
sails 
‘How thin they are and sere! 
“Lnever saw anght like to them 
* Unless perchance it were 


* The skeletons of leaves that lag 
* My forest-brook slong : 

“When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 

* And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below 
“That eats the she-wolf’s young. 570 


"Dear Lord ! it has a fiendish look— = * 
(The Pilot made reply) 

“1am afear'd-—* Push on, push on ! 
*Said the Hermit cheerity. 


‘The Boat came closer to the Ship, 
But I-ne spake ne stirr’d ! 

‘The Beat came close beneath the Ship, 
‘And strait a sound was heard { 


55° 





520 


APPENDIX E 





Under the water it rumbled on, 
Sull louder and more dread = 

it yeach’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 : 
Lake one that had been seven days deown'd 
‘My body lay : 
Bat, swift a dreams, myself T found 
ithin the Pilot's beat, 


Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship, 
“Phe boat spun round and round : 

And ail was still, save that the bill 
Was telling of the sound. 


1 mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek’ 
And fell down in a fit, 

‘The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes 

And pray’d where he did sit, 


T took the oars: the Pilot's bor, 
Who now doth crazy £0, 

Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while 
His eyes went t0 and fro, 

‘Hat ha 1" quoth be— full plain 1 see, 
“The devil knows herr to row,’ 


59° 


And now all is ming owe Countrée 
I stood on the feem land | 

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, 
And scarcely be could stand, 


© shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man ! 
‘The Hermit eross‘d his brow— 
“Say quick," quoth he, 'T bid thee say 


* What manner, man art thou? 610 


Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench’d 
‘With a woeful agony, 

Which fore’d mo to begin my tale 
And then it left me free. 


Since then at an uncertain hour,” 
Now oftimes and now fewer, 


1 Ih Grg6x8. 
Since then at an uncertain hoor 
‘Thok agony returns; 
‘And till my ghastly tale is toh! 
This heart within me barre. 
(Az in later editions.) 





| 

‘The Marinere, whose eye 
Whose beard ith age! hoar, 
Is gone; and now the wedding-guest 

Turn'd from the bridegroom's door. 


‘That angaish comes and snakes met) 
My ghastly aventure. 


T pass, like might, froms land to land; 
T have strange power of speech; a 
‘The moment that his fice F see 
T know the man that mist bear se 
“To hina my tale I teach. 


singing are : 
And hark the little Vesper bell 
‘Which biddeth me to prayer, 


© Wecking est! this soul abn 


So Jonely ‘twas, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 


O sweeter than the Marriage-feast, 
“Tis sweeter far to me 

‘To walk together to the Kick 
With a goody company. 


To walk together — the Liss 
And all 


He prayeth best who loveth best, 
All things both great and small = 

For the dear God, who loveth as, 
He made and toveth all, 


is bright, 


be 


He went, like one that hath been stunn'd 
And is of sense foriorn = 

A sadder and a wiser man 
He rose the morrow morn. 


6s 





APPENDIX F 


sat 


SS 


APPENDIX F 


‘BLANC, THE SUMMIT OF 
"THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY, AN 
HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE—AN 


Lady Beaumont, 


SAR Set to iret el 


East thou a charm to stay the morning 
far 
Eq his steep course? So long he seems to 


Dossy brie kyon bck r 
! transpicuous, 
‘black, 


Seen re Bow no Swe are tat nog to 








‘And thou, thou slent mountain, lone and 
re! 
© stewgging, with the darkness all. the 


And ste at night by troops of stars, 

Or hiring! climb the sky, or when es 
si 

Cacia ok tee wienag eee RE eee 

‘Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 

Co-herald—wake, oh woke, and utter 
praise! 

‘Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? 

Who fill'd Lager gece a rosy, Nght? 

Who made thee father of perpetual 
streams ? 


And you, ye five wild torrents, flercly 
dt 
i calf pos forth ropa Beh and une 


Fin) Garkoels lat 0 [bles et EO 
Down those precipitous, black Jagged 


Fe eae ee ete 
Who gare you your invulnerable life, 
‘Your strength, your speed, your fury, and 


your joy, 5 
Eternal thunder and unceasing foam > 
And who commanded, and the silence 


came— 
Here shall your biflows stiffen and have 
rest? 


‘Ye ice-falis! ye that from the mountain's 
brow 


Adinon enormous ravines steeply slopes? 
‘Torrents methinks, that heard mighty 


at once amid their maddest 


11 had writen = such fine line when Sex 
Fell was in my thoughts, vie. 
1 blacker than the darkness all the night, 


And visited, etc. 
2:4 bad fine; ba Uhope to be able to alter it 


voice 
And stopp'd 





APPENDIX G 


Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts! 50 
Who made you glorious, as the gates of 
heaven, 


n, 
Beneath the ee fall moon? Who bade 


the st 
Clothe te eit rainbows? Who with 


Ortiving blue spread pee at your feet? 

Ye azure flowers, that skirt the cternal frost! 

Ye wild-goats bounding by the eagle's 
nest ! 

Ye cagles, playmates of the mountain 
storm | 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the 
clouds ! 


' The Geutiams major grows in large come 
panles a stride's distance from the foot of several 
of the glaciers. Its diwe Mower, the calour of 
Hope ; isit not a pretty emblem of Hope creep- 
ing onward even to the edge of the grave, to the 
very venge of utter desolation? 


‘Yo signs and wonders of the eemest— 

‘Utter forth, God 1 fee fla 
praise t 

‘48d toa, thon alent mountain, Joe af 

Whom as T it again my Read, toile 

In adoration, I again behold ! 

And to thy summit upward from thy hae 

Sep ee dima eyes suBased vit 
tears 

Rise, mighty form ! even as thea aewit 
to rise 

Rise, like a cloud of incense, hom the 
earth f 


‘Thou kiny throned among the Bk, 
Thea dtd ambasseior foe 


APPENDIX G 


DEJECTION: AN ODE 


‘The following fx an exact copy of the poem 
as first printed, in the Morming Post, Oct. 4, 


Lave, late yestreen 1 saw the new Moon, 
With the old Mooo in her ams; 
And 1 fear, 1 fear, my Master dear, 
We shall have a deadly st 
Batean ov Sim Parmick Sresce. 
DEJECTION 
AN ODE, WRITTEN APRIL 4, 
1 


Wei! If the Bard was weather -wise, 
who made 
‘The grand Old ballad of Sik Paraxex 
Spence, 
‘This night, so tranquil now, will not go 
hence 


1802 


Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade | 





‘Than thove, which mould yon cloud in tury 
Or the dull sobbing draft, that drones and 


Upon the strings of this Aotian late, 
Which better far were mute, . 
Foro! the Now Moo winter gh 
a ae Pe prlin ae to 
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread, 
But rimm'd and circled by a silver thera) 
I sce the Old Moon in her lap. 

‘The coming os of rain and squally blast: 
at Oa eee 


And te (Sst nig show’ ing 


‘Those comet ate have rais’d ie 
whilst they aw'd, 

And sent my soa abroad, 

Might ror ea their wonted impoise 


Might Sarah this dull pain, and noe 
move and live f 





APPENDIX G 


523 





o 
Sper wihon &@ pang, void, dark, and 


mood, 
“Tooter thoughts by: throstle woo'd, 
Alllthis tong eve, so. + 
Have I been gazing on the Western sky, 
And its peculiar tint of ¢ 


dH vn cloudless, Take of blue, 
Dea boat becaintd t x lovely i 
1 sce them all sa « 
I see, not feet how beautiful they are ! 
ut 
fa 
wee these avail, 3 
ee 





Of all sweet sounds the life and element ! 
© pure of heart! "Thow neest not ask of 


What inarecgrabinteeeteee tat 
What, and wherein it doth exist, 
‘Ts igh, his tory hla fair luminous 


‘This benutifal ‘and beauty.making power: 
Joy, virtuous EpMUND ! joy that ne'er 
was given, 


‘Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, 
Joy, Epmuxn | is the spirit and the pow'r, 
Which wedding Nature to us gives in 


dow'r, 
A new Earth and new Heaven, 
Undream’d of by the sensual and the 


proud— 7o 
Jov is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous 

dloud— 

‘We, we ourselves rejoice ! 

And thenoe flows all hat charms or eur Br 

sight, 

lies the echoes of that voice, 

‘All colours a suffusion from that light. 


v 


‘Yes, dearest EDMUND, yes 
‘There was Sie Wa Goon pet Wal 


This joy within me dallied with distress, 
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff 
Daphne wn tal tin 


80 
For hope re round me; ke the wining 


And rls, an foliage, not my own, seemed 
mine. 
But now afflictions bow me down to enrth = 
Nor care I, that they rob me of my mirth, 
But oh ! each visitation 


‘Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 
My shaping spirit of Imagination, 
[The Sixth and Seventh Stanzas omitted. } 
* . . 


. . . . 


we 
O wherefore did I Jet it haunt my mind 
‘This dark distressful dream ? 
1 tum from It, and listen to the wind 90 


Which long has rav'd unnotie'd. What 
a scream 


APPENDIX H 








APPENDIX H 


TO A GENTLEMAN 
[Witas Worpsworth) 


‘COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS KE- 
CITATION OF A POEM ON THE GROWTH 
OF AN INDIVIDUAL MIND (p. 176). 


The Sas it ween of els posi 
= George Beaumont in 
Teeny beg | See Caleorton Letters, edited 


wy 
Prosar Win. Kalght, vy wl pas 


TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 


SOMPOSED FOR THE GREATER PART ON 
“THE SAME NIGHT AFTER THE FINISHING 


‘OW MIS RECITATION Ov THE PoKM IN 
: a 





as light bestow'd ! 








Se a a 
‘Hyblean murmurs of poetic thought 
setae bss hor rele ee 
‘Native or outland, lakes and famous hills! 
Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars 
Were rising ; o by secret mountain. 

guides 


-streams, 
‘The guides and the companions of thy way 


the burst 
Of Heat's iamedite thunder, when to 


Is visible, or shadow on the main ! 
ot o's there, thy own brows gar- 


down, 
‘So summon’d homeward ; thenceforth calm 
and sure, 4 
As from the watch-tower of man's absolute 


With ight’ Cie ‘on her eyes, to look 

Far on—h to behold, 

‘The Angelof the V 1 ‘Then (last strain) 
Of Duty, chosen laws controlling 

Action and Orphic tale indeed, 

‘Atale divine high and passionate thoughts 


° 
Fo yet the last stain dying md the ay 
With steadfast eyes Isa thee in the 
of ever-enduring men. 


space 
‘Shod influence : for they, both powerand act, 
Are permanent, and Time is not with them, 


i 








Save as it worketh for them, they in it, 
Nor less a sacred roll, than those of old, 
And to be placed, a3 they, with gradual fare 
Among the archives of mankind, thy work 
Makes audible a linkéd song of Truth— 
‘Of Truth profound a sweet continuous song, 
Not learnt, but native, her own natural 
notes ! 6x 
Dear shall it be to every human heart, 
To me teed more than dearest! me, on 
whom 
cael aoe thee, and utterance of thy 


Canis ch heights and depths of har- 
mony 

Soch sense of wings uplifting, that is might 

Seatter'd and quell'd we, till my thoughts 
became 

A bodily tumult ; and thy faithful hopes, 

“Thy hopes of me, dear Friend, by me unfelt 

Were troublous to me, almost as a voice, 

Familiar once, and more than musical ; 

As m dear woman's voice to one cast forth, 

A wanderer with a worn-out heart forlom, 

Midstrangers pining with untended wounds, 

© Friend, too well thou know’st, of ia 
sad years 

‘Thelong suppressionhail benumb’dmysoub 

That, even as life returns upon the drown'd, 

The unusual joy awoke a throng of pairs— 

Keen pangs of Love, awakening, asa babe 

‘Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart ! 

And fears seif-will'd, that shunn'd the bs 
of Hope 

And Hope that, scarce would. know ise 
from Fear ; 

Sense of past youth, and manhood come 
in vain, 

And genius given, and knowledge won in 
vain ; 

And all, which 1 had cull'd in wood-walks 


wild, 

And all which patient toll bad rear'd, and 
all 

Commune with Tits had open'd out—but 
flowers 

Suew'd on my corse, and borne upon my 


ier, 
In the same coffin, for the self-same grave ! 


‘That “way no more !—and ill beseems 
it me, 5° 
Who came a welcomer, in heralds guise, 
Singing of glory and futurity, 





Descems triumphal eras 

‘Strew'd before thy advancing ! Thos toa, 
ath of that heer 

‘Impair not thou the memory 

OF iy coemacblOk Wie aka 


pity oF already felt 100 leag! 
Sofi nds ier more at 


necds, 
‘The tumult rove and cea’ epee 


Where Wisdom’s voice has found a fev ning 
heart, 


Amid the howl of more than wistey storm, 
‘The haleyan bears the voice of vernal how 


{ 
In silence lstening, tke « devout eld 
My soul lay passive; by the varies sa® 


And when 0 Friend! my como 
song inet and powerful to gi? 


Thy k finality dos, 
And ce inl eng ly im 


err myo ndash 
‘That vision of beloved fee— 

(All whom, I deeplion love-—ia Yo 
Scarce a Beyer ee 


1 sat, ey Oolny eee 
(Thought was ik? or protetey nn 


Amos yee taegng st open oe 


sand when 1 Sone ted ua SR 
Janwary ito. So. Couempce 








APPENDIX I 


g 





APPENDIX 1 


APOLOGETIC PREFACE TO ‘FIRE, 
FAMINE, te Hype 
ip 121 


Ar the house of a gentleman? who by the 
and corresponding virtues of a 





A! 
i 


ERERES SE 
ah 
illite 
tee 
Ftd 4 
fea 


zt 
i 


| 
H 
| 
i 
' 


i 
I 











firm and active Anti-Jacobin and Anti- 
Gallican, but likewise a zealous admirer of 
‘Mr, Pitt, both as a good man and a great 
statesman, As 


he recited it; and in a 
it evident that be would and 
peated it with the same pleasure had bis 
‘own name been attached to the imaginary 


of mind enough to take up the subject with- 
Out exsing even a suspicion how neatly 


painfully it interested me, 

‘Whaat follows is the same as 
1 then replied, but dilated and in language 
Jess colloquial. It was not my intention, 
T sald, to justify the publication, whatever 
its author's might have been at the 


of such poems, ‘Their moral deformity is 
aggravated in proportion to the pleasure 
which they are capable of affording to vin- 


that the author seriously 
had thus wildly imagined, even the attempt 
to palliate an inhumanity so monstrous 
would be an insult to the hearers, But it 
seemed to me worthy of consideration, 
whether the mood of mind and the general 
state of sensations in which a poet produces 
such vivid and fantastic images, is likely to 
co-exist, or is even compatible, with that 


APPENDIX I 





ference, 
which it cannot leave without losing its vital 
element. 

‘There is a second character of such ima- 
ginary representations as spring from areal 
and earnest desire of evil to another, which 


we often see im real life, and might even | 


anticipate from the nature of the mind. 
‘The images, 1 mean, that a vindictive man 
places before his imagination, will most 
often be takes from the realities of life: 
they will be images of pain and suffering 
which he has himself seen inflicted on other 
men, and which he can fancy himself as 
inflicting on the object of his hatred. 
will suppose that we had heard at different 
times two common sailors, each speaking 
of some one who had wronged or offended 
him : that the first with apparent violence 
had devoted every part of his adversary's 
body and soul to all the horrid phantoms 





te 
til is 


nny 
iy 


——'0 be thou damn’, inenomse doa 
‘Ard for thy te et Jotles be acemsedt” 





APPENDIX I 





for a moment 


the cause of vice and misery to their fellow- 





G 
: 
: 
z 
' 
; 


conchision, 1 fully believe, would be, that 
ipaprantiagerieel canis tiny eegted 

and active # that 
had painted to himself the circumstances 
‘war in so many vivid and 
forms, ns proved that neither 
‘the images nor the feelings were the result 
‘of observation, or in any way derived from 
on Pepe lit igst titel 
product. ‘own ‘imagina- 
and therefore with that 
bie exuiltation whieh is experienced 
‘energetic exertion of intellectual 
ver; that in the same mood he had 
‘the canses of the war, and then 
tho abstract and christened it 
which he had been accustomed 
to hear most ofte ew os en 
measures. 1 should guess 
‘in the author's mind 

c 





reon's grasshopper, and that he had as 


*Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb,” 


as Milton had in the grim and terrible 
toms (half person, half allegory) which 
has placed at the gates of Hell, 

concluded by observing, that the poem was 


tion, in the allusion to the most fearful of 
thoughts, I should conjecture that the 
‘rantin’ Bardie,’ instead of really beliew- 


ing the verdict even on the Devil himself, 
and exclaim with poor Burns, 


But fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben t 
‘Oh! wad ye take a thought an" men’ ! 
‘Ye aiblins might—t dinna ken— 
Suill hae a stake— 
I'm wae to think upon you den, 
Evin for your sake t 
T need not say that these thoughts, which 
are here dilated, were in such a 


530 


APPENDIX I 





have been more ready, had Mr. 
person been in |, to interpose 
own body, and defend his life at the 
of my own. 


Pitt's 


T have prefaced the poeen with this anec- 
dote, becruse to have printed it without 
ony remark might well have been under- 
stood as implying an unconditional appro: 
bation oa my part, and this after many 
years’ consideration. But if it be asked 
why Lre-pubtished ft at all, I answer, that 
the poem had een attributed at different 
times to different other persons; and what I 
had dared beget, I thought it neither manly 
nor honowrable not to dare fatber, From 
the same motives I should have published 
perfect copies of two pooms, the one em- 
Ualed The Devil's Thoughts, and the other, 
The Tow Round Spaces ow the Tombstone, 
but that the three first stanzas of the for- 
mer, which were worth all the rest of the 
poem, and the best stanza of the remain- 
der, were written by a friend [Southey) of 
deserved celebrity ; and because there are 
passages in both which might have given 
offence to the religious feclings of certain 

I myself indeed sce no reason 
why vulgar superstitions and absurd con- 
ceptions that deform the pure faith of a 
Christian should possess a greater im- 
munity from ridicule than stories of witches, 
or the fables of Greece and Rome, But 
there are those who deem it profancness 
and irreverence to call an ape an ape, if it 
but wear a monk's cowl om its head ; and 
L would rather reason with this weakness 
than offend it, 

The passage from Jeremy Taylor to 
which I referred is found in his second 
Sermon on Christ's Advent to Judgment ; 
which Is likewise the second in his year's 
course of sermons. Among many re- 
markable passages of the same character 
in those discourses, I have selected this as 
the most so,‘ But when this Lion of the 
tribe of Judah shall appear, then Justice 
shall strike, and Mercy shall not hold her 
hands ; she shall strike sore strokes, and 
Pity shall not break the blow. As there 
are treasures of good things, so hath God 
4 treasure of wrath and fury, and scourges 
and scorpions ; and then shall be produced 
the shame of Lust and the malice of Envy, 





this time the monsters and disnisns wi be 
and i when Gots 


ejpiite 


i 


% 
a 


iil 


obi 
el 


E 


: 


works, 30 


F 
i 


in 


rid 
® 


wristen in te 
fervour of his youthfel imagination, ja 
high poetic strain, that wanted metre calf 








APPENDIX I 


531 








z truce 
and ‘abuse the and 
entrusted to them, to Iie res 
Iisery and slavery, on het 
country, on ‘wery count at 
tn iced ad Hone hem. 
miele babes ol Sle. 

‘ll good and humane men must 

: takes for granted 

" with a punish- 
SeReetatidccete una c reculance, us 
than other wicked men, as 

and its: were more 


52 
ce 






i 





worded historically, or only hypothetically ? 
Assuredly the latter! Does he express it 
usin own wih tat after death they should 


misery on others ! 
refer to any persons living or dead? No! 
But the calumniators of Milton daresay (for 


he had Laud and his mind, 
while writing of ion, 
the enslavement of a free country from 


t 
iW 
er 


i fF 
teal el 
a pane 
& gece 
ln te BF 
hushbthieies 


be 





APPENDIX I 


ligious duty; that Bishops of our 
were 


y know the 1 
t, but who sec in st the greatest, 
sole safe Sufmwert of Toleration, 














APPENDIX J 





APPENDIX J 


ALLEGORIC VISION 

This first appeared 28 part of the ‘Introduce 
tion’ to A Lay-Saxson, AvoeSED TO THE 
Hiauex asp Mipote Cass, on 71x exter 
tno Distassses axp Discowrents. By & T. 
Coleridge, Eoq. London: 1827. ‘Ithas been rey 
purpose thromghour the following discourse 10 
guard myself and my readers from extremes of 
all kinds = 1 will therefore conclude this Introdiuvc: 
‘ica by infercing the maxim in ita relation to 
‘our religions opinions, cut of which, with or with- 
‘UL our cocscioticeas, all our other opinicns flow, 
‘5 from theie Spring Rom! aed perpetual Feeder. 
And that I might neglect oo innocent mode of 
attracting or relleving the reader's attention, 1 
have moukied my reflections into the following 
Atamoomnc Vision. “The 4ltcqorie Visio waa 
inchaded by Coleridge in the edition of the 
Poem: in ibag, and by H. N. Coleridge fe 
What of v8j4. Since then it has been reprinted 
only with the peose weeks. I have deemed the 
fiunbo of an ‘Appeedix’ its most appropriate 
pace Ea. 


A PRELING of sadness, a pecutiar melans 
choly, is wont to take possession of me alike 
in Spring and in Autumn. But in Spring it 
is the melancholy of Hope: in Autumn it 
is the melancholy of Resignation. As I was 
Journeying on foot through the Appennine, 
1 fell in with a pilgrim in whom the Spring 
and the Autumn and the Melancholy of 
both seemed to have combined. Ia his 
discourse there were the freshness and the 
colours of April 

‘Qual eamicel a ramo, 

‘Tal da pensier pensicro 

To lol germogliava. 
But as I gazed on his whole form and 
figure, I hethought me of the not unlovely 
decays, both of age and of the late season, 
in the stately elm, after the clusters have 
been plucked from its entwining vines, and 

3 Extremes mert/—which Coleridge some- 

where quotes as his favourite proverts—E. 





them to any object oo 
the Ie? It seemed, 


there lay uj the 
presence of disappal 
but never 


seldom do Despair 
first time in the 


Fond Thought! not one of all that abising 


swarea 

Will Qeeathe on thee with like -enkindling 
breath, 

‘Till wheo, like strangers shelt'ring froma storm, 

‘Hope and Despair meet in Ube porch of Death! 
Contec St Aint 





ayy 


ite a Phabe 
thers thre’ the ne 


earmntirfiirt « phaen— 
ning 
inseripti 
soul-withered, and wondering, and 


Sisatiafed, 








vi 
The 


ve 


ai tka 
ack 
secon of Chrivakr | 


replied. From a Visionary 
Vision? Mark that vi 


Z 
Th Hey 


Rit BAt, bro d 


|} From sotme cancelled 





APPENDIX K 


537 
he tatked much and vehemently concemn- thoaah il were alike Loi SMethonghe 


Ing an infinite series of causes and effects? 
which he explained to be—a string of 
blind mea, the last of whom caught hold 
of the skirt of the ano before him, he of the 
next, and so on till they were all out of 
sight; and that they all walked infallibly 


straight, without making one false step, 
1 Compare— 
pa ashlar a 


—and themselves they cheat 
With noisy emptiness of learned phrase, 
‘Their mubthe aids, impacts, emences, 
‘Selfworking tools, uncaused effects, and all 
Those bind omnisclents those almighty slaves, 
Untenanting creation of its Ged, 
Desting of Nations, pm 70—Ewn 





T borrowed courage from surprise, and 
asked him—Who then is at the head to 
guide them? He looked at me with 


for ever without any beginning ; 
although one blind man could not move 
without stumbling, yet infinite blindness 
supplied the want of sight, 1 burst into 
laughter, which instantly turned i terror— 
for = he started forward in mge, I 

a 5 limpse of him from behind ; and 
lo! ‘a monster bi-form and Janus. 
headed, tm the hinder face and shape of 
which I instantly the dread 
countenance of Superstition—and in the 
terror T awoke, 


APPENDIX K 
TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, Ere. 


‘THE FALL oF RowgsrigkRe, An Historic 
By S. T, Coleridge, of Jesus 
College, Cambridge. — Cambridge : 

Printed by Benjamin Flower, for W. 

1. Gann, and J. and J. Merrill; and 

sold |. March, Norwich, 1794. 

{Price One Shilling. ] 

Ortavo, pp. 37. 


will be found among the Notes tothe Poem. ) 


Ports on various subjects, by S, T, Cole- 
ridge, late of Jess College, Cambridge, 


Felix curarumi, cui non Heliconia cordt 
‘Serta, nec imbelles Parnassi e vertice 


Taurus! 
‘Sed viget imgenium, et magnos accinctus in 
vusus 





Fert animus quascunque vices. —Nos tistin 
vitue 
Solamur cantu,—Stat, Si, Lib i 4. 


Loxpox: Printed for G. G. and J. 
Robinsons, and J, Cottle, Bookseller, 
Bristol, 1796. 


Octavo pp. xvi. ; 188 (plus one page of 
*Ermata'). 

PREFACE 
Poems on various subjects ha at 
different times and prompted by 
different fcelings ; but which will be raat 
at one time and under the influence of one 
set of feclings—this is an heavy disadvan- 
tage: for we lave or admire a poct in 
Proportion as he developes our own senti- 
ments and emotions, or reminds us of our 
own knowledge, 

Comy resembling those of the 
present volume are not unfrequently con- 
demned for their querulous egotism. But 
‘egotism is to be condemned then only when 








eS 











TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 539 


Effusion 34, to an Infant 
Effusion 35, written at Clevedon 


S bee 


eee 
Effusion 36, written in Karly Youth 
[Lines on an Autumnal Even. 
Epistles, written at Shurton Bars . 
Epistle 2, to a Friend in answer to a 
Melancholy Letter... 
Epistle 3, written after a Walk 
Epistle 4, to the Author of Poems 
published in Bristol [Cottle] 
Epistle 5 roma Young L (Tm 
Wver Thimble "} 


Reigns ‘Musings. 
At the end, ‘ Notes on Religious Mus- 
ings’ and ‘ Notes’ [on the other poems}. 


ml 
Opt on THE Departinc Year: By S. 
Tr. [Motto from A®sehy/us.] 
Bristol; Printed by N. Biggs, and sold 
by J. Set eras Paternoster Row, Lon- 


6 +6 32 


oe 


Poxss by S, T. Coleridge, Second Edition, 
To which are added Poems by Charles 
Lamb, and Charles Lloyd. 


40 


APPENDIX & 





It is practically a reproduction of the 

omitted opening paragraph.—ED.} 
1 

Ir 1 could judge of others by myself, 1 
desi not hesitate to affirm, that the most 
fsteresting passages in our most interesting: 
Poems are those in which the author de- 
velopes his own feelings. ‘The sweet voice 
of Cona! never sounds so sweetly as when 
it speaks of itself; and I should almost 
sespect that man of an unkindly heart, who 
could read the opening of the third book of 
the Paradise Lost without peculiar emotion, 
By a law of our Nature, he, who labours 
under a strong feeling, is impelled to seek 
for sympathy ; but a Poet's feelings are all 
mrong. Qnieynid amet valde amat, Aken- 
side therefore speaks with philosophical 
accuracy when he classes Love and Poetry, 
as producing the same effects : 

“Lowe and the wish of Posts when their tongue 

‘Would teach to others’ bosoms what se charms 

Their own’—Pleasures of Imagination. 


u 


1 sWAtA. only add that each of my readers 
will, I hope, remember that these poems on 
various subjects, which he reads at one time 
and under the influence of one set of feel. 
ings, were written at different times and 
prompted by very different feelings; and 
therefore that the supposed inferiority of 
‘one poem to another may sometimes be 
‘owing to the temper of mind in which he 
happens to peruse it 


PREFACE TO THE SECOND 
EDITION 
I_RerurN my acknowledgments to the 
different Reviowers for the assistance, which 
they have afforded me, in detecting my 
poetic deficiencies I have endeavoured 
to avail myself of their remarks: one 
third of the former Volume I have omitted, 
and the imperfections of the republished 
part must be considered as errors of taste, 
not faults of carelessness. My poems have 
been rightly charged with a profusion of 
ithets, and a general turgidness. 
I have pruned the double-epithets with no 
sparing hand ; and used my best efforts to 


) Ossian, 





if 


iH 


Lies 
try 


£ 
ial 


with 


i 
i 


i 
i 


igh 


first publication ; but their 
lished ; and acritic would accuse 
of frigidity or inattention, 
fess not to understand them. 
writer is yet sub fudice; and 
follow his conceptions or 
feelings, it is more 

to consider him as 


it 
HHH 


4 


2 
ee 


from my 
which he admires 

him 1 Rave not writen. 
non intellectum adfero. 

1 expect aioe Profit nor general fame 
by my writings ; and J consider myseil st 
having been amply repayed without ote 
Poetry has been to me its own * exconding 
great reward’: it has soothed my fie 
tions; it has multiplied and refim fy 
enjoyments; it has endeared solitude; af 
it has given me the habit of 
discover the Good and the Beastifal fab 
that meets and surrounds me 

‘There were inserted in my former 
tion, a few Sonnets of my Friend 
School-fellow, CHARLES Lat 
now communicated to mem 
lection of all his ; 


He 
rue gui ee 








TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


sar 





STC 


_ [This volume included a *SuPPLEMEN',’ 
Te wlilell Wa preisod the following). 
ADVERTISEMENT 


1 WAVE excepted the following Poems 
from those, which “| 


Thad determined to omit, 











did (and still do) perceive a certain like- 
ness between the twa stories ; but certainly 
not a sufficient one to justify my assertion, 
I feet it my duty, therefore, to apologize to 
the Author and the Public, for this rash- 
ness; and my sense of honesty would not 
have been satisfied by the bare omission of 
the note. No one can see more clearly 
the Mttleness and ft of imagining 
plagiarisms in the works of men of Genius ; 
but nemo omnibus horis sapit; and my 
‘mind, at the time of writing that note, was 
sick and sore with anxiety, and weakened 
through much suffering, I have not the 
most distant knowledge of Mr. Rogers, 
‘and elegant Pot. If 


sonally, they would oblige me by inform- 
ing him that I have expiated a sentence 
of unfounded detraction, by an unsolicited 
and self-originating apology. 

Having from these motives re-admitted 
two, and those the longest of the poems 1 
had omitted, I yielded a passport to the 
three others, which were recommended by 
the greatest number of votes. ‘There are 
some lines too of Lioyd’s and Lamb's in 
this Appendix. ‘had been omitted in 


rightly placed, 
where they will reosive some beauty from 
their vicinity to others much worse, 


CONTENTS 

inl Geter pein ty. TW of poms not 

Porms by S&T. Conrrings feat 
Dedication (to the Rev, Geo. Cole- 





Lines on the * Man of Ross* 

—toa besutiful Sprmg . 

—— on the Death ofa Friend 

Toa Young Lady [with a porm on 
the French Revolatlon] 

‘Toa Friend, with an unfinished Poem 


Sonwers 
Introduction to the Sonnets 
‘To W. L. Bowles . 
On a Discovery made too late’ 
On Hope ['Thou gentle Look] 
To the River Otter : 
On Brockly Comb . 
‘To an Old San {-Sweet Mercy 15]: 
‘Sonnet [* Pale Roamer” 
‘To Schiller A the Author of * ‘The 


Robbers 

On the Birth ee Som | Oft o'er my 
brain,” ete.) . 

On first seeing my Infant (' Charies | 
my slow heart,” etc. 

Ode to Sara [Weitten atShurton Bars] 

esas at Clevedon [' The Eolian 


On eal 2 Place of Residence 
[‘ Low was our pretty Cot") 

On an unfortunate Woman (* Myrtle 
leaf that, ill besped ‘] 

On observing a Blossom . 

The Hour when we shall meet again 

Limes to C. Lloyd 

Religious Musings . 


SUPPLEMENT? 
Advertisement ‘ sat 
Lines to Joseph Cottle . 50 

1 The ‘ Supplement’ wax an intention formed 
as carly as November 1, 179%. Ina letter of that 
date to Thomas Poole, Coleridge, after detailing 
the poems which would form his second edition, 
writes :—'Then another title-page with J weentiin 
on it, and an advertisement signifying that the 
‘poems were retained by the desire of some friends, 
‘but that they are to be considered as being in the 
Author's own opinion of very inferior merit. In 
this sheet will be "Abunce—"La Payette—"Ge- 
nevieve—*Kosciusko—*Autumnal Moon —"To 
the Nightingale—Imitation of 
written in Early Youth (An Autumnal Evening) 
All the others will be finally and eotally omitted.” 
Bios. Lar, Ahng. Swap (0847; lle 377) Ie will 
be observed that the poems I have marked with 





Poem | 


Tle 


Non ita certandi cupidias, quae prope 
amorem 
Quod te iMITARE aveo, LucRET. 
and by the fotlowing :— 
INTRODUCTION TO THE 
SONNETS 


‘Tne composition of the Sonmet has bert 
regulated of Ft 


Ms. Ne by Tela cpp 
of 1797, now in the of Mr. 
Locker.) [Note is edition of sz.) 





a moment- 
Ass ony there 


it tte pac 


Be Zs 
yl 





























i 
y 
é | 
£ 
e 
: 
8 
g 
4 


a 
z 
Hindi 


associated 
com- 


generate a kind of thought hig! 
reece The 


+ deduced from, and 
of Nature Such 


2 





aban? 
of Dante h cree 
righ 


waa Sat 


























TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 





‘Tre Deatn or WaALLENsTEIX, A 
Tragedy in ‘Translated from 


‘TN. Longman and 
noster‘Row, By G. Woodfall, No. 22 
‘Row, 1800, 

Vith this volume was issued the follow- 
a5 general title-page) :-— 
Watruxsrey. A Drama in Two Parts, 
Translated from the German of Frederich 
Schiller by 5, T. Coleridge. Lonpon : 
ered 
-Row, By G. Woodfall, No. 
ga Paternoster-Row. 1800, 

‘Titles; two unpaged leaves; 
3 also, an engraved portrait of 


PREFACES 


will be found with the Plays, inthe 
They were reprinted erdatior in 1828 
ee 1834 some trivial alterations 
ade, probably by H. N. Coleridge.) 


vit 


Poems, by S. T. Coleridge. 
«Statins 
eatin Pmaal te 





‘Motto from. 
Edition, 


In poems 
(tate ci i a te pr 








S45 


in the volumes of 1796 and 1797—with- 


ont any addition, but with the following 
omissions :— 

‘To the Rev. W. J. H. (1 

Sonnet to Koseitisko (1796). 

‘Written after a Walk (1796), 
From a Young Lady [‘ The Silver Thimble") 


(796). 
On the Christening of a Friend's Child 


(1797). 
Introductory Sonnet to 's “Poems on 
the Death of Priscilla Farmer’ (x79). 
‘The half-title prefixed to the ‘Sonnets’ 
in 1797 was omitted, Charles Lamb saw 
this volume the press, Coleridge 
being at the time resident at Greta Hall, 
Keswick. (See Aingor's Letters of C. Lamb, 
i. 199.) 
Vit 
Remorse, A Tragedy in five Acts. By S 
T. Coleridge. 
‘Remorse is as the heart, in which it grows : 
pee sherds it drops balmy dews 
if proud and gloomy, 
isa poboacsc an purecies a dae 


‘Weeps only tears of poison t 
Act t. Scene t 


Lonvon: Printed for W, Pople, 67 
Chancery Lane, +813. Price Three 
Shillings. 


Octavo, pp. xii; 72. 
PREFACE 
‘Tmis Tragedy? was written in the summer 





whose 
peter eres 
treated sacs Recommender, let me 
to relate: that I knew of 
Iv ec esol y athe pasos 
could procure neither answer? nor 


‘i , after | 
ve hepe genders 


rene 


aie Wiseman bite ine fe 





TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


ra 
i 


g 
F 


Fi 


felt or exerted himself more 


is now acting, it may be 
presumptuous in me to speak of 
set how can I abstain, feeling, 
‘Mrs. Grover's? powerfil assist- 
Knowing the circumstances? 
she consented to act Alhadra ? 
come, when ‘iont Painfully 


es, which (though not perhaps. wholly 
‘uninteresting in the closet) would but for 
her ave hung heavy on the cars of a 
‘Theatrical Audience. And in speaking 
‘Epdogus, a compesition which (I fear) 
hardly excuse, and which, as 


ALvas, and who in more than one instance 


3 The caste was as follows >—Marguir Valdes, 
‘Mr. Pope; Dew Alvar, Mr. Elliston 
Onionis, Me. Rac; Menvéetre, Mr. Powell; 
Zetimes, Me. Crooke ; Isidore, Mr, De Camp; 
Naomi, Mr, Wallack; Donne Teresa, Miss 
Smith; Aébadra, Mrs. Glover—Ev. 

2-Mra Glover had just low her eldest child, 
aed two of her younger children were danger: 
oasly LED. 





Sa 


sve it beanties and striking points, which 


not only delighted but surprized me ; and 
to Mr, Rak, to whose zeal, and unwearied 
study of bis part Tam not less indebted as 
‘Man, than to his impassioned realization 
‘of Onponto, ns an Author ;—to these, 
and to all concerned with the bringing out 
of the Play, I can address but one word— 
‘Tuanns !—but that word is uttered sin- 
ceely ! and to persons constantly before 
the eye of the Public, a public acknow- 
ledgement becomes appropriate, and a duty. 

T defer all answers to the different criti 

isms on the Piece to an Essay, which I 
am about to publish immediately, on 
Dramatic Poetry, relatively to. the present 
‘State of the Metropolitan ‘Theatres. 

From the necessity of hastening the 
Publication I was obliged to send the 
Manuscript intended for the Stage: which 
is the sole cause of the number of directions 
printed in Italics, 

S T. Coneniwer. 


PROLOGUE 
#Y C LAMB 


‘Spohen dy Mr. Carr 
‘Tneke are, I am told, who sharply 
criticise 


ur modem theatres’ unwieldy size. 

We players shall scarce plead guilty to 
that charge, 

Who think a house can never be too 


large: 

Griev'd when a rant, that's worth a nation’s 
ear, 

Shakes some preserib'd Lyceum's petty 


sphere ; 

And pleased to mark the grin from space 
to 5 

Spread epidemic o'er a town's bread face — 

© might old Betterton of Booth retwrn 

‘To view our structures from thelr silent 


um, 10 

Could Quin come stalking from Elysian 
glades, 

Or Garrick get a day-rule from the shades— 


A This never appeared—protably was never 
written. Eo. 





APPENDIX K 


‘Where now, porbaps, in mirth which Spirits 


approve, 
Ee tneness Gen wraps of ee cows, 
And apes the actions of car epper 
As in be ae af Geb be faye the 


Wecaage thay Maer eanpier scipe to 
Send Meme her ows off shrunk up audi- 


—— 
‘Dee Somes pet were palaces to those, 


amet Se te woes 
Suomen who wait a kingdom for a 


scippied rage. 

Se who cou tame his vast ambition 
=~ 

We plemee semte scatter’d gleanings of a 


os, 

eek, see Bandred auditors supplied 

Tae meagre mced of claps, was satisfied, 

Sime baad be fet, when that dread curse of 
Lar’ 


Set beet treewendious on a thousand ears, 
a deep tek wonder fom applanding 


30 
Spee Ges as any bands 
ate were Ms guests ; he never made his 
bow 
Geech an autience as salutes us now. 
qe Bek the balm of Labor, female praise. 
Sew Ladies in Bis time frequented plays, 
serena i 9 youth vids sakeard at 
re pipe burlesque the woman's 


ea lack an cpeniial rota, 


scenes, was to his un- 
= et Stage un- | 


Spe eeNst castle, round whose whole- 


or circumstance are wanting 
‘ 





“Tis for himself alone that be mast far, 
Yer shall remembrance cherish the jt 
Pride, eat 
‘That (be the laurel bay 
‘He first easay'd im this distinguish'd) 
Severer muses and a tage strain. 
EPILOGUE _ 

Written by the Author, and Miss 
pr faptipen poche go ks 
fag Sees 
On! the idle rogee, 
‘The Poet has just sent his Epllogee; 


1 comkl as soon deciptser Arabic 
But, hark ! my wizard's own portic olf 
Bids me oie courage, and make ope 


in 


‘A absence heavy 
ee 


are, 
With sense and nature ‘twas at open wat— 
Mere affectation to be singular, 


rocks, 
Where seargales play'd with her dishew?t 
Bred in the spot where first to light she 
sprung, 
‘With no Academics for ladies young— 
‘Acadenor— (vet as eee 
20 
From Plato's seared) grow ih? appropdi 


No mone ‘visits, mo sweet waltzing 
dances— 

And thea for reading— what but hagt 
romances, 

‘With as stiff morals, leaxing earth behind 
“em, 

As the bras-clasp'd, beass-comer'd board 
that bind “em, 





TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


Dire disimproving tages, 
oh + maa pity, not for blame, you'll 
repo Tessas sts yea coostaney, 
[Looking at the manuscript, 
But stop! what's this ?—Our Poet bids me 
my. 
‘Thar he has woo'd your feelings in this 
By no too real woes, that make you groan, 
ieriefs, perhaps your 


own, 
Yet with no image compensate the mind, 
Nor leave one joy for memory behind. 4x 
He'd with no loud laugh, from the sly, 


Spent ors For oy ho cuit tear 
‘That Fay had brought, and Wisdom 


there. 
ow em he was Yor Jaden (win 
By no len laut saved, damn'd by no 


Remorse. A Tragedy, in five acts, By 
&_T. Coleridge. [Motto as in First 
Edition.] Seconp Epirion, Lon- 
for W. Pople, 67 Chan- 


3813. Price Three Shil- 


[Although this * second edition” would 
Bed to have been issued immediately 

the first, it presents many variations. 
‘As noted above, a large portion of the 
(verte alee the text was con+ 





Batlads. But this work having been long 
out of print, and it having been deter- 
‘mined, that this and my other Poems in 
that collection (the NiguTINGALE, Love, 
and the ANCIENT MartNrr) should be 
omitted in any future edition, T have been 
advised to reprint it, asa Note to the 
second Scene of Act the Fourth, 


[Here followed The Foster- Mother's 
Tate, which will be found in this volume 
at p. 83; and also, of course, in its due 
place in OSORIO, in * AprENDIX D."] 


Note t the words ‘You are a painter,” 
‘Scene ii. Act il. 


“The following lines," ete. 

[This will be found, as in a more con- 
venient place, printed in tbis volume as a 
footnote to the passage in Act ii, Scene ii, 
p. 375-) 


The ‘Third Edition* of Remorse ap- 
peared in the same year as the first and 
second—1813. Except for the statement 
‘on the title-page it seems to differ in no 
respect soa the | edition, 

When REMORSE 
among fis collected poems in 1828 and 
1829, he omitted the Preface but retained 
the ‘Appendix.’ Sir G. Beaumont died in 
February 1827. 


IX 


CHRISTABEL : KUBLA KHAN, & vee 
‘THe PAINS OF SLEEP. 


Row, St. James's. 
Octavo, pp. vii; 64. 


CURISTADEL, etc, By & T. Coleridge, 

Second Edition, Lonpon: 

Printed for John Mureay, ‘Albemarle 

Street, by William Balmer and Co., 
Cleveland Row, St, James's, 1816, 


[This ‘second edition” differs from the 
first, only in respect of the tile-page, of of 
which the above is a wrSatim copy, 

“Prefaces* to Christatel and Kubla Khon 
are printed with the texts. Eo} 








TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 





Famine and Slavghter, a War 
Eclogue. With an Apologetic Preface, 

‘Ap. Pref. here first printed.) 
Fate] * Love-Poems.' [On the reverse 
of ‘are printed eleven (Latin) 
Fines from * Petrarch."] 


an Unfortunate Woman, whom the 
‘Author had known in the days of her 


‘nocence. 
‘Toon Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre, 
composed in a Concert-room. 
‘The Keep-sake. 
Toa Lady, with Falconer’s ‘ Shignoreck.’ 
Fo a Young Lady, on her recovery from a. 


childish, but very natural, 
‘Weitten in Germany. 
‘Home-sick. Written in Germany. 
Answer to a Child's Question. 
Tae Visionary Hope. 
ee 


A Fragment. 


Recollections te 

Om Re-visiting the seashore, after long 
absence, under strong medical recom- 

‘not to bathe. 

[Half-titte] ‘Meditative Poems in Blank 
Verse.’ [On the reverse of which are 
printed ight lines translated from 
*Schiller.’] 

before Sunrise, in the Vale of 


‘Chamouny. 
‘Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode, 
in the Hartz Forest. 
peeetog' a blossom on the 1st Febru- | 
re 175 
Harp, composed at Clevedon, 


Reflections on having left a Place of Re: 
tlrement. 
ie tia en, George Coleridge, of Ottery 


Mary, Devon. With some Poems. 
Inscription for tengo ona Heath, 





Frost at Midnight. 


‘The Three Graves, A fragment of a 
Sexton's tale. [With a half-title,) 


{Half-title] ‘Odes and AMiscellaneows 
Poems." 


Dejection : An Ode, 

‘Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, 
‘on the 2gth stanza in her ‘ Passage 
over Mount Gothard." 

Ode to Tranquillity. 

*To a Young Friend, on his proposing to 
Domesticate with the Author. Com- 


posed in 1796, i 

Lines to W. L., Esq., whilo he sang a 
‘song to Purcell’s Music. 

Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune 
who abandon’d himself to an indolent 
and canseless Melancholy. 

*Sonnet to the River Otter, 

*Sonnet, Composed on a journey home- 
ward; the Author having received 
intelligence of the birth of a son, 
September 20, 1796. 

*Sonnet, to a Friend who asked how T felt 
when the Nurse first presented my 
Infant to me. 

‘The Virgin's Cradle-Hymn. Copied from 
the Print of the Virgin, in a Catholic 
village in Germany. 

Bais on an Infant, 

¢ infant Blest."] 

Melancholy : A Fragment, 

Teil's Birthplace. Imitated from Stolberg. 

A Christmas Carol. 

Human Life. On the Denial of Immor~ 
tality. A Pragm 

An Ode to the Rain. 
daylight [ete] 

The Visit of the Gods. 
Schilter. 

[America to Great Britain. “Written by 
‘an American gentleman '=who doubt 
Tess was Washington Allston, the 
Painter. } 

Elegy, imitated from one of Akenside's 
Blank-verse Incriptions. 

‘The Destiny of Nations. A Vision, 

‘The printer’s ‘signature’ on the sheet at 
which the regular pagination begins is 
“Vor. IL—B." This has attracted the 
notice of bibliographers, but it has never 


[/Its balmy tips 


Imitated from 








TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


PREFACE 


(Tie Preface is the samo as that of 1803 
and 1828, with addition of the following 
passage (quoted as a footsnote to the sen- 
tence—' I have pruned the double-cpithets 
with no sparing hand; and used my best 
efforts to tame the swell and glitter both of 
thought and diction.")—* Without any feel- 
ing of anger, Tmay yet be allowed to ex- 
press some degree of surprize, that after 
having run the critical gauntlet for a certain 
class of faults, which I had, viz, a too 
orate, and elaborately poetic diction, and 
nothing having come before the judyement- 
seat of the Reviewers during the long inter- 
val, I should for at least seventeen years, 
quarter after quarter, have been placed by 
ther in the foremost rank of the groserited, 
and made to abide the brunt of abuse and 
ridicule for faults directly opposite, vie, 
ald and ic language, and an affected 
simplicity both of matter and manner— 
faults which assuredly did not enter into 
the charaeter of ray compositions, —Lires- 
any pas 4 gr. Published 2817." (The 
text of the Biggrephia Litereria has been 
considerably modified, )} 


CONTENTS 


[AS the present edition is founded on that 
of 1829, it seems desirable to give a full 
list of its contents, shewing at same time 
their under the various head- 
ings. — 


JuvENILE Porms fon 


Genevieve. . ‘ . 
Sonnet to the Autumnal Moon * 
apse Real and Imaginary, An Alle: 


Monod on the Desth of Chatterton 

Songs of the Pixies. 

The Raven, A Christmas Tale, told 
by a school-boy to his little 
Drothers and sisters 

Absence. A Farewell Ode on quit: 
ting Sehoot for Jems College, 


Cambridge 
Lines on an Autumnal Evening 








553 


To a Young Ass, its Mother being 
tethered near it C4 
Domestic Pence. 
‘The Sigh 
coal be an Infant [* Bee sin could 
ght") 


ner wcities shhh King’s ‘Arms, 
Ross, formerly the house of the 
*Man of Ross’. 

Lines to a beautiful Spring In a 
‘Vill 


Lines on a Friend who died of : 
Fronzy-fever induced by calum- 
nigus Reports... 

To a Young Lady with a Poem on 
the French Rerolution . 

Sonnet I. [To Bowles}. . 

11, [fo Burke) . 
TIL, [To Priestley] 


To La Fayette 
“Thou gentle 


Heart 
» XU, welt ator of “The 


Lines cope! wns dlimbing the 
Teft ascent of Brockley Coomb, 
Somorsetahire, May 1795 

Lines in the manner of Spenser. 

Tmiltated from Onsian ; 

‘The Complaint of Ninathéma’ | 

Imitated from the Welsh =. 

Toan Infant 

Lines written at Shurton Bars, near 
Bridgewater, September 1795 
in answer to a letter 
Bristol . 

Lines to Friend in answer to a 
melancholy Letter , 

Retigious Musings; a desuttory 
Foes, sri Sa the Christmas 
Eve of 179: 

‘The Destiny of Nations. A Vision | 


‘Suviin Leaves 


L. Poems occasioned by political events 
or feelings connected with them, 








TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


Votume If, 

[This opens at once with the half-title 
“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Tn 
‘Seven Parts’; and as nothing is said in 
the ‘Contents’ of 
“Sibylline Leaves,’ that Division 
held to end with * Volume 1° 
‘Uttle uncertain, ; 

‘matter of much Importance. } 


fe i i enasanchamaenad “ 


Prose in Rhyme: “or Epigrams, Moralities, 
things without a name, 
pee 
isi AdAnbpos inal 
RAPS Uo ee 
‘Tho presence of the lave it would conceal : 
But in fax more th’ estranged heart lets kaow 
‘The absence of the lowe, which yet it fain would 


A Bye t My ayes make pic- 


Toa Lady, of by a sportive 
obsermanion{etc,]; with ‘Reason 
for Love's Blin 

Hse sugresed by heat wd 


The Blasomingl he soliary Date- 


Enscy in nubibus - 

‘The two Founts . 

‘The Wanderings of Cain [Prose, with 
the *Prefatory Note’ which in- 
cludes the verses) 

Allegorie Vision [Prose] “Arrexpix 1p 

Improvisatore ; “John 
™ anton, my. re. [Prose 
entry in the 

“Caen is «New thoughts 
‘on old subjects," and this title 
is used for the head-lines to the 


pages). 
‘The Garden of Boceaccio 





555 


Remorse, A Tegedy. Tn five Macon 
acts, (wih "Ae * Appendix’ con- Euitien. 
sisting of The Foster- Mother's 
Tale; and the omitted Passage 
respecting Sir George Beate 
mont. Sale, 


Zapolya. A Christmas Tale. In 
two parts. [Motto from Ashen 
ews; nnd Advertisement). 


END OF VOL, 1, 


Votume II, 


‘The Piccolomini, or the First Part 
‘of Wallenstein. A Drama, with 


Preface of the Translator 
END OP VOL, 111 


XIV 


‘Tum Porticat. Works or S T. Con- 
incr, [The Publisher's Aldine 
anchor and dolphin. ] Vol. I. (U1. 111.) 
LONDON ; William Pickering. 1834. 


vo. Vol. I pps xin; 288. Vol, 
PP. Yes 398, fol. HL. pp. 33. 
Frequently reprinted.] 


PREFACE 
[Same as in 1829.) 


CONTENTS: 


[All the pieces contained in the edition 
of 1829, with the addition of sixty-six 
pleces not previously collected. Of these 
sixty-six, forty-eight then appeared in 
print for the first time, ‘There were also 
included (in the second volume) two pieces, 
not by Coleridge, introduced by the follow- 
ing note:— ‘Anxious to associnte the 
name of a most dear and honored friend 
with my own, I solicited and obtained the 
permission of Professor J, H, GreEN to 
permit the insertion of the two following 
poems, by him composed, 8 T. Cou 
wupGR.’ These two poems — Morning 
invitation to a child, and Consolations 
@ Maniac —continued to be included 








TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


587 
















f] produced before the Author's 
year [1796], devoted as he 
4 “soft strains" of Bowles, have 

















r, | That of x84, the last year of his earthly 


‘period when his 


oe 
for many years been directed, was arranged 
mainly, if not 
his earliest 





procure 
gratitude from all who prize the writings 
of Coleridge. Such alterations only have 


i 
ie 


il 
flinuin 


fl 
i 
iy 
i? 
i 


ue a 


Hie 


afi 
ae 
Ht Hf 
abe 





ease ni 


pt 


= 


% 
§ 
Fy 
= 
8 


it)? which is now 


the + Hymn’ (page 
petted for the frst time. 


March vise. 


sore hare conte 0 the conclusion, tht 
(Oxneren Puce, Recewt’s Pass, 


al 





TITLES, PREFACES, CONTENTS, ETC. 


Coleridge.’ ‘These, with a 

selection from the omitted pieces, 
Pincipally from the Juvenile Poems, have 
in an Appendix.? So placed, 

ill not at any rate interfere with the 
effect of the collection, while they 


[The ‘Licief Life of the Author’ men- 
tioned on the title-page, appears under the 
heading, ‘Istaopuctory Essay,’ and 
eccupies pp. xuli. tix } 


XIX 


‘Tuk Porticat Axp DRaMATICWorkKs OP 

SAMURL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, founded 

‘on the Author's latest edition of 1834, 

with many additional pieces now first 

included, and a collection of various 

In Four Volumes. Volume 

‘One [Two, Three, Four) London ; 
“Basil Montagu Pickering. 1877. 


Relssued, with additions, and with the 
imprint of:—* London: Macmillan and 
‘Co, 1880.” 


+ To Nature, p. r96, and Farewell to Love, 
P.17% The first edition of the ‘Letters,’ etc, 
“wax anonymous, but when reprinted. in 1864, the 
‘tame of the author, Thomas Allsop, was given, 
En 

‘FF yet remain To racurn the hours of 
south —(peiovet by mistake na Coleridge’s—the 
Goes mre by Bowles); Cownt Xumjord, p. 64; 
Fragment from an snpublished Poem, p. 643 
Te the Kew. W.J. Hort, p44 Toa Primrose, 
645 On the Ciristening of a Friend's Child, 





559 


Octayo ; Vol. 1. Contents, ete., pp. vill. ; 
Memoir of S. T. Coleridge [inctuding 
bibliographical matter}, pp. ix, -exvii. 
Poems, pp. 217; Appendix, pp. ax8-aa4. 
Vol, HI, Contents, etc., pp. xi 
pp. 352; Supplement, pp. 355” 
pendix, pp. 353-381. 

Robespierre" and ‘ Wallenstein,’ pp. 413. 
Vol. IV. ‘Remorse’ and ‘Zapolya,’ pp. 
290, 

XX 


‘Tim: Porticar. Works ov SAMUEL TAY- 
LOR COLERIDGE. Edited with Intro- 
duction and Notes by T. Ashe, BLA. 
of St. John's College, Cambridge. In 
two volumes. London: George Bell 
and Sons, York Street, Covent Garden, 
1885, [With Portrait of Coleridge 
after Hancock, and a view of Greta 
Hall, Keswick.) 

Octavo; Vol, I. Title, ete, pp ve; 
Introduction, etc., pp. xv,-clxxxvi,; Poems, 
Pp. 1-212, Vol. II, Contents, etc, pp. 
xiii, ; Poems, pp, 1-409. 

[This edition is described as belonging 
to ‘The Aldine Edition of the British 
Poets,'—Ep,] 


An excellent 


edition of Coleridge's 
Poetical and Dramatic Works was pub- 
lished by Galignani of Paris in 1829, ina 
volume together with equally excellent 


editions of Shelicy and Keats, Besides the 
whole of the Contents of the English edition 
of 1829, Galignani's contains Xecansation ; 
Introduction to the Batiad of the Dark 
Ladie, with the prose preface ; Toa Friend, 
swith an wnfinished Poem ; The Hour when 
we shall meet again ; the Lines to Cottle; 
On the Christening of a Briend’s Child ; 
Fall of Robespierre; What is Life? 
The Exchange; Fancy in nusibus; and 
several Epigrams. A Memoir of Coleridge 


| is profixed. 





NOTES 


1. Genewient, p. 1. 


‘This seems to be the earliest composi- 
tion of Coleridge which has been preserved. 
He has dated {tas early as ‘cet, 14," and 
in Porws, 1796, % has the note: ‘ This 
little poem was written when the author 
was a boy.’ Tt was first printed in the 
Cambridge Intelligencer for Nov. %, 1794, 
with a text almost identical with the fol- 
lowing from an early MS, :-— 


« Maid of my Love! sweet Genevieve ! 
In Beauty's light Thou glid'st along ; 

‘Thy Eye Is like the star of ere, 

Thy voice is soft as Seraph's song. 
Yet not thy heavenly beanty gives 

‘This heart with passion soft to glow : 
Within thy soul a voice there lives 1 

Tt bids thee hear the tale of woe. 
When sinking low the suffrer wan 

Beholds no hand stretcht out to save, 
Fair as the bosom of the swan 

‘That rises graceful o'er the wave, 
T've seen thy breast with pity heave, 

And therefore love I theo, sweet Gene- 

vieve 1" 

‘There was a tradition in Christ's Hos- 
pital that Gemewiene was addressed to the 
daughter of Coleridge's school nurse." 
For the head boys to be in love with their 
nurses’ daughters was an institution of long 
standing. The lines have frequently been 
set Lo music, 


2 Dura Nevis, p. 1 
Here printed for the first time from an 
early, probably contempornry, autograph 
copy which Coleridge annotated in 1833. 
‘The annotations are partially and incor- 
rectly printed in Gillman's Life, p. 25, 


c 





3. Nil pojus est calibe vith, p. 2. 


Printed here for the first time from the 
book into which the headmaster of Christ's 
Hospital, James Boyer, caused his boys 
to transcribe thelr best poetical and prose 
exercises, It has been carefully preserved 
by his family, and it is by the courtesy of 
the headmaster’s grandson and namesake 
that I am enabled to print these verses, 
‘This note and acknowledgment applies 
equally to Julia, p, 4; Que mocent docent, 
pe 43 Progress of Vice, p. 85 and Monody 
on the Death of Chattertow (Grst. version), 

p. & ‘The second and fourth are now 
Printed for the first time. 


4- Sonnet to the Autumnal Moon, p. 3. 

Marked ‘at. 16° by Coleridge in_an 
annotated copy of Poems, 1828. First 
printed in Poems, 1796, and excluded from 
Poems, 4797. in spite of Lamb's remon= 
strances, The text has never been 
altered, 


5. Anthem for the Children of Christ's 
Hospital, p. 3- 

First printed in P17, 1834. An early 
MS. exists, with the titl, Axthes written 
as if intended to have Been sung by the 
Children of Christ's Hospital, The differ- 
ences in text are unimportant. 


6. Julia, po 4 

First printed in 4 History of the Royal 
Foundation of Christ's Hospital, by the 
Rev, W, Trollope, M.As, 1834, Pe 19% 
First collected in 2. and D, W. 1877-80. 
Here printed verbatim from the original 


20 








FE 
i He 


Me 


aie 


5 
i 


z 


a 


almost new on a foundation 





opening. 

7. 72-118, are very slightly 
and iL rx9 to the end are 
‘Same as in 1796. Lines 48-57 


of 1794. 


sixteenth or seventeenth year, 
the text of 1829 was reproduced 
. between Il. 102, 103, of 

end of the Christ Hospital 


no ‘note’ printed in 1795, 
was prepared and suppressed, 
ing history of it in Cottle’s 


or Rew. p. 24. 
to the Poems, 1852, 


the editor 


Southey's Life and Corres 


iter of 


Oct. 19, 


gives a ‘sonnet 
emigration, by 


136 


(p. 63) of 
yer father 





15. Inside the Coach—Dewonshire Roads 
— Music, pe 10 
I have seen no MSS. of these verses, 
which were all first printed in 1834. ‘They 
belong doubtless to a holiday visit to 
Ottery in 1790. 


16, An Jneveation, p, 10, 
Printed here for the first time from the 
autograph copy which accompanied the 
Monody on Chatterton (p, 8) and Monody 
on a Tea-Kettle (p, 12). 


17. Anna and Harland, p. 11. 
First printed from MS. in P. amd D. 
W. 1877-80, Coleridge never printed the 
verses except in the Cambridge Intelli« 
gencer for Oct. 25, 1794, and there the 
text {5 not quite the same. 
Compare the two closing lines with the 
correspanding lines of The Gentle Look (p. 
23) and of Recollection in ' Note 39." 


18, To the Buening Star, p. 11. 


First printed, from MS., in P, amd D. 
W, 1877-80. 


19. Pain, po We 
First printed in 1834. In one early 
MS. it is headed Pate: @ Siwart; in 
Another, Sonnet composed im Sickness; but 
neither is dated, 


20, Om a Lady Weeping, p. 12. 
Printed here for the first time from a 
MS, believed to belong to 1790. 


21, Monody on a Tea-Kettle, p. 12. 


First printed in 134, but I have pre- 
ferred to give the original text of the MS. 
sent or taken home by Coleridge from 
Christ’s in 1790, The allusion in the 
first line of the last stanzn Is to the poet's 
favourite brother George, Being written 
fon the sme sheet with the Momady on 
Chatterton, it is hended “Monody the 
Second, occasioned by m very recent 
Calamity.’ ‘The lines I have called Aw 
Jnvecation (p, 10) are on the same sheet, 








rae 
# 


134 


printed in PV, 18 


BIS. 


24. 4 Mathematical Problem, p. 13. 
First printed in PW 18: 





NOTES 


‘Raven to be a Rayen, nor a Fox a Fox, 
Wat demands conrenticular justice to be 
‘aflicted on their unchristian conduct, or 
at least an antidote to be annexed.’ 


‘The original title of the poem appears 
to have been Dream. ‘Your Dream’ 
Lamib calls it in his letter of Jan. 5, 1797 
(Ainger's Letters, 4. $9; see also i. 130). 

In Sibylline Leaves there is this foot- 
mote to line 17 -— 


‘Travelled he * with wandering wings." 


* ‘Seventeen or eighteen years ago an 
Atist of some celebrity was 0, pleased 


Picture-Book of it; but he could not hit 
en a picture for these four lines. 1 sug- 
gested a round-about with four seats, and 
the four seasons, as children with Time 
for the shew-man,” 


31. A Wish—An Ode in the Manner 
of Amacreon, p. 19 


A Lovers 
fy Ps 20. 


Here first printed from a letter written 
by from Cambridge to Mary 
Evans. This letter, with several others to 
Mrs, Evans, and to her daughters Mary 
aud Anne, are now in the great collection 
of Mr, Alfred Morrison of Fonthill, to 
whose courtesy I owe my first acquaint- 
ance with them, and the permission to 
print anything of interest I might find, 


32. With Fieliing’s ‘Amelia,’ p. 20. 
Tam such disposed to adopt Mr, 
Ernest Hartley Coleridge's suggestion that 
this was addressed to Mrs. Evans, the 
mother of Mary, Note line 9 :— 


“And sure the Parent of « race 10 sweet,’ 


33. Tmitated from Ossian, p. 20. 


First printed in Poems, 1796, with the 
passage from OSSIAN as a 
* note.” 
ae probably composed at the same 
int of Ninathsma, 
us from 1797, but restored by Lamb 
In 1803. 





565 


34. The Complaint of Ninathbma, 
Pp. 20. 


First printed in Poems, 1796, with the 
original passage from Osstax, ‘The lines 
‘wore sent from Cambridge to Mary Evans 
in a letter of Feb. 7, 1793, now in Mr. 
Morrison'scollection. See ‘Note gr." ‘They 
included the following (between the second 
and third stanzas), which have not hitherto 
‘been printed :— 

* By my Friends, by my Lovers disearded, 
Like the Flower of the Rock now I waste, 
‘That left its fair head unregarded, 

And scatters its leaves in the blast.” 


35. Songs of the Pixies, p. 21, 
First printed in Poems, 1796. Many 


changes were made in the text from time 
to time. 


36. The Rose, ps 23. 


First printed in Poems, 1796. ‘The 
following Note in Poems, 1852, refers to 
‘this poem and to Késes (p. 23). In the 
MS, |, 12 reads: *On lovely Nesbitt's 
breast. 

"This Lfusion and The Rose were origin 
ally addressed to a Miss F, Nesbitt, at 
Plymouth, whither the author accompanied 
his eldest brother, to whom he was paying 
a visit, when he was twenty-one years of 
age, ‘Both poems are written in pencil on 
the blank pages of a copy of Langhorne’s 
Collins, Kisses is entitled Cupid turned 


dated Friday evening, [July] 1793. 

* The Rose has this heading : On pre= 
senting a Moss Rose to Miss I, Nesbitt.”* 
In both poems the name of Nesbitt 
appears instead of Sara, afterwards sub- 
stituted.’ See * Note x1." 


37. Kisses, pe 23. 


See preceding Note, In Paver, 1796, 
1797, and 1803, Coleridge gave the 
following in a note to the poem, and in 
the proof-sheets of 1797 wrote: "Carmina 
Quadragesimalia, vol. fi, To the copy 
{in the Bristol Library there is a manuscript 
signature of * W, Thomas” to this beauti- * 
fal composition : 





NOTES 





Gentle Look (p. 23), Ul, 13, 14, the 
Eswo lines being also found in Anwa and 


‘This no doubt belongs to Ottery and 
‘the Otter, and to the same ae 
two poems which precede low it re- 
spectively. 


gh. Limes on an Autumnal Evening, 
Bat 

Firat printed, Poems, 1796, with the title 
Written in carly ake time, an 
entummal Evening; and the following 
Note to line 57 :— 

*Tentreat the Public's pardon for hav- 
‘ing carelessly suffered to be printed such 
intolerable stuff as this and the thirteen 
lines. They tave not the merit 

lity = as every thought is to 

in the Grock Epigrams, The 
this poem from the 27th to the 
‘odie gist lees — 
355th to the 

fine of the *" Pleasures cf Memory,” 
perceive so striking # 

between the two passages; at all 
written the Effusion several 


following lines. 
even of 
foand 


Ff 
a 


pin 
ne 


by Michact Bruce. 
the names are FLoxio and 
” Lomond and 
this is all the difference, We 
the opportunity of transcribing from 
ae Lochleven" of Bruce the following ex- 


alee re 
papa human heart — 
eee es ticumnat 's sunny 


[and 0 on, for ten lines), 
For Coleridge's quaint apology to Rogers, 
see cAdwertliement to ‘Surriement’ to 

— 1797, in ‘Arrennix K," p. s4t. 
In this. may also be read Cole- 





Fidge's rensons for “reprleving'* this poem 
from immediate oblivion.” 

In the undergraduate diaty of Christopher 
‘Wordsworth (afterwards Master of Trisity 
College, Cambridge) the poem is alluded 
to as having been read by Coleridge at & 
college party on Nov. 7, 1793. (Social 
Life at the English Universities, by Chiris- 
topher Wordsworth, M.A., Fellow of Peter 
Mouse, Camb. 1874. Appendix.) 

ll. 17-20 may have been inspired by 
felicitations received from Mary Evans on 
the winning of the ‘Browne’ gold medal in 


1798. 

Lamb persuaded Coleridge to allow the 
poem to take its proper place in 1803. It 
‘was excluded from the Sidylline Leaves, 
‘but readmitted in 1828 and 1829. 


42. To Fortune, p. 27. 


Now first collected, from the Morning 
Chronicle. \was enabled to find it there 
by an entry in Christopher Wordsworth's 
diary (sce preceding Note), and printed it 
in the Anti-facobin for Aug. 33, 189) 

I think it probable that this was Coleridge’ 
first appearance in print. It is not at all 
unlikely that the poet had sought relief 
from financial embarrassment by taking a 
ticket in the Irish Lottery, the drawings 
of which began five days after the appear- 
ance of these verses, and closed about a 
fortnight later—on the ath November 
1793, just'a week before he enlisted in the 
35th Light Dragoons. 


43. Lewti, p. 27. 

First printed in the Morning Post, April 
13, 1798 (not * x795" ns mis-stated in SH, 
Leaves), with the following editorial intro 
duction, now first reprinted ;— 

* ORIGINAL PorTRY. 

“It is not amongst the least pleasing of 
our recollections, that wo have been the 
means of gratifying the public taste with 
some exquisite pieces of Original Poetry. 
For many of them we have been indebted 
to the Author of the Circassian's Love 
Chant, Amidst images of war and woe, 
amidst scenes of and horror, of 
devastation and dismay, it may afford the 
mind @ temporary relief to wander to the 
magic haunts of the Muses, to bowers and 





Nay, treach'rous image 
Depart; for Daweh isen Soe 


FF; 
a 


if 


wy! ioe ‘He said the original epithet in 
"Had 





569 





wed the effect of suddenness, by transla 
g into two stanzas what is one in the 


iia mapeettes poem then followed ; and 
worsby tsnlation of 
iene and of Casimir's Mater Neronis, ad 


props arre subseription 
ie deen kat Poets, 


The work will 
‘octavo, elegantly printed on super- 
fe apr ret Sacto 
Nol aaa 
ved 4 
: Tein tbe coure ofthe Werk wil be inzo- 
, Selection from the Lyrics 
| Cuieirvand & new Translation of the 
‘of Secundus. 
“The Volumes wilf be ready for delivery 
shortly after next Christmas. 
“Cambridge, June 0, 1794." 
“Nothing more was heard of the project, 


45. To Lesbia, and the three pieces 
__ following (pp. 28, 29) 
were ian i esp coe 
rea L asyase come 
‘the Commonplace Hook, 


which 
pial poem ay ncateantn: 
PP 443-47% 


46, The Sigh, p. 20, 

First published in Poems, 1796. An 
undated copy in Coleridge's hand is among 
the letters to the Evans family now in 
Mr, Alfred Morrison's collection (see * Note 
31'}-the ‘dedication copy * doubtless, Tt 
is headed * Song "—the title The Sigh was 
evidently an after-thought. See Lamb to 

Coleridge, June 10, 1796 Fe ae 
| i x5). “Coleridge affixed the date * June 

1794" to the lines in oem, 1796." He 
saw Mary Evans and avoided meet 
her in passing sarongnW ‘Wrexham early in 
| Jas 1794 _ Fae Sigh has been frequently 


. The Kits, p. 30 

at in Poems, 1796, as ‘Effusion 
Tn 1797 it was called The 
but Lamb objected that this confused 
he piece with A’isses, and in 1803 it was 
called 7o Sara. In 1828 ef seg. the old 
title was revived, the other pi being 
omitted. ‘There is reason for supposing 
‘that these verses were originally addressed, 

and not merely transferred, ' To Sara,” 


48. Translation of Wrangham's Hen- 
decasyllabler, p, 303 and To Miss 
Brenton, p. 31. 

First collected in P. and D. W. 1880, 
from * Poems, 





, by Francis Wrangham, 
M.A." [afterwards Archdeacon}, London, 


1796 

Trangham’s verses were addressed to 
a Brunton, afterwards Mrs. Merry; 
Coleridge's to her younger sister, Alize: 
feth, also a popular actress. Mrs. Merry 
appeared as Fuphrasin in 7'ke Grecian 
Daughter ot Covent Garden in October 
1785, 


49. Elegy, ee from Akenside, 
Rig 


First printed z sae Chronicle, 
Sept. 23. 1794, without signature, but with 
it appears the (first) sree an Infant 
(p. 145). Next printed, and again with- 
out signature, in the Wafcheran, mane. Tit, 
March 17, 1796. Also in Sib. 
and in 1828, 1329, and bg I mention 
these particulars because the posm was 








NOTES sor 





tothis poem in Lamb's letters to Coleridge, 
June 10, 1796; Jan. 5, 1797; March 
Zo and May 27, 1803. “See also Cottle’s 
Rem. p 131; and *Note 14° spra, 
pe 562, 


54. On Bala Hill, p. 33. 

‘Now first printed from the unique copy 
in Coleridge's autograph atnong the Evans 
papers (see * Note 31°). The first ‘Tetter’ 
in Hucks's Pedestrian Tour (seo ‘Note 
53°) is dated ‘Bala, North Wales, July 
1%, 1794" The lines were 
pp RE. Sortbe middle 

is early for * Jeaves of many 
eth eerie errs 
coloured for m purposes. 


55. Imitated from the Welsh, p. 33. 
Probably written on or soon after the 

‘Welsh tour of 1794. Tt has been 

in all editions (except Sib. Leaves) since 

1796, and without change of title or text. 


56. Domestic Peace, px 330 
I this charming separately, 
sivong the "Poca tr dat wy rnue 
which doubtless actuated Coleridge— 
the fear lest it should be lost sight of in 
The Fall of Rovespierre, p. 215. 


57. On a Discovery made too late, p. 34. 
printed in Poems, 1: as 
* Eifusion XEX.," but in the “Contents "Tt 





a 
235 
eae 
af 
it 
He 
fe 
iz 

















BE 
cri 


papers (see ‘Note 31"). Of this poem in 
1796 volume Lamb e 


Focent wounds, Like Tyas sore 
galled with disappointed hope. You bad 


{ 








NOTES 


1 have searched the Af, Ch. of t794 for 
the verses, but without success. 


60, Liner on a Friend who died of a 
Prensy Fever, po 35: 
First printed in Poems, 1796 ; reprinted 
with date ‘November 1794,’ and 
serene cele tas the text in 


, fierce 
not so well ax “frantic,” though that is an 
epithet adding nothing to the meaning. 
Slander coweking was better than swatting.” 
But Coleridge gave no heed, A line (3o)— 
“And tongue that trafficked in the trade of 


ier Se she was rife before it 
received fits Wester name, and that it 
was Coleridge's etestation, In an un- 
letter to ‘Thelwall in May 796, 

iy “I detest the vile traffic of 


But ex er vecacial passage 

most ble in the 
poem is that beginning— 
“To me hath Heaven with bounteous band 


assigned 
Energic Reason and a shaping mind 


[ete., 1. 39-46] There is a very inter- 
esting commentary on this poem, and on 


ete., 1836, ii, 135; 1864, p. 196). 


61. Toa Young Ast, p. 35. 

First printed in the Morning Chronicte, 
Dee. 30, 1794, The poem was first com- 
posed as a jew Perit, and this version 
Seika sand sa tkersex C,"p. 477, 
together with readings from the Af. CA. 
text. It appeared again in Porm, 1796, 
saat Poorer, 1797, was being prepared 

sugested its omission (Aingger’s 
non i 6a): ‘Don't you think your 
verses on a ‘Young Ass“ too trivial a 





573 


companion for the * Religious Musings"? 
“Scoundrel Monarch” —alter that.’ And 
in in 7 the line became ; *The aching of 
SHION'S vacant breast.’ But Lamb: 
never approved of the veries. See his 
lester 0 Southey (Ainget’s Letters, i, 103). 
‘The poem is chietly interesting for its 
references. to Pantisoerney, by which 
Coleridge was severely bitten at the time 
(ik 27-32). In the first version, Panti= 
socracy is named, 


62. Parliamentary Oncillators, p. 36. 

‘This was printed by Coleridge in Si, 
Leaves with the date "1794. His 
daughter printed it in Essays om Ais own 
Timer (1890, p. 969) with a statement 
that it was there reprinted (with others) 
for the first time from the Morning Fost 
and the Cowrier—forgetting (first) that it 
had appeared in Si, Leaver, and (second) 
that Coleridge had not begun to contribute 
to the AM, Post or Courier in 1794. 


63. Toa Friend, together with am 
wnfirithed Poem, p. 37. 

First printed in. Porms, 1796, ‘The date 
‘December 1794" was added in 1707, It 
is almost certainly erroneous, for Coleridge 
was in London with Lamb until January 
1795 (Letter of Southey in Cottle’s Nem. 
P. 40S} ‘The pocm was reprinted 
in x803, but, tnaccountably, excluded front 
‘every collection which followed until that of 
1852, It is of this poom, no doubt, that 
Lamb writes to Coleridge, June 10, 1796 
(Ainger's Letters, i. 17): "1 was glad to 
meet with [in Poews, 1796) those lines you 
sent me when my sister wns so ill [il 8 
ef seg.]: 1 had lost the copy, and 1 felt 
not a litte proud at secing my name (1. 29] 
in your verse.’ I think there can be Utd 
doubt that the ‘unfinished poem" was 

fous Muringy, “elaborate and swell- 

ing.’ In a letter (unprinted) from Jesus 
College. Wednesday night, 17th Sept. 
1794, to ‘Miss Edith’ (Fricker, afterwards 
Mrs. Southey}, Coleridge writes: *1 Aad 
a sister—an oily Sister. Most tenderly did 
I love her! Yes, I have woke at mid: 
night and wept —becuse she was mot, 
‘There is no attachment under heaven 50 
pure, so endearing,“ etc. Lines t29t9 of 
‘this poem to Lamb are but a versifieation 












NOTES 


575 




















passage — 
consider Mr. Godwin's Principles 
and his book 


and the volume of Psems, 2796, was pt 
together before the quarrel was made up. 


73. To RK, B. Sheridan, p. 42- 


‘To the sonnet in Fvems, 1796, there was 
attached the following * Note? :— 


Hymettian Flow rets, —ymetios a 


* So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
All kind of argument and question deep, 
All replication prompt and reson strong 








weep : 
He had the dialect and different skill, 
Catching all passions in his craft of will: 
‘That he did in the general bosom reign 
Of young and old.” 


In the Af, CA, the opening lines mn 
thus -— 


‘Was it some Spirit, Sizgipax, that 
breath'd 


: 

i 
7h 
Ht 
i 


&= 
i 
ae 
i 
a 


! 
rarre 
ill 


rid 
8 


i 


& 
E 
i 
8 
; 


i 


al 





576 


NOTES 





disservice. ‘Of any former errors, 1 
should be no more ashamed (he writes) 
than of my change of body, natural to 
increase of age; but in that first edition, 
there was inserted without my consent « 
Sonnet to Lord Stanhope, in direct cons 
trndiction, equally to my then, as to my 
present principles—a Sonnet written by me 
in ridicule and mockery of the bloated 
style of French Jacobin deciamation—and 
inserted by the fool of a publisker in order, 
forsooth, that he might send the book and 

letter to Earl Stanhope; who (to prove 
that he is not weed in all things) treated 
both book and letter with silent contempt.’ 

But Cottle did not print the letter exactly 


as it was written ; for in place of the words | 
italicised, and which referred to himself, he | 


substituted, imserted by Biggs, the fool of 
@ printer !—poor ‘Biggs’ being his 
‘own partner, And besides this falsification 
Cottle added to the letter this statement = 
‘The wish to obtain the favourable opinion 
of Lady E Percival, evidently obscured 
the recollection of Mr, C. in several parts 
of the preceding letter. ‘The book (hand- 
somely bound) and the letter were sent to 
Lord S. by Mr, C. himself.” ‘This was 
giving the lie direct to Coleridge, but when 
reprinting the Recollection in the Reminis- 
cencer, Cole suppressed the note, retaining, 
foweser, the falsification. 1 have no 
doubt whatever that Coleridge wrote and 
rewrote the Sonnet in all foolish sincerity, 
and becoming, naturally enough, ashamed 
‘of it, lackod the courage to confess, 


74. Lines to a Friend im Answer to a 
Melancholy Letter, tu 43. 


First printed in 1796; excluded from 
1797; reprinted in 1803, 2828, etc, In 
the annotated volume of r828 Coleridge 
remarks, that the poem is ‘very like one 


of Horace’s odes, arched.’ Somebody | 


told Mrs. H, N, Coleridge that her father 
was indebted to Casimir's thirteenth Oude 
for the general conception, but she could 
See no likeness worthy of mention. 


75. To an Infant, p. 44. 


Ax this was printed in the Poems, 1796, 
the infant could not have been his own, 
his first-born, David Hartley, having arrived 








some months after the publication of de 
volume, ‘The child was peotably i 


77. To the Rew. WJ. Hart, p. 44. 
printed these lines in Porm, 


1796, but never again. ‘The: Rew We 


ence to Pantisocracy in the third stam. 


78. Charity, p 45. 
First printed as ‘Effusion XVE! 
1796, with an ack! 
‘Preface’ that for the 
ho was "indebted to Mr, 
reprinted in all 


| except Sm. Leaves—ewen im the “Seer 


tion ' of Sonnets ; yet, on Nov, 13, 379 
Coleridge wrote of it n.a letter isd 
to Thelwall: ‘I was glad to oe, 
Colson that you abhor the morality of my 
sonnet to Merey—it ts fade dete 
and the poetry is not abore mediocrity,” 


79. To the Nightingale, p. 45. 
Never printed by Coleridge except it 
Pocens, 1796 and 1803. Tt contains oat 
superlatively good line—that whieh d& 








NOTES 


Scribes the night-watehmen who infested 
the streets a century ago— 
* Those honrse unfeather'd Nightingales 
‘of Time !" 


"The quotation and adoption here of Milton's | 
nee musical, most melancholy,’ is notable 

‘when compared with {ts treatment In the 
‘other Nightingale Poem (p. 131). 


80, Lines im the Manner of Spenser, 
p. 46. 

First printed in Poems, 1796, Lamb 
thinking it ‘very sweet, especially at the 
close.” But in 1803 he wanted to exclude 
it, calling it * that wot in the manner of 

which you yourself stigmatised.’ 
pea ee he writes: ‘1 have ordered 
Imitation of Spenuer to We restored on 

Wordswosth's authority’ (see Ainger’s 

Letters, i. 199 and 206). 


81. The Howr witen we shall meet 
aguin, p. 47. 

First printed in the Watchman, No. 111, 
Mareh 17, 1796; then in Poems, 1797 and 
1893, and not again until 1834, when it 

‘was headed *Darwiniana’ because supposed 

{see note in ed, 1853) to have been writ- 

mockery of Darwin's style with 

(It was not in the Ap- 

jms stated in the same note, 
Ed the volume.) 

luded in some proof-sheets 


ale 


i: 
gigs 
ras 


i 
i 


‘were also sent to Thelwall in 
ished) letter, which is the only 


' 


*T have sent you’ 
Dec. 17, 1796) ‘some 
which Charles Lloyd and 1 
intending to make a vol- 
gave it up and cancelled ther.” 
sheets which Lamb acknow- 
etter of Dee. 10, 1796 (not 
misprinted in all editions) ; *T am 
cannot now relish your poetical 
0 ly as I feel it deserves ; 
Daetectate mace you and Lloyd 

for it’ (Ainger’s 4, 83 Talfourd 
“of this letter—the 


ial 


ii 


if 
tty 


EH 


seat to. Lamb in December | 





more of less necurately (but with an entire 
misconception of what Lamb was writing 
about, on the part of the contributor) in the 
Atlantic Monthly for February x89t. A 
full account of the new portions of this letter 
‘of Lamb will be found in the Athenewm 
for June 13, 1891. These ' proof-sheets* 
will’have to be referred to more than once 
in these * Notes,” 

‘The two lines I have placed within [ ] 
were omitted after 1797. 


82. Lines written at Shurton Bars, 
P. 47. 

First printed in Poems, 1796, a8 *No. 
I." of the Division ‘ Epistles.’ ‘The motto 
signed * Anon’ may be assumed to be of 
Coleridge's own composition, and to have 
been originally intended to belong to the 

ision,’ In t797 the verses were 
entitled Ode fo Sans, written, etc. and a 
note was added ; ' The firs nza alludes 
to a Passage in the Lotter.’ The date 
‘September 1795" shews that the verses 
were composed just before Coleridge's 
marriage, which took place on the 4th 
October, 

Coleridge did not quote the passage in 
Wordsworth’s poem in which he found 
“green radiance'—did not even name the 
poem. ‘The lines were from An Svening 
Waié (1793)—the characters are a vagrant 
woman and her children— 


*Oft has she taught them on her tap to 
play 
Delighted, with the glow-worm’s harmless 


raj 

Tos'd light from hand to hend while 
on the grow 

Small crtles of green radiance gleam 
around.” 


Coleridge's praise did not deter Words- 
worth from altering the passage, and the 
“green radiance’ never shone but in the 
Evening Walk of 1793 and in Coleridge's 
note, 

Mr. F. Locker-Lampson has a copy of 
the Poems of 1797 in which Coleridge has 
written under the *Note”: ‘This note 
was written before I had ever seen Mr. 
Wordsworth, atgue wfinam opera ous 
fantum noveram.” 


2P 





$78 


In 1796 a very long and not ery ine 
teresting note was attached to the second 
line of the last stanza, taken from the 
observations of a M, Haggern, a Swedish 
lecturer on Natural History, who saw 
flashes of light from various 
caused, Coleridge thinks, by electricity, 


83. The Zolian Harp, ps 49. 


First printed in Poests, 1796, with the 
heading * Effusion XXXV. Composed 
August 20th, 1795, at Clevedon, Somer- 
setshire.’ Jt cannot therefore be. the 
honeymoon poem which the omission of 
this date .bas misled most readers into 
believing it to be, for Coleridge's marriage 
day was the 4th October of that year Tt 
must have been inspired by a previous 


poem 

In #795, 1797, and 1803 a quotation 
from ‘ Apel a Timpartiale postérité, par tx 
Citoyenne Roland, Tee. Partie, p. 67° 
was appended as a note to line Go. It is 
of wo interest. 

Tn 1803 some changes were made in the 
text, Lines ar-a5 were omitted, and four 
lives now represented by Il, 30-33 substi 

Happily Wl, 21-25 were restored in 
Sid, Leaves; Ml. 30-33 were there printed 
in the text ( } fm a form but slightly 
modstied from 1803, but in the 2rruta 
(1817) they were rewritten to the present 
text, and Il, 26-29 added for the first time, 
‘The porm of 1796 was simply that of | 
1829, exinus IL 26-33. Otherwise there is 
‘not even a verbal difference. 

Coleridge (so the editor of 1877-80 
informs us) wrote these words in a copy of 
the Poems, 1797: ‘ This I think the most 





ped 
Vished) to Thelwall (Dec. 17, 1796) he 
shesoribes it as ‘ my favourite of my poems.’ 
Lamb thought the poem ‘most exquisite” 
*a charming poem throughout ' (Ainger’s 
i. 17). And who will gainsay 
The flame thickens toward the 

‘ease, but through forty:three lines it burns | 

@ear. No one reading the poems in their | 
(@renotogical order can fail to observe that 


13, 1891). Lamb wrote: *"Tk 
gether the sweetest thing to me you 





NOTES 








. Religious Musings, p. 53. 
statement that this poem was 
‘on the Christmas Eve of 1794" 
some portion of it, but is 
‘being applicable to the 
statements (Early Recol- 
$1-53) on this point are 
‘correst as it was in the nature 


to make any statement, for they | 


‘generally by independent 

says Coleridge never men- 
tioned to him till *1806" 
(evidently @ misprint for 1796), and that « 
iodine of the poem was written at 
while the 1796 volume was being 


1 sent to Lamb after, 
poem" (ep. 37) fee itr, 


was ‘Musings. ‘The date 
‘Christmas Eve 1794" affixed to Religions 
thas exactly the same amount of 
froth in it as the date ‘October 1794" 
given in 1797 to the Monody on the Death 
‘Chatterfon. Some part of each poem 
‘was probably written on the date given to 
the whole, There is no authority for a 
‘made by Bowles that the poem 
‘was written *'in a tap-room at Reading,” 
‘while Coleridge was a dragon, 


Great alterations were made from time 
time In the text of Religions Musings, 
many notes appended and discarded. 
Coleridge preserved in 1829 are 
the text except the following, 
‘was dropped from the edition of 
possibly at Coleridge's instance, It 
‘a note of 1797 to. 34 °— 

Bippfixacer ele roddav 
WBiéryras. 
Damas, de Myst. Egypt. 


re 
ah 


a 
cf 


‘The following are discarded notes + 


‘See this demontrated by Hart- 
i. p. 214, and vol. fi. p. 329 
|, and. freed from the 





Hartley on Man, Addition the 18th, the 
6sa¢d page of the third Volume of Hartley, 
Octavo edition. [Note of 1797-] 

1, 89, Our evil Passions, under the in- 
flucnce of Religion, become innocent, and 
may be made to animate our virtue—in the 
same manner as the thick mist melted by 
the sun, increases the light which it had 
before excluded. In the preceding para- 
graph, agreeably to this truth, we had 
‘allegorically narrated the transfiguration of 
Pear into holy Awe. (Note of 1797.] 
“1ga, Tf to make aught but the 
Supreme Reality the object of final pur- 
suit, be Superstition ; if the attributing 
‘of sublime properties to things or persons, 
which those things or persons neither do 
nor can possess, be Superstition; then 
Avarice and Ambition are Superstitions : 
and he, who wishes to estimate the evils of 
Superstition, should transport himself, not 
to the temple of the Mexican Deities, but 
‘to the plains of Flanders or the coast of 
Africa, Such is the sentiment con’ 
in this and the subsequent lines. [Note of 


1797-) = 

1. 175. ‘That Despot who received the 
wages of an hireling that he might nct the 
part of a swindler, and who skulked from 
his impotent attacks on the liberties of 
France to perpetrate more successful ini- 
quity in the plains of Poland. [Note of 
1796.) 

1. 180. The father of the present 
Prince of Hesse-Cassell supported himself 
and his strumpets at Paris by the vast 
sums which he received from the ‘British 
Government during the American War for 
the flesh of his subjects. [Note of 1796.] 

L arg, [deem that the teaching 
the gospel for hire is wrong; because 
it gives the teacher an improper bias 
in favor of particular opinions on a subject 
where it is of the last importance 
the mind should be perfectly unbiased. 
Such is my private opinion; but I mean 
not to censure all hired teachers, many 
among whom I know, and venerate as 
the best and wisest of men—Ged forbid 
that T should think of these, when I use 
the word Priest, a name, after which 
any other term of abhorrence would appear 
an anti-climax, By a Paimst 1 mean a 
man who holding the scourge of power in 
his right hand and a bible (translated by 








He : Pee 
a il Hate rte 


ae : 


ce uk 


al fi aT es ‘| HEE 





NOTES 


for his religious or anti-religious 
opinions [Thelwall was at this time an 
copoly are rere alma 


Musings chimed in with, and stimulated 
his own at the time, and his critical vision 
was temporarily clouded—just as was 
Seat sows tes Aiee’s Letters, i. 10, 
57, 69) 


88. On elserving a Blossom on the First 
of February 1796, p. 63. 

‘Dhese verses appeared first in the 
Watehman (No. Wl. April 11, 1796), 
iand the Blossom wns scen no doubt by the 
poet while on his travels in search of sub: 
seribers to that publication. ‘The verses 
are chiefly remarkable for the third line— 


“This dark, friexe-coated, hoarse, tecth- 
chattering month "— 


which Lamb thought worthy of Burns. 


89. Conn? Rumford, p. 64. 
‘sonnet Was prefixed to an essay on 
No. V. 

Neither sonnet nor essay 

, and Coleridge never 

But there seems to be 


both to Coleridge. 
‘know that he was a great admirer of 
‘of his ingenious fire- 

to take up his resi- 

le Stowey cottage, his 

to ‘ Rumfordize one of 


90, Fragment fram an Unpublished 
Pes, p. 64 


Tines were left by Cole- 
ridges dai in the Watchman, No. 1V. 
March 25, 1796, whence they were rescucd 





581 


by H. N, Coleridge, and printed in the 
Remains (1836, i. 44). They were quoted 
*from an unpublished Poem‘ in the course 
of an essay ‘On the Slave ‘Trade,’ intro- 
duced by some general observations on the 
Divine purpose in permiting the existence 
of evi 


91. To + Pe 64. 


This perfect little poent was found in the 
“Commonplace Book, c. 1795-97" (ree 
ADDENDA), and printed by ot ne Cole- 
ridge as a ‘Fragment’ in the Remains 
(i. 280). Assuredly, there is nothing 
fragmentary about it. 


92. To « Primrost, p. 64 
Rescued in the Remains (i, 47) from the 
Watckman, No, VIII. April 27, 1796, 
as presumably Coleridge's, though it has 
no signature, 


93. Verses addressed to J, Horne Tooke, 
p- 65. 

‘These were contained in a letter from 
Coleridge to the Rev. John Prior Estlin, a 
prominent Unitarian minister and school- 
master in Bristol, “The date is * July 4th* 
[1796]. ‘I shall finish with some verses 
which 1 addressed to Horne Tooke and 
the company who met in June 28th (at the 
Crown and Anchor ‘Tavern, Fleet Street] 
to celebrate his poll [in the Westminster 
election, when he polled the respectable 
minority of 2819 votes}. I in by 
alluding to the small number he 
polled at his first contest [1790] for West- 
minster, You must read the lines two 
abreast.’ (Unpublished Letters from S. 
7. C. in Transactions of ‘* Philobiblion 
Soc.") Lamb seems to have expected 
that the verses would be printed in the 
Morning Chroniele for goth June (see Lamb 
to Coleridge in Ainger’s Leffers, i. 27), but 
they were not, nor any notice of them 
taken in the press reports of the banquet. 
Lines 31, 32 were repeated in the Ove on 
the Departing Year (Quarto, 1797 and 
1803), between I, 83, 8% at p 80. 
Coleridge's belief in Horne Tooke did. not 
last long. 





582 


NOTES 





94. Sonnet on receiving a Letter inforse- 
ing me of the Birth of a Son, p, 66. 
First given In the * Biographical Sup- 

plement” to the Biographia Literaria 

(2847, HL 379), but printed with a bad 

blunder in the eighth line, now here first 

corrected from the original in Coleridge's 
letter to Poole of Nov, 3, 1796 Coleridge 
wrote ‘And shapeless feclings'—this has 
hitherto been given as *Aopelers feelings,’ 
to the spoiling of the sense, Inthe letter, 
over against the sonnet, Coleridge writes : 

“This sonnet puts in no claim to poetry 

(indeed, as a composition, 1 think so little 

of them that I neglected to repeat them 

to you), but it is a most faithful picture of 
my feelings on a very interesting event, 

When Iwas with you they were, indeed, 

excepting the first, in a rude and undrest 

state." 


95+ Sent conned on a, Jvc 


Homeward, eli, px 


First printed in Poems, 1797, when in 
Atos, Si. Leaves, 1030 and 1859, with 
practically the same text, On } 

1796; Coleridge’ saat te botnet. bo Tooke 
(see preceding * Note’), the opening: lines 
running thus >— 

*Of of some unknown Past such Fancies 


roll 

Swift o'er my brain s$ make the present 
seem, 

For a brief moment, like a most strange 
dream, 

‘When, not unconscious that she dreamt, 
the soul 

Questions herself in sleep | 
have said 

We liv’d ere yet this fleshly robe we wore. 

© my sweet Baby 1” ets. 


Over against the sonnet he wrote: 
‘Almost all the followers of Fenelon 
delicre that men are degraded Intelligences 
who had all once existed together in a 
Paradisiacal or perhaps heavenly state 
The first four lines express a feeling which 
Thave often had—the present has appeared 
like a vivid dream or exact similitude of 
some past circumstance.” 


And some 


1 He had also transcribed the two sonnets 
which follow this one on p. 6 —ED, 


In'x797 the lines— 


* And some bave sid 
‘We lived ere yet the robe of flesh we wore,” 


had this note— 

“Hy mov hysir ty punch epi de rele 
ddpuriny ela yerdedas. —PLAT, 
Phadon. 


96. Sonnet ts a Friend who asked how I 
Set, they pe 06. 


First printed im Poems, 1797, and oe 
printed 1803, Si. Lenves, 1828 and 
1829, without important change In 


(Ainger’s Letters, i. 46) 2— 


“Twill keep my eyes open 
minute longer 10 tell you 
for howe 


beds in the gardens of 
The sonnet is a 


or to Charles Lamb, 


97- To a Young Friend [C. “opal ge 
his proposing to domesticate with 





the Author, ps Ope 
Ficst printed in Poems, 2797. The Sit 








Hi 
H 
: 
it 


Hea 


98. Limes anidiressedt toe Young Man of 
Fortune, ee, . 68. 
wey ied in the Cambridge Intelli- 


serps tones win the Ode 
‘Year in the Quarto of 
ttn oe ese 


99. Sonnet to Charles Lioyd, p. 68. 


ue 


's 
and it isto this that Lamb is alluding 
letter to of December 10, 
* 1797" in all the editions 

+ ‘T cannot but smile to see 


granny: 0 gayly deck'd forth.’ 
an copy of we Nuger Canora, now in 
, Coleridge has altered 


the ‘Museum, 
‘Comforts on his late cx, whose ab 
1 os, youthful 











Sept. 27. 1; 
). See also ae 
letter of efi 10, 


syep, Eat mabe Why Wisi your poet 
on Burns in the Monthly Mé 21 


it’ On Jan 16 he again expresses a 
er Gi Burns” i the 
a (i. 67); bat it never appeared 


Cottle, with his usual i says 
that Coleridge addrewed 
Charles Lloyd. He may tbe believed, 
however, when he adds that Coleridge 
used to read the bit about Burns with a 
‘rasping force’ which was * inimitable,” 
1. 26, The following are the lines of 
Pindar referred to in Coleridge's note :— 
Todd ot bx" deyriivor dda BEA 
“Evdor tvrt papérpas 





. 149, etc. 
101. On a late Connudial Rupture, 
P- 69, 


First printed in Monthly Magazine for 
Sept. 1796. It was sent to Lamb to be 
offered to the AMorming Chrowtele, See 
Jetter of Lamb to Colerlage, ies 1-5. 1706 
{Ainger’s Letters, . 27). Coleridge sent 
the lines in a letter to Estlin (Coleridge 
Latters, Philobiblion Soc, p. a0) on July 4, 
with the heading ‘To an Unfortunate 
Princess,” the last bison pee 


* Like two bright dew-drops bosom'd in 
a flower.’ 


‘The poem was next printed in Poetics! 


1To place the question beyond dispute 1 
quote the following words from an 
letter of Coleridge to ‘Thelwall (Dec. 38, 1796):— 
“(Lsend you) a poem of mine on Burns which was 





NOTES 


journey 
passes through the kingdom 
a horrible abyss into the 


10 the surface of the ocean, 


i 


vi, 9, 11. ‘And 


Hi 


had opened the fifth seal 1 saw 
akar the souls of them that were 
God, and for the 

held. And white 

every one of them, 

it was said unto them that they should 
ttle season, 

also 


et 


until their 
and their brethren, 
be killed as they were, should 


‘The Slaves in the West Indies consider 
‘AS a passport to their native country. 
sentiment ts thus expressed in the 
introduction to a Greek Prize Ode on the 
Slave Trade, of which the thoughts are 
than the language in which they are 


xine 
oytros 


cE 


Bihar Oivere, xpekcirur 
excita irofebie' “Arg: 
srapayois 
BF BhoNryo, 
"ANAS Kal eGiehours xopardmowe, 


» eee wae, 


“Beda ude "Bpaoras 'Epuplr; 


now 
Bagh fiow Kerplrwv bx’ ddody, 
ind Exador Pporol, ri 
ib Breas ato Bo 7 


“LITERAL. TRANSLATION. 


“Leaving the gates of darkness, O Death! 
hasten thou to a mice yoked with misery ! 
‘Thou wilt not be received with lacerations 


2 © Before.¢ onght to have been made lons— 
tate ves bs pot (as the metre 
‘bere requires) & 1 


dactyl—S. T. C. 
IMS, Marginal note of 1814.) 


8s 


| of cheeks, nor with funert nlutation—but 


with elreling dances and the joy of songs. 
‘Thou art terrible indeed, yet thou dwellest 
with Liberty, stern Genius! Borne on thy 
dark pinions over the swelling of Ocean, 
they return to their native country, “There, 
by the side of fountains beneath citron- 
groves, the lovers tell to their beloved 
what horrors, being men, they had endured 
from men." 

The complete text of the Ode will be 
found in ‘Arpuxpix B’ 

In the North British Review for January 
1864 there is an article entitled * Biblio- 
mania,’ in which is amusingly described a 
copy of the quarto edition of Joan of Are, 
* the identical copy mentioned in a hole to 
the last edition of the Bigg, Lif, vol. ji. pe 
4x” (says the reviewer). It is the copy 
mentioned in ‘an unpublished letter’ of 
Coleridge (to Wade), * Bristol, July [really 
June] 16, 114°; * looked over the five first 
Books of the 1st (quarto) edition of /oan 
of Are yesterday at Hood's request in 


“order to mark the fines written by me. 1 


was really astonished—s, at the schoolboy 
wretched allegoric machinery ; 2, at the 
‘transmogrification of the fanatic Virago, 
into a modern novel-pawing proselyte of 


| the Age of Reason, a ‘fom Paine in Petti> 





coats, but so lovely! and in love more 
dear! "Ow her rubied cheek kung pity's 
erystal gem"; 3, at the utter want of all 
rhythm jin the verse, the monotony and 
dead glemd down of the pauses, and the 
absence of all bone, muscle and sinew in 
the single lines. Certainly most of Cole- 
ridge’s scom and satire is poured upon 
Southey's part, but he docs not spare bis 
own. For instance, on the margin of the 
passage which contains Il, 272-307 of The 
Destiny of Nations (p. 75) be writes: 
“These are very fine lines, tho’ I say it 
that should not: but, hang me, if T know 
‘or ever did know the meaning of them, 
tho’ of my own compesition.” The follow: 
ing marginal note on Il. 454, 455 is interest= 
ing for another reason; * Tho’ these lines 
may bear a sane sense, yet they are easily 
and more naturally interpretable into a 
very false and dangerous one, But 1 was 
at that time one of the mougret—the 
Josephedites [Josephides = the Son of 
Joseph), a proper name of distinction from 
those who believe i, as well as betiewe; 








NOTES 


587 





carses, I pray fervently for bless- 
Fasewell, Brother of my Soul! 
—— O ever found the same, 
And trusted and beloved !* 


‘Never without an emotion of honest pride 
do L subscribe myself 
‘Your grateful and affectionate friend, 
S T. Conenince. 
Beistor, December 26, 1796.2 


‘The * Quarto” had no ‘Argument ' (that 
"was added in 1797), and Rad x72 lines 
‘against the s10 of the C. /., while even 
‘common to both varied in text. 


the passages 
“The main differences between the Quarto 


Sel the pom of 18ap are these: Stan | 
called Strophe 


Stanza * 11" 


After L 61 (p 79) came the following 
Passage — 


* Whee shall sceptred Slaughter cease ? 
Awhile he crouch’d, O Victor France ! 
‘Beneath the lightning of thy lance, 

treacherot 


us dalliance wooing | 


Peace—(*) 
Bat soon upspringing from his dastard 
‘trance 


‘The boastful bloody Son of Pride 
‘Detray'’d 
His hatred of the blest and blessing 
Maid. 
‘One cloud, O Freedom ! cross'd thy orb 
of Light, 


And sure, he deem’ 
fd tn nigh 
For still does Madness roam on Guilt’s 
‘Black dizzy height!" 
{*), With this footnote :— 
*To, Jogsle ‘this casily-jaggled people into 
better humour with the supplies (and 
perhaps, affrighted by the 
successes of the French) our ministry sent 
heed to Paris to sue for Peace. 
‘The supplies are granted: and in the 
meantime the Archduke Charles turns the 


SAbkenside: Ph of Jevapination (Second 


that orb was 


posession of his cottage at 
on the last day of this year— 





scale of vietory'on the Rhine, and Buona- 
parte is checked before Mantua. Straight- 
ways our courtly Messenger is commanded 
to wncuri his lips, and propose to. the 
lofty Republic to restore all és conquests, 
and to suffer England to retain all hers 
{at least all her fmporfant ones), as the 
only terms of Peace, and the ultimatum of 
the negotiation | 


Spactive yap alexpbunrs 
Té\awa ILAPAKOILA mpwromjuwr. 
AESCHYL. Ag. aaa-224. 


‘The friends of Freedom in this country are 
Some are timid; some are selfish ; 
and many the torpedo touch of hopeless- 
ness has numbed into inactivity. We 
would fain hope that (if the above account 
‘be accurate—it is only the Freneh account) 
‘this dreadful instance of infatuation in our 
ministry will rouse them to one effort 
‘more; and that at one and the same time 
‘in our different great towns the people will 
‘be called on to think solemnly, and declare 
their thoughts fearlessly by every method 
which the remnant of the constitution 
allows. 
CoLenincr’s ' Nores." 


At the opening in 1797 (and after) :— 

“This Ode was written on the 24th, 
2gth, and a6th days of December 1796; 
and published separately on the last day 
of the year." 

133 ‘SHI echoes the dread Name 
that der the earth.’ ‘The Name of 
Liberty, which at the commencement of 
the French Revolution was both the ocea- 
sion and the pretext of unnumbered crimes 
and horrors’ (2803 only), 

40 ‘AA! wherefore doer the 
Northern Conqueress stay t'* & subsidiary 
‘Treaty had been just concluded: and 
Russia was to have furnished more effectual 
aid than that of pious manifestoes to the 
Powers combined against France. Irejoice 
—not over the deceased Woman (I never 
dared figure the Russian Sovereign to my 
imagination under the dear and venerable 
character of Woatax—Womax, that com- 
plex term for Mother, Sister, Wife!) 1 
rejoice, as at the disenshrining of a 
Danmon! 1 rejoice, as at the extinction 
‘of the evil Principle impersonated 1 This 
very day, six years ago, the massacre of 








ry were substituted for those in 1797 
jad 1 
Rebuk’d each fault and wept o'er all my 


‘wors, 
Who counts the beating of the lonely 
heart 


‘Thar Being knows,’ etc. 
1. 63, 64 probably allude 
addressed to 


C. on his winning ing the " Browne Medal’ in 
3792. See * Note 248." 


to. the 
s 


10S. On the eens. of a Friend's 
Child, p. 83. 
T know nothing of this set of verses but 


‘thit it was printed In the ‘Supplement’ 
1% Poems, 1797, and that it was never 


printed again by the poet. 


106. Translation of a Latin Inscription, 
p. 83. 


the name of person commemorated, by the 
courtesy of the Viear of Nether-Stowey. 


107. The Foster-Mother’s Tale, p. 83. 


T have removed this poem from the 
Appendix to Remorse’ to the text, lest 
‘Might be overlooked in the position 
by Coleridge in r8ag. It 

editions of the Lyrical 


a poem, by printing it in the 
Lyrical Balisds, 1798 and r8o0, 1 have 
reprinted it in the text. 


109. The Tiree Graves, p. 85. 


Parts Tif. and IV. were first printed in 
The Friend, No. V1, Sept. at, 1809. It 
‘was thus introduced 


4 The original manuscript ‘copy’ from which 
Friend was printed 2¢ Peorith is now pre- 
served in the Forster Collection at South Kens 





"As 1 wish to commence the important 
Subject of —The Principles of political 
Justice with a separite number of THe 
Frizxp, and shall at the same time com 
ply with the wishes communicated to me 
by one of my female Readers, who writes 
aS the representative of many others, 
T shall conclude this Number with the 
following Fragment, as the third and 
fourth parts of a ‘Tale consisting of six, 
‘The two last parts may be given hereafter, 
if the present should appear to have 
afforded pleasure, and to have answered 
the purpose of @ relief and amusement 
to my Readers. The story as it is con. 
tained in the first and second parts is as 
follows: Edward, a young farmer. 

[From this point the introduction was 
continued as in the Sid. Leaver (1817) and 
after. Here follows the ' Introduction ' as 
in 1817, 1828, and 1829, in the exact text 
of 1829 :—} 

"The Author bas. pabliabed the following 
humble fragment, ed by the 
decisive recommendation. of mare chan 
one of our most celebrated living Poets 
(Wordsworth and Southey]. ‘The lan. 
guage was intended to be dramatic; that 
is, suited to the narrator; and the metre 
corresponds to the homeliness of the 
diction. It is therefore presented as the 
fragment, not of a Poem, but of a com- 
mon Ballad-tale. Whether this is svffi- 
clent to justify the adoption of such a style, 
in any metrical composition not professedly 
ludicrous, the Author is himself in some 
doubt, At all events, it is not presented 
as poetry, and it is in no way connected 
with the Author's judgment concerning 
‘poetic diction, Its merits, if any, are 
exclusively psychological. ‘The story 
which must be supposed to have been 
narrated in the first and second parts is as 
follows :-— 

‘Edward, a young farmer, meets at the 
house of Ellen her bosomcfriend Mary, 
and commences an acquaintance, which 
ends in a mutual attachment. With her 
consent, and by the advice of their com- 
mon friend Ellen, be announces his hopes 


sington, ‘Much of i is the handwriting of Mrs. 
Wordsworth's sister, Miss Sarah Hutchinson 
{not ‘Miss Sarah Stoddart,” as atated in P. and 
D.W. sbyp-40y ji, 380).—Rv, 





Mages (eam Ne 


steele Meme cern 





Inhis * Introduction * Coleridge promises 
that if Tike Taree Graves is welcomed, he 
may give the two last parts. It was ad- 
mired, for on Oct. g, 1809, he wrote thus 
to Poole: ‘Strange! but the ‘Three 
Pesto is the only thing T dieters 

Praised, and enquired after! | 
Brat, ass explained in Sis. Leaves—*Car> 
men reliquum in futurum tempus relegatum. 
‘To-morrow | and To-morrow! and To- 
morrow I° 

In what Coleridge called the rifacimento 
of ‘The Friend ' (1818, ji, 267), he intro- 
duces the story of M. E, Schoning by this 
allusion to The Three Graves: ‘In the 

Ballad of the Tikee Graves 
(published in my Stwyiuixe Leaves) 1 
Raye attempted to exemplify the effect, 
which one painful idea vividly impressed 
on the mind under unusual circumstances, 
taight ‘have in producing an alienation of 

the understanding ; and in the parts hither- 
to published, I have endeavoured to trace 
‘the progress to madness, step by step. 
But though 
the detail of the circumstances is of my own 
invention, that is, not what I knew, but 
what I conceived likely to have been the 
ease, or at least equivalent to it.” 
‘as well as the period of ihe 
Three Graves is that of Stowey and Alfox- 
den. The hollies and the brook of lines 
476 ef seg, are doubtless the hollies and the 
brook of Alfoxden- 


\—thove which are sung | 


in * Fragment 63," p. 460 (which belongs, 
however, to Recollections of Love). The 
Hollies are still there, one of the finest 
groups of the species in England, and the 
Brook still sings to them. 


110. This Lime-tree Bower my Prison, 
p» 92. 

First printed in the Annual Anthology 
for 1800 with the beading ‘THis Lime- 
‘TREE Bowkk wy Pxisox, A Porm, ad- 
dressed to Crartes LAMB of the India 
House, London ; and with the * Advertise- 
fhent ’—*Inthe funeof 1797," ete. (seep.9a), 
(The words * Addressed to Charles Lamb 
of the India House, London,” were never 
‘reprinted, and therefore should have ap- 
oe 92.) 

‘The text printed in the Ama. Ansh, was 


the main incidents are facts, | 





not the first form of the poem as composed 
in 1797. Acontemporary copy transeribed 
by Coleridge in a letter to Charles Lloyd 
runs as follows >— 


‘Well they are gone, and here [ mvust 
remain, al 7? 

This me tower my prison! ‘They, 

My fiends, whom 1 may never meet 


again, 

On springy heath, along the hill-top edie 

Dai ander, and look down, per= 
chan 

On that same rifted dell, where the wet 


ash 

‘Twists its wild lmbs above the femy 
rocks 

Whose plumey ferns for ever nod and 
| 


drip 

Spray'd by the waterfall, But chiefly 
thou, 

My gentle-henrted Charles ! thou who 
hast pin'd ——— 


[From this point the text is. practically 
the same as Il, 29-59 (p93). The close 
is as-follows :—} 


‘Henceforth I stat knowl. 
“Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good, 
‘That we may lift the Soul and contemplate 
With lively Jor the joys wo cannct share, 
My Sac, amy tends when ths est 


Beat it rairaight yah song ihe dusky 
air 

Homewai 1 blessed it! deeming its 
black’ wing 

Had cross'd the mighty orb’s dilnted 


While you stood gazing ; or when all was 
still, 
Flew ceeking o'er your heads and bad a 


For oa my Sara and my friends, to whom 
No sound is dissonant which tells of life !* 


‘The text of the Anm Anttol ditfers 
hardly at all from that of 1829, but at 
‘some date unknown to me, Coleridge took 
‘a pen and, in bis own copy, reduced the 
poem, practically, 10 its original version as 
sent 0 Lloyd. 

When that original was revised for the 


pte 
june 
Si 


sf 


A>? 


b) Creve) tie a chile tr flare of rtlry dery 


L 








NOTES 





pee ielae piercer ancien out by 
from Porlock, and 


ee vy hour, and on 


yet, with the exception of some eight or ten 
scattered lines and images, all the rest had 


cast, but, alas! without the after restora 
on of the latter | 


‘Then all the charm 
Is broken—all that phantom-world so fair 
‘Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, 

And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile, 
Poor youth ! who scarcely dar'st lift up thine 


Andsoon the fragments dint of lovely forms 
Come trembling back, unite, and now once 


‘more 
“The pool becomes a mirror. 
(From Tae Picture; or, the 
Lover's Resolution.) 


‘Yet from the still surviving recollections 
in his mind, the Author has frequently pur: 
posed to finish for himself what had been 
aa itwere, given tohim. Zdpyor? 

but the to-morrow fs yet to 


i 


trast to this vision, T have an- 
of a very different char- 
ing with equal fidelity the 
and disease,? 


of Aprit 1816 Lamb wrote 
‘Coleridge is printing 


ket 


Pal 
a 


ui 
asx 


enchant 
heaven and elysian bowers into 
when he sings or says it; but 
fs an observation, '' Never tell thy 
and T am almost afraid that 
Khan ig an owl that will not besr 
it. T fear lest it should be discovered, 
Jantern of typography and clear re- 


2 Avpion, 1B Eo. 
2 The Pains of Steep —Ev- 


SERse8 
iti 





ducting to letters no better than nonsense 
or no sense’ (Ainger’s Letters, i. 305). 

Lamb's suspicions were justified to this 
extent that the Edindurgh Review made 
fun of Xudle Khan. But the reviewer 
(Believed to be Hazlitt) did not think i 
quite so bad as Christadel, or ‘mere raving 
like The Pains of Sleep. 

I believe no manuscript of Awits Khaw 
exists, but some changes must have been 
made in the draft before it was printed, for 
in her lines 'To S. T. Coleridge, 

Mrs. Robinson (' Perdita,’ who died Dee, 
28, 1800) writ 

“TL mark thy ‘sunny dome," and view 

Thy “caves of ice,” thy "felis of dew,"* 
the phrase italicised not being found in the 
published text. 

Frere was probably thinking more of 
Awbia Kham than of Nasselas when (in 
* Whistleeraft') he wrote (1817) :— 

« He found a valley closed on every side 
Resembling that which Rasselas de- 


scribes 
Six miles in fength, and half as many 
wide,” ete. 


And again 


‘The very river vanished out of sight, 
Absorbed in secret channels under- 
ground,’ 


112. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 
P. 95. 

First printed anonymously in the first 
edition of Lyrics! Badieds, 1798, with the 
Lille, The Rime of the Ancyent 
in Seven Parts The text {was much 
altered in the second edition of Lf, 
1800. That of the first edition, with 
comparative readings from the second, 
will be found in *AppExpix E,’ p, g12. 
Again reprinted in L.8, 1802 and. 180s, 
without material change in text (#800), 
but with omission of the Argument, Is 
ext appearance was in Si8. Leaves, with 
some changes of text and the addition of 
the margisal notes and the motto from 
Burnet, No alterations of importance 
were subsequently made. 

The genesis of The Ancient Mariner 
was thos described to Miss Fenwick by 
Wordsworth -— 


2Q 





NOTES 












of nature, The 
{tself (to which of us 
) that a series of poems 
of two sorts. In the 


as would matarally ace 
situations, supposing them 
real in this sense they have 
every human being who, from 
source of delusion, has at any 
Yeved himself under supernatural 
| For_the second class, subjects 
chosen from ordinary life; the 
ncidents were to be such as 
inevery village and its vicinity 
is a meditative and feeling 
after them, or to notice them 
fey present themselves. 

Bis idea originated the plan of the 

\Balheds; in which it was 
f endeavours should be directed to 
‘and characters supernatural, or at 
fnantic ; yet so as to tmnsfer from 
a a human interest and a 
fiffcient to procure 
be shadows of imagination that 
z -of _disbeliof for the 
h_sofistitutes poetic faith. 
0 j on the other hand, was 
Sibip bless ‘as his object, 10 give 
lem of novelty to things of every 
ie tact Totng analogous 10 
tenatural, by awakening the mind's 
from the rey of custom, and 
git to the loveliness and the won- 
Jie world before us ; an inexhaustible 
4, but for which, in consequence of 
ees. and selfish solicitude, 
eyes, yet see not, ears that hear 
iihears that neither feel nor under- 


eerie tee he Aad 

















done in my first attempt. — 
Wordsworth’s industry had provea 
much more successful, and the number of 
his poems so much greater, that my com- 
positions, instead of forming a balance, 
appeared rather an interpolation of hetero- 
gencous matter. Mr. Wordsworth added 
two or three poems written in his own 
character, in the impassioned, lofty, and 
sustained diction which is churacteristic 
of bs: peal To) ee form the Lyrical 
Ballads were publish 


In that curious thirteenth chapter of the 
Biog. Lit, which contains the ‘ very judi- 
cious letter’ from Coleridge to himself—in 
which the correspondent advises the philo- 
sopher to ' withdraw’ that essay ‘On. the 
Imagination, or Esemplastic Power, which 
was never written—there is a kind of post 
script concerning The Ancient Mariner 
which was sup; by the editor of the 
1847 edition of the Biggraphia :-— 

* Whatever more than this I shall think 
it fit to declare concerning the powers and 
privileges of the imagination in the pre= 
sent work,* will be found ia the critical 
essay on the uses of the Supernatural in 
poetry and the principles that regulate its 
introduction : which the reader will find 
prefixed to the poem of THe ANCIENT 


MARINER,’ —Bieg. Lit, 1817, i. 296. 


As regards the hints from the outside 
which were made use of by Coleridge, we 
have Wordsworth’s statements respecting 
the dream of their Stowey friend Cruik- 
shank, the passage in Shefveete, and the 
navigation of the ship by the dead men, 
‘Since Wordsworth's day a claim has beet 
set up for Captain Thomas James's 
‘Strange and dangerous Ve in 

his intended Discovery of the North-West 
Passage inte the South Sex: London, 
1633," as ‘The Source of Tae Ancient 
Mariner.’ In this little book (Cardiff: 
Owen, 1899) the author, Mr. Ivor James, 





1 At the time this passage was written and 
printed (its) the BZ. and the Poems (Si 
ZLenwes) were intended to have been published ax 
‘one book in two volynes. The introduction 10 
the A.Af was never printed=probalily never 
written. Es. 

2Mr. wor James was not the fire In a 
pamphlet, which be omits to mentica, by J. 





ncters Su 
yet soas to transfer from 
tre a human interest 


fion of _dlsbellef for the 

ic faith. 

h, on the other L, was 

Imself as his object, to give 
to 


consequence of 
ity a ih nite 
Yet see not, cars that hear 
‘that neither feel nor under- 








Teac test et 
esha eee 


impassion: 
sustained tenon which is characteristic 
of his genius. In a form the Lyrical 
Ballads were published. 


In that curios thirteenth chapter of the 
Biog. Lit, which contains the * very judi- 
cious letter’ from Coleridge to himself—in 
which the correspondent advises the philo- 
sopbar to * withdraw’ Ghat esay 2On the 








Inaginetion, on Heenplasic Rowdy which 
‘was never written—there is a kind of post 
ser The Ancient Mariner 


eles of the i in the pre- 
sent work,? will be in the critical 
essay on the uses of the Supernatural in 
poetry and the principles that regulate its 
introduction ; which the reader will find 

peee to the poem of THe ANCIENT 
uinn.'—Biog. Lit. 1817, i, 296, 


As regards the hints from the outside 
which were made use of by Coleridge, we 
have Wordsworth’s statements respecting 
the dream of their Stowey 
sbi ihe passage in Shefocde, and the 
navigation of the ship by the dead men. 
Since Wordsworth’s day a claim has been 
set up for Captain Thomas James's 
‘Strange and dangerous Voyage . - 
his intended Discovery of the North- war 
Passage into the Sowth Sea: London, 
1633,’ as ‘The Source of The Ancient 
Mariner’ In this little book (Cardiff: 
‘Owen, 1896) the author, Mr. Ivor James,? 





1 At the time this pasiage was written and 
printed (r8r3), the #.£. and the Poems (Si. 
Leaves) were intended 10 have been pubilished a 
‘one book in two volumes. The introduction to 
peer gna re ever 
written Ea. 

© Mr, Ivor James was not the first. In 
yomphlet, which be omits to mention, ty Jy 





len cocions rf 


La Bigne’s Magna Bibliotheca Veterwme 
Patrew, 1618, The old man of this story 
of the fourth century was the sole 
vivor of a ship's crew ; the ship was na 
gated by ‘a crew of angels,” ' steered by 
the Pilot of the World’ *to the Lucanian 
shore’; the fishermen there saw 2 crew 
which they took for soldiers, and fled, 
until recalled by the old man, who shewedt 
them he was alone; they then towed the 
ship into the harbour. 

It fs not at all unlikely that Coleridge haa 
read the Epistle of Paulinus, Bishop of 
Nola, and honoured it by accepting a hint 
or two: but all such hints are as dust in 
the balance. Tie Ancient Mariner is the 
one perfect, complete, and rounded poem 
of any length which Coleridge achieved, 
and, as he said to Allsop: * Tae Ancient 
Mariner cannot be imitated, nor the poem 
Love. ‘They may be excelled : they are not 
imitable’ (i. 95). 

The Ancient Mariner was very badly 
reorived by the critics—even Southey, in 
the Critical Review, called it *a Dutch 
attempt at German sublimity,' a remark 
which called forth a sharp rebuke from 
Lamb, although it was Southey and not 
Coleridge who was in favour with Lamb 
just at that time. Even to Wordsworth’s 
oye The Ancient Mariner bad grave 
defects, and he freely attributed the failure 


F, Nicholls, City Librarian of Bristol (8risto? 
Biggraphies, No, 2, Cayeain Thomas James, and 
George Thomas : Bristol, June 1870, 7. 76) is the 
following passage : “It is very likely indeed thar 
8. T. Coleridge, who waa a regular frequenter of 
our old City Library, derived his marrow-chilling 
scenes depicted In that unique and immortal 
pocm, ‘The Amcient Aariwer, from Captain 
James's Strange and dangerous Voyage.’ 








sf 
[ 
i 


iff 

ai 
fe 
F 
i! 


iz 
aa 
i 
t 
An i 


i 
isliz 


by 
if 


ae 








a 


alae by this title, but one 
all credit —which the tale 
us —of its truth 1 
saw the force of this 
ded to abandon the 
tn 1802, for it was carefully 
Keading, in the corrected 
#800 sent ee eo for 1802, 
its presence on the Aai/-sitle was prob- 
overlooked. ‘A Poet's Reverie’ re- 
same place in 1805, but 
Coleridge was in Malta, 
‘probability’ and ' morality” 
‘about which some critics (of an 
‘yet extinct) were troubled, Cole- 
eed pee remarks :— 
once told me that she 
‘Ancient Mariner very much, 
were two faults in it,—it 
and had no moral, As 
‘bility, I owned that that 
tome question ; but as to the 
of a moral, I told her that in my own 
the poem had too much; and 
only, or chief fault, if T might say 
the obtrusion of the moral senti- 


HLH 


i 


a 


As 
of the 
order not 
ridge 


bi 


z 
E 
i 


Pony the Arabian Nights’ 
of the merchant's sitting down to 
the side of a well, and 
aside, and lo! a 

says be must kill 
inerchant, fecawse one of 
ms, put out the 

.'— Table Talk, 


i 


ef 
i 
i 


was translated 
Ferdinand Freiligrath, 
of the Tauchnits edition of 


f 





resources. Mrs. Sandford (7. Poole and 
Ais Friends, i. 247) happily suggests, that 
this ‘was the very original and prototype 
of the ‘*loud bassoon whose sound moved 
the wedding-guest to beat his breast.” 

Wh. 41-44. Marginal note thereto. 1 
have ventured to take the liberty of altering 
drawn into driven, As a matter of fact, 
the ship twas driven, not ‘drawn,’ along. 
‘The line in Sid, Leaves reads— 

“And chased us south along” ; 


but in all the four preceding texts ft was— 
“Like chaff we drove along" ; 


and the change in the word hore makes no 
change in the sense, Coleridge, I have 
no doubt, wrote driven, but in very small 
characters on the narrow margin of the 
Lyrical Baliads ; the wont was misprinted 
drawn, and the mistake was overlooked 
then and after, "The two words, written 
or ptinted, are not ensily distinguishable. 

UW, gro. Uf Coleridge read Captain 
James's ' North-west * Tog, he 
probably noted the following entries 
Tie references are tothe edition of 1633. 
It fs to be observed that most of Captain 
James's contemporaries measured ice. 
ergs by fathoms, and not, as he, by his 


and all night, it snowd hard’ 
‘The nights are very cold; so 

that our rigging freezes’ (p. 15); 
prooved very thicke foule weather, and the 
next day, by two a Clocke in the morning, 
we found ourselves incompassed about 
with Toe" (p, 6); ‘We had Ice not farre 
off about us, and some pieces as high as 
our Top-mast-hend’ (p, 7); *The seven= 
teenth . . . we heard . . . the rutt 
inst a banke of Ice that lay on the 
eae It made a hollow and hideous 
noyse, like an over-fall of water, which 
made Us to reason amongst our selves con- 
cerning it, for we were not able to sce 
about us, it being darke night and foggie* 
(p. $);'The foe. . . crackt all over the 
Bay, with a foarfull noyse" (p. 77); ' These 
great pieces that came a grounde began to 





— 


NOTES 


the modifying colours of im- 
‘The charm, which 


i 


ne 
i 


the poetry of nature, The 
‘suggested itself (to which of us 
lect) that a series of poems 


the: ts were 
{and the excel- 
‘at Was To consist in the interest- 


al the dramatic trath 
‘emotions, as would naturally ac- 
situations, supposing them 
real in this sense they have 
to every human being who, from 
whatever source of delusion, has at any 
time believed himself under supernatural 
For_the second class, subjects 

om ordinary life ; the 

its were to be such as 

‘will be found in every village and its vicinity 
is n meditative and feeling 
‘after them, or to notice them 


Rierocgieated 2 lan of th 
¢ plan of the 
Ballads; in which it was agreed 
should be directed to 

ural, or at 

ster from 

terest and a 

jent to re 

‘of imagination that 
willing suspension of disbelief for the 
moment, which cor ic_ faith, 
. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was 
to hitnself as his object, 10 give 


HL 


ite 


: 


romantic; yet 


the charm of novelty to things of every 
oy to excite a feeling analogous to 


awakening the mind’s 


Sreasure, but for which, in consequence of 
‘the film of familiarity and selfish solicitade, 
we have eyes, yet see not, cars that hear 
‘not, and hearts that neither feel nor under- 


"With this’ view I wrote The Ancient 
Mariner, and was preparing, among, 
‘other poems, the Dark Ladie, ant 
the Clviatel, in which 1 should have 
‘more nearly realised my ideal than 1 had 





done in my first attempt, But My, 
Wordsworth’s industry had proved so 
much more successful, and the number of 
his so much greater, that my com~ 
positions, instead of forming « balance, 
Appeared rather an interpolation of hetero- 
geneous matter. Mr. Wordsworth added 
two or three poems written in bis own 
character, in the impassioned, lofty, and 
sustained diction wl is characteristic 
of his genius, In this form the Lyrical 
Baliads were published.” 


In that curious thirteenth chapter of the 
Biog. Lit, which contains the ‘very judi- 
cious letter* from Coleridge to himself—in 
which the correspondent advises the philo- 
sopher to * withdraw’ that essay ‘On the 
Tmagination, or Esemplastic Power,’ which 
was never written—there is a kind of post 
script concerning The Ancient Mariner 
which was suppressed by the editor of the 
1847 edition of the Bi ia — 

Whatever more than 1 shall think 
it fit to declare concerning the powers and 
privileges of the imagination in the pre- 
sent work,? will be found in the critical 
essay on the uses of the Supernatural in 
poetry and the principles that regulate its 
introduction : which the reader will find 
prefixed to the poem of Tue ANCIENT 
Maninen. —Biog. Lit, 1817, 1, 296. 


As regards the hints from the outside 
which were made use of by Coleridge, we 
have Wordsworth’s statements respecting 
the dream of their Stowey friend Cruik- 
shank, the passage in Shchwcke, and the 
navigation of the ship by the dead men. 
Since Wordsworth's day a claim has been 
set up for Captain Thomas James's 
‘Strange and dai Ve we 


‘epage 
his intended Diseouery of the North West 
Passage into the South Sea: London, 
1633," as ‘The Source of The Ancient 


Mariner.’ Tn this little book (Cardiff: 
‘Owen, 1890) the author, Mr, Ivor James,? 


1 At the time this pasage was written and 
printed (1815) the #.£. and the Poems (5h 
Leaves) were Intended to have been published ax 
‘one book in two volumes. ‘The Introduction to: 
the A.M. was never printed=protably never 
written, 

2-Mr. Ivor James was not the first. fn 3 
pamphlet, which he omits to mention, by J. 








‘by this title, but one 

all eredit-—which the tale 
of its wuth!* 

doubt saw the force of this 


its presence on the Aad/titie was prob: 
*A Poet's Reverie’ re: 


admit some question ; but as to the 
‘moral, I told her that in my own. 
the poem had too much ; and 
n Of chief fault, if 1 might say 

in. of the moral sentl- 

the reader as a principle 

fa a work of such pure 


ite 


ie 


a 
up, and says he must kill 

merchant, Yecause one of 
, it scems, put out the 
genic’s son.’—Tuble Talk, 
1H, 1830, 


: 
5 
i 
E 


BR 
or 
F 


Mariner was translated 
Ferdinand th, 
‘Tauchnitz edition of 





1 


church choir, and added a bassoon to its 
‘fesources, Mrs, Sandford (7. Poole and 
his tapes 247) hapnily cups. that 


the wedding-guest to beat his breast,” 
I. 41-44. Marginal mote thereto, 1 } 
have ventured to take the liberty of altering 
drawn into driven, As & matter of fact, 
the ship was driven, not ‘drawn,’ along. 
‘The line in Sid, Leaves reads— 
“And chased us south along” ; 


but in all the four preceding texts it was— 
“Like chaff we drove along” ; 


and the change in the word here makes no 
change in the sense. Coleridge, I have 
no doubt, wrote driven, but in very small 
characters on the narrow margin of the 
Zyrical Balteds the word was misprinted 
drawn, and the mistake was 
then and after. ‘The two words, written 
or printed, are not easily distinguishable. 
Mh sta, Uf Coleridge ‘read, Capiain 
James's. * North-west 
Probably noted the following See 
the roferences are to the edition of 1633. 
TUS te tasted er eee 


“All day and alt night, it snow'd bard’ 
(p. 11); The nights are very cold; so 
that our rigging freeees (p. 15); 
prooved very thicke foule weather, and 


wo 

with Ice’ (p. 6); * 

off about us, and ele pieces 

our Top-man-bead (7) 

teenth . 5 

gains. banka oC en kal 

Shoare, It made a hollow and 

noyse, like an oversfall of water, 

made us to reason amongst our selves: 

cerning it, for we were not able 

‘about us, ie being dare night and 

(p. 8}; The Toe... crackt all 

Bay, with a fearfiall noyse’ (p. 77); 
great pieces that came a grounde 














in passage. 
jive no credit 10 


as little to the vicious, 


and it may well have inspired 
“Part VI" of The Ancient Mariner, 
afterwards Th 


the angelic power causcth the vessel to 
faster than human life 

"Atheneum, March 15, 

race ‘of Mr. Ivor James's The 

ie aaa The Ancient Mariner’ (i.e. 
poe Strange and danger- 

oie why in the five stanzas 

i Riek pret or in 1798. See 


+ i Seger tu. 
efrinted only in x798_(p. 519). 
EEttor ot 1877-8 says that in a 


‘Coleridge put his pen through | 


ioe wrote on the margin :— 


“Then vain all the lovely lights, 
| Bet kd 
Beta ree at ae ere they, 
Bat spirits bright and fair,” 


143. Sounets attempted in the Manner 
‘of Contemporary Writers, p. 110. 


First printed in a Monthly Magazine 


for Nov. 1797. ttle pals (ER, A. 
288; Rew. 160) a letter 
{undated, but allusions in it shew that it 





must have been written in § 
which he says 

‘I sent to the Monthly Magasine UM 
mock Sonnets in ridicule of my own 
Poems, and Charles Lloyd's, and Charles 
Lamb's, etc, etc., exposing that affectation 
of unaffectedness, of jumping and mis 
placed accent, in commonplace epithets, 
flat lines forced into poetry by italics (sig- 
nifying how well and mouthishly the 
author would read them), puny pathos, etc, 
ete, The instances were all taken from 
myself and Lloyd and Lamb, I signed 
them ‘‘Nebemiah Higginbottom." 1 
think they may do good to our young 
Bards." 

In Bing, Lit, (1817, 4, 26-28) Coleridge 
gave what he was then willing to believe 
were his reasons for writing these 

ies :— 

*Eyery reform, however necessary, will 
by weak minds be carried to an excess, 
that itself will need reforming. “The 
reader will excuse me for noticing that I 
myself was the first to expose risw Aonesto 
the three sins of poetry, one or the other of 
which is the most likely to beset a young 
writer, So long ago as the publication of 
the second number of the Monthly Ma 
sine, under the name of Nehemiah 
Higginbottom 1 contributed three sonnets, 
‘the first of which had for its object to 
excite a good-natured laugh at the spirit 
of doleful egotism, and at the recurrence 
of favourite phrases, with the double 
defect of being at once trite and licen- 
tious. ‘The second on low, creeping lan« 
guage and thoughts, under the pretence 
of simplicity, And the third, the phrases 
of which were borrowed entirely from my 
‘own poems, on the indiscriminate use of 
elaborate and swelling language and 
imagery. The reader will find them in 
the note below, and will T trust regard 
them as reprinted for biographical pur- 
poses, and not for their poetic merits, 

Like some later editors of Coleridge's 
poems, Cottle is careful to extract the 
italics in which lay so much of the sting of 
these satires ¢ and, in his usual blundering 
fashion, he attempts to shew that they 
were the cause of the quarrel between 
Lamb and Coleridge, provoking the bitter 
letter in which the former enclosed 
Theses quadam Theologica, 





NOTES 





editions) of 

le the TAcies were sent 

, prompted by Lamb's 

too ready bel “pel plate Lloyd's 

—calumnious tattle, only to be explained 

and excased by his mental condition, Seo 
* Note #16," p. 607, 


114. Fire, Favsine, and Slaughter, 
pe att 


First printed in the Morning Port, Jan. 
8, 1798; reprinted in Ann, Anthol, for 
3800; next in Sid, Leaver (1817) with 
an ‘Apologetic Preface’; again in 1828, 
x829, and_1834, always with the Apol. 
Preface, ‘This document is so lengthy, 
and has so little to do with the squib out 
of which it grew, that I have relegated it to 
the Appendix [* xDIX I,’ pe sa7} It 
originated in an incident at a dinner-party 
at Sotheby's (translator of Oberon), when 
Coleridge was quized as to the authorship 
of Fire, Famine, and Slanghter. Colerid 
took it all very seriously, and wrote this 
very serious and largely irrelevant * pre- 
face.’ He never *smoked’ (to adopt a 
favourite expression of his) the jest which 
had been played on him, and in a copy of 
the 182g edition of his porms presented by 
him to & connection, he wrote = 

* Braving the ery, O the vanity and self- 
dotage of Authors! I yet, —after a re- 
perusal of the ing Apol, Pref., now 
some twenty [2] years since its first 
publication, —dare deliver it as my own 
judgement, that both in style and thought 
it is a work creditable to the head and 
heart of the Author, tho’ he happen to 
have been the same person,—only a few 
stone lighter, and with chesnut instead of 
silver hair, with his critic and eulogist.— 
S, T, Conrnincr. May 1829." 

In Sid, Leaver (anly) there is prefixed to 
the Apes, Pref, the following mottoes :— 


*Me dolor incautum, me Tubrica duxerit 


wtas, 

Me timor impulerit, me devias egerit 
ardor : 

Me tamen hand decuit paribus eoncurrere 
tells, 





En adsum : veniam, confessus crimina, 


Ciacn. Bpist. ad Had 


“There is one that slippeth in his speech, 
but not from his heart; asd who is he 


text of the verses as printed im the AP. 
and in 1829 is in the easing passage In 
the Af.P, the ending is as follows -— 
Fire © thankless Beldams and wntme! 
‘And is this all that you cam do- 

For him that did so much for you? 


ro ‘ 
For you be tra eS eee 
‘With his fellow-crentures’ blood 

[To Fitmiae, 


And hunger scoreh'd as many more, 
To make your cup of joy run o'er! 


[To Both. 
Full ninety moons he, by my troth, 
Hath richly catered for you 
And et bo ays = bess 4 
An eight years’ away 
cla a a 
fing to him 
(Signed) Lammews 


115. The Wanderings of Carive, te 2 
‘The verses were first 
the * Conclusion" of Aids fe 


825, thus introd: 
sa Deel = we 


hand. Chance or his happy 
him to an Oasis or natural 
as in the bape bas 
supposed Enos the of 
found, [Footnote]. — Will 
forgive me if T attempt at 

and relieve the subject 

first stanza of the Poem, 

same year in which T wrote 
Mariner, and the first Book of CA 


[Hero follow the verses.) 


‘The first 
verses or “Pretuory Note’) ty 


for 1828, 





124, end of ‘Part the 
*x801' resi ‘1800. 


and The Pains of Sleep), 
bby John Murray, Ta16” vith the 


“PREFACE. 


‘of the following poem was 
year one thousand seven 


from Germany, in the year 
hundred, at Keswick, 
the latter date, my 


thousand 


iberland. 


powers have been, ull very lately, 


‘my own indolence 
are mentioned for 


precluding charges 
‘of servile imitation from 


Amongst Us a set of | 


‘well as great; and who would therefore 
rill they. behold 





would be among the first 
from the charge, and who, on 


them in this doggerel version of 
monkish Latin hexameters :-— 


“Tis mine and it is Ukewise your's ; 
Bat an if this will not do ; 
‘Let it be mine, good friend | for 1 
Arm the poorer of the two, 


“1 have only to add, that the metre of 
the Christabel is not, properly speaking, 
irregular, though it may seem so from its 
being fouinded on a new principle : namely, 
that of counting in each line the accents, 
not the syllables ‘Though the latter may 
vary from seven to twelve, yot in each line 
the accents will be found to be only four. 
Nevertheless this occasional variation in 
number of syllables is not introduced 
wantonly, or for the mere ends of con- 


‘When this Preface came to be reprinted 
in the Poetical Works in 1828 (and 
again in the revised edition of 1829), 
although Coleridge called it the ‘Preface 
to the edition of 1816,’ the confident 
anticipation then expressed in the closing 
words of the first paragraph had to be 
modified, the sentence ending thus: *I 
trust T shall yet be able to embody in 
‘vorse the three parts yet to come.” 

In 1834 the Proface was still described 
as that of 1816, but the passage beginning, 
* Since the latter date’. . . down to 
‘three parts yet to come,” was omitted 
altogether. 

Tt was intended that Christatel should 
be included in the second volume of the 
Lyrical Ballads, and the MS. (ot part of 
it) sent to the printers (Biggs and Cottle, 
Bristol). But some difficulty occurred, for 
on the rsth Sept. 1800 We 
countermanded the printing of Christel, 
‘for the present’ ; other poems of his own 
being then forwarded 10 go on with. 
the goth the MS, of the Preface wns sent. 
Tt contained the following paragraph = 








the printed Christated, 
“Conclusion to Part 


erlan Press, with vign- 

I long to have the book 

it will bo such a beauty!" 
of 216). 

came of it all. | ‘The will or 

Christabel failed, and 

t was left to flutter about 

* fascinating all cars by 

heard it recited by 

Stoddart in x8or, and *the music 

bore,” reproducing it as 

The Lay of the Last 

(Lockhart’s Afemoirs, 

1 Scott's Preface to 


‘Moore's hearty contempt by 
variation on the alr, in an 
‘opening of The Siege of Corinth 

(Life, 1866, p. 290), Bat Byron did 
something much better, for in 1815 he 
‘Murray to publish the frag- 

ment. Such a recommendation was 
to a command, and when 

arrived on his long visit to 

‘the Gillmans on the rgth April 1816, he 
eartied in his hand the proof-sheets of 


reception—especially by the Edin. 
Review, which declared it to be 


603 


friends. Justly of unjustly, Coleridge 
believed the reviewer to be Haslitt—an 
accusation too grave to be lightly ace 
cepted, His own views will be found tm 
the last chapter of the Aiog. Lit, Tt ts 
reported that Lamb * says CArisabel ought 
never to have been published ; that no ane 
understood it, and (that?) Kwéle A’ban 
«+» is nonsense’ (Fanny Godwin to Mary 
ly 20, 2816—Dowden’s Life of 
41) 7 but as regards Christnde? 
no confirmation of this in any 
published ‘letter of Lamb's, He feared 
the effect of type on Awhla Kham (see 
“Note 12’ on that poem), and he may 
have thought the same of ' Christabel " aa 
fivished, Vis own admiration of the frag 
ment was unbounded, After it had been 
published, Frere ‘strenuously actvisedt* 
Coleridge to finish C&ristadel (anprinted 
letter of S. T. C, to Poole, July 22, 1317), 
and for years the poet was haunted by the 
sense of his duty to complete what he had 
so gloriously begun. But still the resolu- 
tion or the inspiration failed. He was 
accustomed to plead the latter privation, 
It was probably about 1820 that he said 
to Allsop (i. 94): ‘If I should finish 
Christebel 1 shall certainly extend it and 
| give it mew characters and a greater 
number of incidents. ‘This the ‘* reading 
public’ require, and this is the reason 
that Sir W, Scott’s poems tho’ so loosely 
written are pleasing, and Interest us by 
their picturesqueness, If a genial recur 
rence of the my divine should occur for 
a few woeks, [ shall certainly attempt 
it. 1 had the whole of the two cantos in 
my mind before I began it; certainly the 
| first canto is more perfect, has more of the 
true wild weird spirit than the last. 1 
| laughed heartily at the continuation in 
Blackwood (June 1819}, which Thi 
| been told is by Maginn : it is in appea 
| ance and appearance only, a good tmita- 
tion, I do not doubt but it gave more 
pleasure and to a greater number, than a 
continuation by myself in the spirit of the 
two first cantos.’ In a letter of Allsop 
[i. 16] of January 1821, Coleridge says 
much the same: ‘Of my Poetic works, 1 
would fain finish C&ristated,” 











NOTES 


ag, 


in 


#e 
a 


Prot 


16-20. 3 hale aeiebelearrag 
jan. 31, 1798, Knight's Life 
WER g4e *30, forward to Storey 
hall;past Bee. When we left home the 
teoon immensely large, the sky scattered 
with ‘These soon closed in, 


‘breezes they were still also," 

MS, 1., MS. 111. and in 1816, 

"The breeees they were whispering low.” 
7 MS. II. 

+The sighs she heaved were soft and Tow.’ 
1628 and after, 

CE, the following entry from 

Journals (Life, i. 14x): 

1798. William and I drank 

‘s. A cloudy sky. Ob- 

served nothing particularly interesting — 

the distant obscured, 


bby the wind.’ 
S@-65. The passage in 1816 ran 





60s 


“There she sees a damsel bright 

Drest in a silken robe of white ; 

Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, 
And the jewels disordered in ber hair.’ 


Tt was the same in MS, I, and MS. IIT; 
the last line had ‘tumbled for ‘disordered, 
but ST. C. told J.P, C. this was a mis- 
transcription for *tangled’—a mistake not 
Mkely 10 happen twice 

Br, Five rufa, ete, MS. I. and 
it. 

The version of Caristebel recited to 

ott by Stoddart (v1. sage) was doubles: 
MS. 1, Scott prefixed. the following lines 
‘as Motto to chap. xi, of The Black Disarf 
(1818) 


* Three ruffians seized me yestermorn, 

Alas! a maiden most forlorn : 

‘They choked my cries with wicked might, 

And bound me on a palfrey white : 

As sure as Heaven shall pity me, 

I cannot tell what men they be. 

* Christabelle” 

‘A remarkable effort of memory, no 
doubt; but it is odd that Scott should 
not have preferred to quote from the 
printed Céréstabe/, published two years 
before, 

1. 88, And fevice we cross'd the shade of 
ight, MS. IIT. 

Il, rog-122, The passage in 1816 ran 
thus — 

“Then Christabel streteh’d forth her hand 

And comforted fair Geraldine, 

Saying, that she should command 

The service of Sir Leoline ; 

Andstraight be convoy’d, free from thrall, 
Back to her noble father’s hall, 


‘So up she rose, and forth they pass’ 
With hurrying steps, yet nothing fast ; 
Her lucky stars the lady blest, 

And Christabel sbe sweetly said— 

All our household are at rest, 

Each one sleeping in his bed ; 

Sir Leoline is weak in health, 

And may not well awaken'd be; 

So to my room we Il ereep in stealth, 
‘And you to-night must sleep with me," 


‘The text of 1816 follows MS. T. and 
MS. IIL ; but MS. IL bas instead of Her 
ducky stars, etc. 





606 


NOTES 





“Her smiling stars the lady blest ; 
And thas Serpahe sweet Christote : 
All our household és at rest, 

‘The ball is silent as « cell.” 


|. 166-168, In 1816, and in MS, 

UL» 

* Sweet Christabel her feet she bares, 
And they are creeping up the stairs." 


‘The beautiful line 
“And jealous of the listening air* 


was added in 1828, 
I 190-193. In 1816 the text was as 
here; but in MS. 1,:— 
*O weary lady, Geraldine, 
I pray you, drink this spicy wine, 
Nay, drink it wp; J pray you, do 
Believe me, it wilt comfort yous”; 
and in MS, TTL 
“O weary lady, Geraldine, 
I pray you, drink this spicy wine ; 
It is a wine of virtuous powers, 
My mother made it of wild flowers— 
Nay, drink it wp, J pray you, do! 
Beliewe me, it wilt comfort you. 


Tn MS. IL. the text was as here, except 
that the unfortunate change (* cordial* for 
*spicy") had not been made. 

Tl, 219, 220, In MS. I. and MS. IIT. — 
one hardly likes to record it— 


* The lady wiped her moist cold brow, 
And faintly said ‘Sm Better moze." 


Tn 1816 -— 


* She unbound 
‘The cincture from beneath her breast : 
Her silken robe, and inner vest, 

Dropt to her feet, and full in view, 
Behold! her bosom and half her side— 
A sight to dream of, not to tell ! 

And she is to sleep by Christabel, 


I, 248-263, 


“She took two paces, and a stride, 
And lay down by the maiden’s side, 





OF this passage Mr. Payne Collier gives 
ho readings from either of his MSS. : but 
in MS. IIE. 11. 248-251 follow the text of | 
1828-29 ; then comes :— 


‘Behold her bosom and haif her side 
Are lean and old and foul of Ane, 
And she is to sleep by Christabel ! 


“She took two paces, and a stride, 
And lay down by the Malden’s side. 
Ab 1 


wel-a-day 
And with std voice and dolefal look 
‘These words did say: 
In the Touch of y Bosom there worket 


a 
Which loft of thy nterance, Cheltabal 
‘Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to- 


morrow, 
The mark of my shame, the wal of my 
sorrow” 


[and so on, as in 1828-9, 10—) 
* And did’st bring her homne with thee sat 
Love and with Chari 


Charity 
‘To shield her and shelter ber from be 
ip air.” 


In the review of Christabel ix the 
Examiner for June 2, 1816, it i staid 
that in a MS. copy which the reviewer bid 
seen, in place of the published line 

‘A sight to dream of, not to tell!” 
is this— 

* Hideous, deformed, and pale of be” 


And the en tar ee the aces 
koystone, and that is why Coleridge: 
out. ‘The sneer is so Mke seany other 
sneers in Hazlitt's criticism of 
that Tam disposed to attribute the 
to him, though it is not mentioned in te 
lst of his writings prefixed to the Memein 
by his grandson, 

Ul, 317, 318. Ch The Nightiagale p 
133, hk 101-103. 

Part ff, Insome notes of converse 


with Coleridge in May #82, 
hs elle 


L 195; 1864, p. 104) gives 
on a long quotation from Crashaw's Hyer 
fo St. Theresa, which bas de 
scribed as the poet's finest lines :— 
“These verses were ever present to 
mind whilst writing the second part 
Christakel; if, indeed, by some 
process of the mind they did not sugget 
the first thought of the whole poem.* 
‘The quotation begins with — 
“Since ‘tis not to be had ak bome, 
She'll travel to a Martyrdome, 








‘No home for ber, confesses she, 
But where she may a Martyr be’; 
and ends with — 
‘ Farewel House, and Farewel Home— 
‘She's for the Moors and Martyrdome.* 
I 408-425 These lines, perhaps be- 
cause they bring us out of the surrounding 
i are the most famous in Christa- 
Sef; even the Edindurgh reviewer could 
‘see they were fine : "We defy any man to 
point out a passage of poetical merit in any 


‘There had been alienation between Cole- 
tidge and Thomas Poole in connection with 
The Friced, and no communication after 
2610, until in January 1813 Poole sent his 
congratulations on the success of Remorse. 

teplied : * Dear Poole, Love 80 

deep and so domesticated with the whole 
being 48 mine was to you, can never cease 
# & To quote the best and sweetest 
lines I ever wrote'—and he quotes the 
whole passage, then unpublished, with but 
two or three unimportant variations from 
the text of 1828-29, Two worth noting 
‘occur in the closing lines :— 
* But neither frost mor Aeat, nor thunder, 

Can wholly do away, I ween, 

‘The marks of that which once hath been," 

Charles Lloyd published some affection. 
fate verses about Coleridge and Lamb in 
his Thoughts on London (120), 
Lamb wrote to Coleridge, June 20, 1820, 
{Ainger's Letters, ii, 32): “1 admire some 
of Lioyd’s tines on you, and I admire your 
postponing reading them. He Is a sad 
tattler; but this is under the rose. 
‘Twenty years ago he estranged one friend 
from me quite. . . . He almost alienated 
you also from me, or me from you, I don’t 
Know which, Bur that breach is closed. 


is writing verses about you.” 


p. 600. 

My Dr, Garnett informs me 
that in User Hein, Heine, by Schmidt 
(Weissenfels, Berlin, 1857), which has 
some inetited verses by H. HL, there 





appears a translation by him of the greater 
part of this passage. 
hk 453. 
line 


Tn MS. Land MS. 111. this 


“The vision foul of fear and pain.” 

1, 463. In MS, 1, this line read >— 

“The pang the sijght was past away’ ; 
and in MS. TIE. = 

“The pang, the sight had pass’d away," 
Tn 1816 the line was as in 1828-29. 

1, 38a. When The Lay of the Last 

Minsérelappeared, Southey wrote toWynn, 
March 5, 1805 (Life and Corr. il. 316) : 
“The beginning of the story is t00 like 
Coleridge's C&ristobell, which he (Scott) 
had seen; the very life "Jesu Maria, 
shield her well!" is caught from it, . 
1 do not think [he copied anything] de- 
‘signedly, but the echo was in his ear, not 
for emulation, but gropter amore. ‘This 
only refers to 'the beginning.” 

The Conclusion to Part I. "This does 
not occur in any one of the three MSS. I 
have numbered I.’ ‘II. and ‘ ILL," and 
L know of the existence of no other. I 
think it highly improbable that the lines 
were composed for Christabel, They were 
sent to Southey in a letter of May 6, x801, 
and were therefore probably written about 
that time, 


117. France: an Ode, ps 124. 


First printed in the Aforméng Pwd, April 
16, 1798, under the title of Tae Recut 
tion: am Ode, and with the following 
editorial introduction now reprinted for the 
first time >— 


OriGINAL PorTRy. 


‘The following excellent Ode will be in 
unison with the feelings of every friend to 
Liberty and foe to Oppression ; of all who, 
admiring the French Revolution, detest 
and deplore the conduct of France to- 
wards Switzerland, It is very satisfactory 
to find so zealous and steady an Advocate 
for Freedom as Mr, COLERIDGE concur 
with us in condemning the conduct of 
France towards the Swiss Cantons. Ine 
deed his concurrence is not singular: we 
know of no Friend to Liberty who is not 
of his opinion. What we most admire fs 








NOTES 





. . . 


‘The Fifth Stanza, which alluded to the 
African Slave-trade, as conducted by this 
‘country, and to the present Ministry and 
‘their supporters, has been omitted ; and 
would have been omitted without any re- 
‘mark, if the commencing lines of the Sixth 
‘Stanza had not referred to it. 


‘ 
“Shall I with these my patriot zeal combine? 
No, Afric, no! They stand before 


my ken, 
Loathed as th’ Hysenas, that in murky 


den 

Whine o'er their prey, and mangle while 
they whine f 

Divinest Liberty! with vain endeavour, 

‘Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour,” 


ete. 
Tines which now begin this stanza 


. In the * Commonplace Hook, 
ADDENDA), is this entry: "AL 
the word “Liberty” is engraved 
pearls galley-slaves and the 


Fe se re quoted (with va- 
Hla = Of tbe Blog. Lit (1837, 
P. 


Li ae was Maca dated 
‘February 1798° in the Quarto, in the 
Poetical Register, and in Sid. Lewves, but 
boa iphaca #797' crept into P. H’. 1828, 
‘and remained uncorrected until 1877-80. 


448, Frost af Midnight, p. 126. 


” First printed in the same Quarto as the 
Reprinted in the Poetical 

1808-1809 (1812), with the fol- 

lowing note by the Editor: ‘This poem, 
which was Pelle published with Fears in 
Solitude and France: an Ode, has been 


and 
Pose algae yt om 
ister u Hine Hission 
‘of Mr. Coleridge.’? 


1 A few copies of the three poems were struck 
‘off separately fom the FH.type. 1 possess one, 
and there bs anather bound op in a volume of 


c 





Wl, 20-23. These lines first appeared in 
the 1829 edition, But the changes made 
from time to time in this part of the 
are 50 important that it will be worth while 
noting them : 


In the Quarto we read :— 
L 19. 
© Making Ufa companionssle form 
With which T can hold commune, 
thought ! 
But still the living spirit in our frame, 
That loves not to behold n lifeless thing, 
‘Transfuses into all its own delights, 
Its own volition, sometimes with deep 
faith, 
And sometimes with fantastic playfulness. 
‘Ah me! amused by no such curious toys 
Of the self-watching subtilising mind, 
How often in my early school-boy days, 
With most believing superstitious wish 
Presageful have I gazed upon the bars, 
‘To watch the stranger there! and oft be- 
ke,’ ete, 


Idle 


In the Poetical Register :— 

Making it a companionable form, 

With which 1can hold commune: baply- 
hence, 

‘That still the living spirit in our frame, 

Which loves not to behold a lifeless thing, 

“Transfuses into all things its own Will, 

And its own pleasures; sometimes with 
deep faith, 

And sometimes with a wilful playfulness, 

‘That stealing pardon from our common 


sense 
‘Smiles, as self-scornful, to disarm the scorn 
For these wild reliques of our childish 


‘Thought, 
‘That flit about, oft go, and off retura 


Not uninvited, 
Ab! there was a time 

When oft, amused by no such subtle toys 

Of the self-watching Mind, a child at 

school 

With most believing superstitions wish 

Presageftel, have I gae'd fipon the bars, 

‘Yo watch the #ranger there! and oft 


belike, 
‘With unclos'd lids," etc. 


pamphlets, which came from Southey’s library, 
in the Forster Collection at S. Kensington. This 
‘has a few pen corrections in Coleridge's hand. 


2k 





610 


L. a2. CE. Wordsworth’s Hine in Gipsier 
edd. 1807-1820 (only}— 
+The silent Heavens have goings-on.” 


and vaults and jubilates 1° 
L 7¢ In all versions, except the 

Quarto, the poem ends here. In the 

Quarto & continued :— 

*Like those, my babe! which ere to- 

morrow's warmth 
Have capp'd their sharp keen points with 
julows 


pend 
Will eateh thine eye, and with thelr novelty 
Suspend thy litde soul; then make thee 


And stretch and flutter froen thy mother's 


arms 
As thoa wouild'st Aly for very eagerness,” 


119. Fears im Solitude, p. 127. 

First printed in the Quarto of 1798 (see 
+ Note x27") with the date * Nether-Stowey, 
April 20th, 1798.' In an autograph copy 
lent me by Professor Dowden (to whom I 
am indebted for many kindnesses) the 
heading is ; * Written in April 1798 during 
the Alarm of the Invasion—The Scene the 
Hill, near Stowey.'* 

(When ' France: an Ode" was reprinted 
in the Morning Post (1802) long extracts 
from * Fears in Solitude’ were given in the 
same issue.) 

Tt was next printed in the Poetical 
Register, 1808-1809 (1812), 


MS. ie not dated, but hed 
*S.T. C.'; and at foot this note: 'W.8.—The 
abowe ix perhaps not Poctry,—but rather a sort 
of middle thing between Poetry and Oratory— 
sermoni propriora.—Some parts are, I am con- 
scious, too tame even for animated prose.” 


NOTES 





See the two | 


thirst 
Pollutions from the Grimming Cup of 
Wealth” 


1 48. Ch Destiny of Nations, Th 415 
416 (B77) = 
‘ Avapour sailed, as when a cloud, exhaled 
ion Ra Gelds that steans hot pest: 


t be ers beter : te 

98 No. on 

| all versions up to S35, Legres, “om; it 
1828 and after ‘or’ —an obvious misprint 














NOTES 





140, ‘The most light, unthinking, 
“sensual and proftigate of the E 


PRS etcaiy, Hava thought all 


Involv’d in of constituted power." 


Th 196, 197. See ADDENDA, * Fragment 
46." 


a2, 223 Thomas Poole was the 
‘friend.’ Tho elms survived until about 


225. The ‘lowly cottage’ is lowlicr 
ever: it is a public-house, with the 

’ A memorial 
(Oct. 1892). 
Cottage has been rescued and con- 
‘The Stowey cottage is not less 
Alfoxden is probably safe, but 
cottage, as it stands, is too frail a shrine 
the memories of Coleridge and Words- 
worth in their anmus mirahilis—1797-1798. 


IBS 


ue 


RF 


120. Toa Young Lady, p. fats 


First printed in the Annual Antho 

Cores ep tae of 

a cousin of Thomas Poole. She 
afterwards became Mrs. Draper. 


121. The Nightingale, A Conversation 
Pent, p. 131. 


First printed in Lyrical Ballads, 1798, 
inserted at the last moment to replace 
Lewti, withdrawn, for reasons unrecorded: 

ce ") The title in 1798 was, 

2 a Conversational Poem, 
3798. In LB. 1800, 
the second title was 

and in Si8, Leever (1817) was 
modified form of A Con- 
,, and this has always since 

‘until 1877-80, when the 
nes earlier word. 


musical, most melancholy.’ 
in Milton . 
soci wu 


ifecHT TES 
sli Ht 





dramatic propriety. The author makes 
this remark to rescne himself from the 
charge of having alluded with levity to a 
line in Milton, a charge than which none 
could be more painful to him, except per- 
haps that of having ridiculed his Bible.” 
(Note of S.T.C., 1798; repeated in ail 
editions.) 

Coleridge is quoting — 
+ Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly, 

Most musical, most melancholy." 

Ui Penseroso, I. 6r, 62. 


Milton's nightingales are not all * melan- 
choly'—they are more often ‘lulling,” 
‘solemn,’ ‘amorous ‘—and his own especial 
bird, ‘with fresh hope the lover's heart 
does fill.’ Indeed the only sad notes are 
sung in /2 Penseroso and in Comer, 

‘Tt was doubtless with reference to this 
passage that Wordsworth wrote to Wilson 
('Ch. North"): * What false notions = 
prevailed, from generation to general 
of the true character of the ‘Nightingale, 
As far as my Friend’s Poem, in the Zy- 
vical Ballads, is read, it will contribute 


Enterprise (1820) :— 
‘She, who inspires that strain of Joyance 


ly 
Which the sweet Bird, misnamed the 


melancholy, 

Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead 

for me." 

1. 40. 

“My Friend, and my Friend's Sister !* 

Lyrical Batiads, all editions, 

UL 43-49. This exquisite passage is found 
in the ‘Commonplace Book, c. 1795-97" 
(see AppeNDa, ‘Fragment 43"). It ls 
there word for word, as printed In 1798 
and ever after, 

Th 64-69, Om moonlight burkes to Lights 

her love-torch. "These lines were omitted 
in all editions of Lyrical Ballads after 1798, 
and restored in Si8, Leaves, 

DL o7-t05. The facts are noted in the 
“Commonplace Book,” 1795-97" (see 
AppENDA, ‘Fragment 38°} Col 
was probably thinking of the same incident 
when he wrote in CAristebe! (Il. 31§-318):— 

‘and ters she sheds— 
Large tears that leave the tnshes bright ! 





612 NOTES 





And oft the while she scems to smile 
As infants at a sudden light.’ 

Tt spems hardly necessary to say that the 
scenery of the poem is that of the foot of 
the Quantocks about Stowey and Alfoxden ; 
that * My Friend, and thou, our Sister !* are 
William and Dorothy Wordsworth ; that, 





- opinion 
‘became unfaithful 
al 


4123. Love, p. 135. 
First published in its present form in the 
first volume of the second edition of the 


Love, 

The following stanza in the: 
omitted ; it came between the: 
rath of Lowe -— 











NOTES 


613 


ee __ 


“And how he cross'd the woodman's paths, 
Thro’ briars and swampy mosses beat ; 
How bows rebounding scourg’d his limbs, 
"And low stubs gor'd ‘his feet," 
‘This also, which came between the 2oth 
and gust of Love ;— 
"1 saw her bosom heave and swell, 
‘Heave and swell with inward sighs— 
‘Tcoutd not choose but love to see 
Her gentle bosom rise.” 
“The next stanza began thus -— 
* Her wet cheek glow'd ; she stept aside— 
As conscious,’ etc. 


‘Afier the Jast stanza of Love came these:— 
“And now once more a tale of woe, 


‘And trembles on the string. 
i eh etal 
“Vhat crazed this bold and lonely [sic] 


‘And bow he ream’ the mountain woods, 
‘Nor rested day or night; 


pb naere pesto: coat: 
Ceara bas ass ota cre wrong 
Befel the Dark Ladic.’ 


Bud of the Introduction, 
Among Mr. Longman's MSS, (see ‘Note 


116') is a complete copy of Love, made 
bby Colesdge fr the printer of 1.2: 1800, 
Tt contains the stanza above which begins 


*1 saw her bosom heave and swell,’ 


but Coleridge ran his pen through it, He 
‘also made the alteration in the first ling 
(GP) of the tanza following 

‘® much-tortured draft of 
fooctntta Bess ‘Museum, of which (and 


facsimile, The little 
volume its a ice and notes. 
The dea 6 ented re Dent Ladie; 


1. See the germ in ‘Fragment 41° (p. 495) 
frequently ‘gored his fect’ in getting 
hedges and over stilen ‘The trouble 
cand ite cause reappear in The Picture :— 
“fin sullen mood 
‘Hie shoul steay hither, the low stumps shall gore 
His dainty feet” (Il. 230). 





I 13-16. Inthe first draft this stanza 
ran thus :— 
* Against a grey Stone rudely earv'd, 
The Statue of an armed Knight, 
She lean'd, in melancholy mood, 
‘And watch'd the lingering Light.’ 


‘And the abortive attempt was made :— 


"She lean'd against a tall chlssel'a Stone 
‘The statue of a- 


| Then :— 


*She lean'd against an armed man, 
‘The statue of an armed Knight, 
She stood and listen'd to my Harp 

‘Amid the lingering Light," 


Tam indebted to Mr, Ernest Hartley 
Coleridge for the suggestion that the pocm 
may have been written in November 1799, 
at Sockburn, when, after cag eer 
Germany, Coleridge visited the Words 
worths, themselves the guests of their con- 
nections the Hutchinsons, There is no 
*ruin’d tower’ at Sockburn, but there is 
an ancient church with a recumbent 
statue of an ‘armed knight" (of the 
Conyers family), and in a field adjoini 
a famous ‘Grey Stone’ (so called in the 
County Histories), which tradition says 
commemorates the slaying by the Knight 
of & monstrous wyverne, or ‘worme,” 
Here is surely material and suegestion 
enough for the stanzas in Love. ‘There is 
no ‘mount’ in Sockburn parish, but it oc» 
cuples a peninsula about which the Toes 
winds. 


1, 9, 10. * We entered the wood through 
‘a beautiful mossy path ; the moon above 
us blending with the evening lights, and 
every now and then a nightingale would 
invite the others to sing.’ — Coleridge's 
deter to his wife, May ah ant 
describing his ascent of the 
Printed fo New Monthly Magasine, sale 
1835, and less completely in end 1829, 
and in Gillman's Life, p. 125. 

Coleridge said to Allsop (probably about 
1820): ‘The Ancient Mariner cannot 3 
imitated, nor the poem Lote, “They may 
be excell immitabe™ 
(Letters, eto. 1864, p. 51). Again (p. 728), 
that a copy of the £2, of 1800 having 





614 





beautiful poem in the language. Doubt 
less Allsop misunderstood, for Fox's words 


appears 
best’ (Prose Works of W, W, &. 206). 
In Sid. Leaves, and in 1828 and 1829, 
Lave begins the section called * Lore 
Poems’ to which the following serves as 
Motto, 
* Quas humilis tenero stylus ollm effudit im 
270, 
Perlegis hie lacrymas, et quod pharetratus 
acuta 
Tile peser puero fecit mibi cuspide vulmus, 
Omnia paulatim consumit longior setas, 
Vivendogee simul morimur, rapimurque 
manendo, 


Ipse mibi collatus enim non file videbor = 
Frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis 


Vorque aliud sonat— 
Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur 


amantes, 

Jamque arsisse pudet, Veteres tranquilia 
tumaltus 

Mens horve,relegensque alinm putat Ite 


tum PRTRARCH. 


See the passage quoted In ‘Note 182° 
fn a different connection. 


124. The Ballad of the Dark Ladié, 
Pp. 136. 

First printed in Poems, 1834, without 
note or comment. It was the Ballad to 
which Love was originally intended to be 
an Introduction (see preceding * Note’). 
In a manuscript list (undated) of his poems 
drawn up by Coleridge appear these items 
together : ‘Zev, 96 lines [exactly the 
number printed). The Black Ladit, 190 
lines.’ ‘The Black Ladi¢ doubtless was 
‘The Dark Ladié,” so that the asterisks 
stand for about two-thirds of the whole. 


125, Hexameters, p. 137. 


First printed in the Rev. Ch, Words: 
weeth's Afemoirs of William Wordsworth, 
439; and again in Prof. Knight's 

185. ‘The lines are now first 
collectod as a whole, The seven begin- 
ning, *O what a life is the eye!’ were 





syllable followed by 
following verse from the Psalms 


i of hexameter 

ol ai feo ta the Raga tampa 

God came | Op with 4 | shut: ofr | Lit 
BARA Da bg: 





61s 








He 
| 
i 
i 
' 


tf 
HE! 
‘Re 
wed 


E 
& 


i 
i 


5 


[1 whata life is the 
to ‘Sure it has thoughts of its 

to see is only its 

338]; IIf, The Homeric 

i 4 exemplified 

x40); 1V. The Ovidian Elegia 
described and 


3 
i 


Hexameter, 
Mere 


in a copy of #20. kindly tent me by Mr. R. 
H, Coleridge, Coleridge has wri 


written under this 





Sich, © Mutter, hier tieg’ ich an deinen 
schwellenden Briisten { 

Lieg’, O Griingelockte, von deinem wallen- 
dea Haupthaar 


In das Hers, dass Wehmuth und Wonn’ 
aus schmelzender S¢ 


Und der strahlenden Stern’, ‘und flammen- 
Deschweiften Kometen, 
Eine der jungaien Teehter der allot 


nel enthilltest ? 
Dein Errothen war die erste der Morgen 


rothen, 

Als er im blendenden Bette von weichen 
schwellenden Wolken, 

Deine gartende Binde mit siegende Starke 
dir liste | 

Schauer durchbebten die stille Natur und 
tausend und tnusend 

Leben keimten empor aus der michti 
Lebesumarmung. <a 

Freudig begriissten die Fluthen des Meeres 
neuer Bewohner 

‘Mannigfaltige Schaaren ; es staunte der 

aber renieae Wallis 

lcber die steigenden Striime die seiner 
Nasen entbrausten 


jasen 5 
Junges Leben durchbrillite die Auen ; die 
Wilde ; die 


bitihenden Stauden, 





silt ada yf Seon 
‘They agreed to write a poem on Mahomet 
in Hexameters, cach contributing half, 


—_ 


Fixit printed in Puemes, 1834.5 iforiginal, 


In 2852 the fact that it was a froe transla | & 


tom from Matthissom's Milerixhes Mahrohem 
|, and the ori 


Senpéad 
2wischen Mirthea sam Tempethain em- 


ra uanchweben 

Und durch Wogen und Dunkel ihn ma 
Ieiten, 

Fis der siichtliche Schiffer, wonne- 
schauersd, 

‘An den Basen ihr sank.’ 


The title, of course, is a misnomer, as 
by having @ dactyl in the frst pice, in- 
stead of a spondee, iambus, or troche, 
the Hines consist of twelve, and not of 
eleven syllables. The German original is 
metrically in accord with the title, which 
cannot have been given by Coleridge to 
his translation. His beautiful lines were 
probably an experiment in metre, 

‘The poem has been unfortunate in bav- 
ing been hitherto printed with two bad 
blunders, now corrected :— 

1s, For placed has been substituted 


at 





Alest (gevegnet), 








NOTES 


neglected to do so, 

in any expectation 

what he bad bor- 

(Remarks of the 

‘on other borrowed poems are 
pp. xli-xtiv. ) 

‘an apology—not an 

idge omitted acknow- 

t least ten similar instances. 

doubt, accounts for 

light-hearted vanity 

‘more, pethaps ; but there is a 


MS. given to Cottle (see * Note 
written these translations from 
‘without mention of any ori- 


s {print incorrety in BR. i 


ti 
td 


ae 


ef 


SPee 
| [Het 


Vee attr ‘us along, o'er leaping and 
Billows, 


eens veaine and paren behind, but 


‘Sreciuen or Exotist Exveciacs. 
Tm the Hexameter rises the Fountain's 


silvery coluenn, 
Inthe Pestiameter still falling melddtots 
down, 


131. Metrical Fret, p. 140. 


‘The lesson was originally written for 

abont 1803, and the version of 

fie nen Bese printed (frm fn P. 2834) 
‘one adapted for Derwent in 1807. 


132. The British Stripling’s War-Song, 
Pp 4 
‘The editors of 1877-80 and of the 


617 


editors give, without any readings from 
the Mf.P, The first draft is in the British 
Museum, and it was this version which was 
printed in the Zit. Remuins, 1836 ( 276); 
but with two very unnecessary edi 
emendations, and one very bad Fearing 
Coleridge headed his draft, ‘Zhe Strip. 
ing's War-Song, mitated from Stolberg,’ 
but when he published the verses in the 
Ann, Anthol, he made some alteration on 
the text, called it * The Jritish Stripling’s 
‘War. »" and omitted the reference to 
‘Stolberg. He never reprinted it, and it 
seems to have been forgotten, for some 
‘one communicated it to the Gentleman's 
Magazine in 1848 (N.S. xxix. p. 60), 
Stating that it ‘had appeared in the Aa/h 
Herald.’ To bis awn copy of the Ann, 
‘Anthol, Coleridge with his pen restored 
the 13th line from 


* My own shout of onset, when the armies 
advance," 


to its original form in the draft, and this 
emendation I have adopted. 


The following is Count F. L, Stolberg's 
poms) (rare in 1774), taken from Ge- 
samme Werke der Briider Ch. umd 
E Grafen su Stolberg. ‘Hamburg, 1827, 
i 4a— 


Likp RINKS DEUTSCHEN KwAnEN. 


‘Mein Arm wird stark und gross mein 
Math, 

Gieb, Vater, mir ein Schwert | 

Verachte nicht mein junges Blut ; 

Ich bin der Vater werth 1 

Ich finde flrder keine Rub 

Im weichen Knabenstand ! 

Ich stiirb’, O Vater, stolz, wie du, 

Den ‘Tod fur's Vaterland ! 


Schon frih in meiner Kindheit war 
Mein tiglich Spiel der Krieg ! 

Im Bette triiumt' ich nar Gefahr 
Und Wunden nur und Sieg. 

Mein Feldgeschrei erweckte mich 
Aus mancher Tarkensehlacht ; 
Noch jlingst ein Faustseblag, wetchen ich 
Dem Bassa zugedacht 

Da neulich unsrer Krieger Schaar 
Auf dieser Strasse 20g, 

Und, wie ein Vore, d ‘der Husar 





Das Haus yoriiberfiog. 





618 


NOTES 





‘Da gafite starr, und freute sich 
Dez Knaben frober Schwarm : 
Ich aber, Vater, hiirmee mich, 
Und prifte meinen Arm { 


Mein Arm ist stark und gross mein Muth ! 
Gieb, Vater, muir ein Schwert ! 

Verachte niche mein junges Blut ; 

fch bin der Vitter werth ! 


133. Ona Cataract, p. 141. 


First printed in PW. 1834. See 
“Notes 127’ and ‘130. “The fellowing 
are Stolberg’s lines, on which Coleridge's 
poem is founded :— 


* Unsterblicher Jiingting ! 
‘Du strémest hervor 
Aas der Felsenkluft. 
Kein Storblicher sah 
Die Wiege des Starken ; 
Es hiirte kein Obr 
Das Lallen des Edlen im spradeluden 
Quell. 


‘Dich kleidet die Sonne 
In Strahien des Ruhmes 
Sie malet mit Farben des binimlischen 


Bogens 
Die schwebenden Wolken der stiinben- 
den Fiath.’ 


In Poems, 1848 and 1852, Mr. HN 
Coleridge entitled On a Cataract, * Im: 
proved from Stolberg’; and in the ‘ Intro- 
duction” to Biag, i, 1847 it was called 
*an expansion " of Stolbery’'s lines. 

In a manuscript copy in Coleridge's 
handwriting occur these various read~ 
ings -— 

IL 3, 3. 

Phou streamest from forth 

The cleft of thy ceaseless Nativity t* 


I. B12, 


+The murmuring songs of the Son of the 

Rock, 

When he feeds evermore at the slumber- 
less Fountain, 

‘There abideth a Cloud, 

At the Portal a Veil. 

‘At the shrine of thy self-renewing 

11 embodies the Visions of Dawn, 

It entangles," ete, 





L a0, 
“Below thee the cliff inaccessitie’ 
Mh 23, a3. 


* Flockest Fiockees in cy Joyanen 
Whoelest, shatter'st, start'st.” 


134. Tell's Birthplace, p. 142. 
Fits Printed in Sib, Laaees 
acknowledgment, * 


1817), wth 
from 


separate entry in the list, The following 
is Stolberg’s poem -— 


Ber WILHELM TELLS 
im Kantox Unt, 


Sebt diese hellige Kapelt | 
Hier ward Wabelm 

Hier wo der Altar Gottes steht 
Stand seiner Eltern Ehebett t 


Mit Mutterfreuden frewte sich 

Die liebe Mutter innigtich, 

Da gedachte nicht an ihron Schmert 
Und hielt das Kaiiblein am the Here: 


Sie fiohte Gott : er sei dein Kmecht, 
Sei stark und muthig umd gereeht 
Gott aber dachte: ich thu’ mehr 
Durch ihn als dureh cin ganses Hoe. 


Er gab dem Knaben warmes But, 
Des Rasses Kraft, des Adlers Muth, 
Im Felsennacken freien Sinn, 

Des Falken Aug’ und Feuer drin t 


Dem Worte sein’ und der Natur 

Vertraute Gott das Kntblein nur; 
Wo sich der Felsenstrom ergeusst 
Erhub sich frah des Helden Geist. 


Das Ruder und die Gemsenjagd 
Hat’ seine Glieder stark gemacht 
Er scherste frith mit der Gefahr, 
‘Und wusste nicht wie gross er war, 


Er wusste nicht dass seine Hand, 
Durch Gott gestitekt, sein Vaerland 


ratte 





NOTES 


Erretten wiirde von der Schmach 
Der Knechtschaft, deren Joch er brach, 136, From the Geronam, p. 143. 


FRIEDREICH LEOPOLD 
GRAF ZU StoLuexG, 
1775. 


135. The Visit of the Gads, p. 142. 


First printed in Si, Leaves (1817), with 
the acknowledgment, ‘Imitated from 
In editions 1828 and 1829 

is poem was entered In the ‘Contents’ 


it is called * The Visit of the Gods. 
‘The following is Schiller’ 


DitnrRamne, 
Nimmer, das glaubt mir, 
Erscheinen die Gott 


Kommt auch schon Amor, der Wichelnde 
Kaabe, 
syns der Herrliche, findet sich ein { 


Schenket mir ever unsterbliches Leben, 
Gitter! Was kann euch der Sterbliche 
? 


geben 
Hebet ru eurem Olymp mich empor. 
Die Freude, sie wohnt nur 
fos Japhtrs Sante: 
iilet mit Nektar, 
° eicht mir die Schale! 


Reich’ ihm die Schale | 

‘Schenke dem Dichter, 

Hebe, nur cin | 

Nets’ ihm die Augen mit himmlischem 


ue, 
Dasz er den Styx, den verhaseten, nicht 
schaue, 
Hiner dee Under sich dinke mu aeyn, 


Der Busen wird ruhig, 
Das Auge wird helle. 





‘This translation of part of Mignon’s 
song in Wilhelm Meister was first printed 
in P.W. 1834. Tt was omitted, prob- 
ably by an accident, from P. and D. W. 
1877-80, The editor of the Aldine edition 
(1885) remarks, correctly, I believe : ‘ This 
fragment is the only trace of Goethe to be 
found in Coleridge's Poems.' 


137. Mutual Passion, p. 143. 


First printed in the suj sheet 
prefixed to Sid. Leaves (1817) as *a song 
modernised, with some additions from one 
of our elder poets’ (* Preface’), and in the 
heading as ‘altered and modernised from 
an old Poet.’ ‘The former characterisation 
would lead the reader to suppose an 
English poet, but Prof. Brandl (Life of 
8, T, C. p. 248) says the poem is an “imi 
tation of the old-fashioned rhymes which 
introduce Minnesang’s Frabling.* 

In Mr. S, M. Samuel's annotated copy of 
Sib, Leaves Coleridge has drawn his pen 
through the second stanza, 


138. Water Ballad, p. 143, 


‘This appeared, without note or com- 
ment, in the Athemewm for October 9, 
1831; and was first collected in P. amd 
D. W. 1877-80. 


139, Namwes, p. 144, 

First printed In Morning Post, Aug. 17, 
1799; then in Keepsake for 1829 (1828); 
and was first collected in P, W. 3834. Tt 
wasalways printed without acki rent 
to Lessing, of whose ‘Die Namen’ it is a 
translation, 

Die Namen, 


Ich fragte meine Schiine = 

‘Wie soll mein Lied dich nennen? 

Soll dich als Dorimana, 

Als Galathee, als Chloris, 

Als Lesbia, als Doris, 

Die Welt der Enkel kennen ? 

Ach ! Namen sind nur Tine ; 

Sprach meine holde Schiine, 

‘Wihl' selbst. Du kannst miich Doris, 
Und Galathee und Chloris 





becamse 
that copied 


Translation of a Passage in 
Otifried’s Gospel, p. 444. 

‘The note st the hexd of the poem is 
taken from the remarks in the Bigg. Lit, | 
(1817, 1. 204, 205), by which the translation 
Is there introduced. Coleridge adds, that | 
while at Gottingenhe read through Outrsed's | 


141. 


TaR ES 
tis 
seeet 


E 
Bere 


i 


iy 
Hy 
5 
EB 
® 


i 


145. Liver soritten in the Allium of 
Elkingerode, pr 145. 


paraphrase with Prof, Tychsen, He says | We 


the passage translated is from chap. ¥.; | 


but Mrs, H. N, Coleridge (Bigg. Lit. 1847, | he 


4, 243) says 
Evang. Ub, i 
iter" 
Thesaurus Antiquitatum Teutonicarsne, 
pp. so, st," adding, * ‘The translation is a 
little condensed, but faithful in senso." A 
few couplets of the original were added. 


142. Epitaph on an Infant, p. 145, 

T have thought it best to group the 
Epitaphs on infants, and the cousequence is 
thatithis notorious one is a little belated, 
Py) Wappeared (along with the Biegy, 





r poetry, 
contain a true account of 





NOTES 


‘The quotation from Southey was printed 
si tn he tare, Ani: ig 


146, Something childish, dut very 
natural, p. 146. 

First printed in Ame, Anthol, for 1800 
with the signature * Cordomi,” In his own 
copy he explains the signature by writing 
‘ie. Heart-at-Home.” ‘The poet sent 
the ‘lines to his wife in a letter dated 

ea April 23, 1799." In the Blog. 

to the Tauchnite reprint 
at te F Poems, 1852, Ferd. Freiligrath says 
these lines are an ‘imitation of the German 
popular song ‘* Wenn ich cin Voglein wir” 
of which a friend has kindly given me a 
rouearyt from "Des Knaben Wanders 


‘Wenn ich cin Viiglein witr’, 

Und auch zwei Flaglein hit’, 

Fidg’ ich xu dir ; 

‘Weil's aber nicht kann sein, 
‘Weil's aber nicht kann sein, 

Bileiby' ich all bier. 

Bin ich gleich weit von dir, 

Bin ich doch im Schlaf bei dir - 

Und red” mit dir ; 

‘Wenn ich erwachen thu’, 

‘Wenn ich erwachen thu’, 

Bin ich alllein. 


Es vergeht keine Stund’ in der Nacht 
‘Da mein Herz nicht erwacht 

Und an dich gedenkt, 

Wie du mir viel tausendmal, 

‘Wie du mir viel tausendmal, 

Dein Herz gschenkt. 


147- Home-sick, p. 146. 

First printed in Ann, Anthol. for 1800 
with the signature * Cordomi’ (seo pre= 
pine Note) and the 13th line reading 

* Home-sickness fs no baby-pong.’ 
eee ee, Poole in @ letter 
from Gtttingen, introduced thus :-— 

*O Poole! Iam homesick. Yesterday, 
‘or rather yesternight, I dittied the follow- 


ing hobbling Ditty; but my poor muse is 
quite yone—perhaps she may return and 
meet meat Stowry.’ Dr. Carlyon in his 





Gar 


Early Years, ete, (1856, 1. 66), in deserib- 
ing what Coleridge called" the Carlyon- 
Parry-Greenative’ to the Harts, tells us 
that Coleridge dictated these lines in the 
Stamm-Buch of the Werningerode Inn, 
reserving his greater effort for Elbingerode. 
(This is not what Dr. Carlyon says, but it 
is evidently what he means He omits 
the second stanz, but that may be only 


by an oversight.) 


148. The Day-Dream,  Frow an 

Emigrant to his absent Wife, p. 146. 

First printed in Morning Post, Oct. 19, 
1802. Next, in the Poems, 1852, with 
the following editorial note :— 

“This little poem first appeared in the 
Morning Pest, in 1802, but was doubtless 
composed in Germany. It seems to have 
been forgotten by its author, for this was 
the only occasion on which it saw the light 
through him, ‘The Editors think that it 
will plead against parental neglect in the 
mind of most readers,’ 


149. The Devil's Thoughts, p. 147. 


First printed in the Morming: Post, Sept. 
6, 1799, a8 follows — 


' 

Frou his brimstone bed at break of day, 
Awalking the Devil is gone, 

To look at his snug little farm the Earth, 
‘And see how his stock went on. 


n 
Over the hill and over the date, 
‘And he went over the phiin, 
‘And backward and forward he swish'd his 
Jong tail, 
As a Gentleman swishes his cane. 


an 


He saw a Lawyer killing a viper 
‘On a dunghill beside his stable ; 

+Oh—obs,’ quoth ie, for it put him in mind 
Of the story of Cain and Abel. 


‘An apothecary on 2 white horse 
Rode by on his vocation 5 





ja 





Aad the Devil thought of bis old friend 
Revelation * 


Death, is the 
. 


He went into a rich bookseller's shop. 
Queth be, We aze both of one college? 

For I sate mysel, Eke 2 cormorant, once 
Haed by the toe of Kaowledge.”* 


" 


He sew a Turnkey im a trice 
Harct-cuff 2 troabiesome blade— 

* Nimbly,” quoth he, ‘do che fingers move 
Ifa man be bet usd to bis wade" 


vit 
He sow the sume tumbey unfettering = 
man 
With but little expedition, 
And be lamgh’d, for be thought of the long 
dchates 


On the Sinve Trade Abolition. 


in 
As be went through —— —— feids be 
look’a 


Ata solitary cell— 
And the Devil was pleas'd, for it gave him 
a hint 
For improving the prisons of Hell 


ix 
He past cottage with = double coach: 
house, 


A cottage of gentility, 
And be grinn’d at the sight, for his favourite 
vice 
Is pride that apes bumisity. 


x 
He saw a pig right rapidly 
Adown the river float, 
The pig swam well, but every stroke 
‘Was cutting his own throat. 


1 ‘And 1 loaked, and behold a pale borse: and 
his name that eat on him was Death'—Rev. ch. 
Wit [Now in AP.) 

1 \Thie scecdote i related by that most in- 
teresting of the Devils Bicgraphers, Mr. John 
Miken, in his Paradise Lert, and we have bere 
the Devils own ceulmony to the truth and 
accuracy ofc (Neve in ALP.) 





A 
ho be on borane ea 


t ‘he bend on 





NOTES 


squib had a great circulation, and in 1812 
were still remembered and 


tells Moore, he ‘took from Porson's Devil's 
Walk." In 1827 Southey was moved by 
assertions still put forth 


poem,” The Devil's Walk (Letters, 
1856, lv, 53}, to spin it out to fifty-seven 
stanzas, which still dissgure the complete 
editions of his Poetical Works, Again, in 
1830-31, sundry versions, more or less 
incorrect, were issued in pamphlets, with 


Of this later history of the squib see WV, and 
Q., 7th ar a 161, See also Southey's 
IW. (one yol.), p. x66; or 1838, iil. 83. 
In tone ‘of Coleridge's disclaimer that be 
meant nobody in particular by ‘General 
——," the stanza has been frequently 
and impudently misquoted with various 
namies filled in—especially in ‘Thomas 
Charon a Monograph (1854. p. 22) 
ie" is inserted, meaning a 


pasatiiey MP. for Liverpool in 1806. 


150. Lines composed in a Comcert-Room, 
Pp 148. 

T have placed this among the 1799 

poemns because it was then first printed in 

Post (Sept. 24). In some 

fr roa ibly existed in 1796, for an 
allusion in a letter of Lamb to Coleri 

3 Cella year seems to point to It. 

be found in Ainger’s Letters. 4. 31, 

from the original letter which 

ieee wht by) Tellbard s— 

care, good Master Poot, of the 

melig, What do you 

Madame Mara harlots 

wughty things? ‘The goodness of 

‘would not save you in a Court of 

But the poem may well be a 

some early verses, for the * dear 

whom it ix addressed may have 

farourite sister of that name (Ann) 


ze 


ri 
celia 





623 


whom he lost in 1791. See ‘Note 22." 
‘The language infers that ‘dear Anne* is 
still alive, and is rather more appropri 
as coming from a brother to « sister than 
from a lover to his sweetheart. 

the scenery Includes a take," i 

as if it had been sketched by the banks 
of the Otter, In the Morning Post the 
poem closed with these three stanzas, 
never reprinted until ed. 1877-80, The 
blanks in the MS, may have been filled in 
with something which prompted Lamb's 
mention of Madame Mara, nothing in the 
printed verses giving a clue to any particular 
songstress :— 

‘Dear Maid! whose form in solitude 1 


seek, 

Such songs in sucha mood to hear thee 
ing, 

It were a deep delight !—But thou shalt 
ing 

‘Thy white arm round my neck, and kiss 

my cheek, 
And Jove the brightness of my gladder 


eye, 
‘The while 1 tell thee what a holier joy 
“Tt-were, in proud and stately step to go, 
‘With trump and timbrel clang, and 
popular shout,* 
‘To celebrate the shame and absolute 


rout 
Unhealable of Freedom's latest foe, 
‘Whose tower'd might shall to its centre 
nod. 


“When human feclings, sudden, deep and 


vast, 
As all good spirits of all ages past 
Were armied in the hearts of living 


men, 
‘Shall purge the earth and violently sweep 
‘These vile and painted locusts to the deep, 
Leaving un—— undebased, 

A—— world, made worthy of its God, 


. Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of 
Devonshire, p. 149 
First printed in the Morning Port, Dec. 
24, 1799. Her Grace's Passage coer 
Mount Gothard bad been printed in the 
ALP. on the axst, and in the Morning 


1 This line reappears in the Prelude, So. Hh, of 
Zapotye 





bourme's Papers, 1839, p. ko} 
Coleridge reprinted the Ode i the Ane. 


and the Duchess of Devonshire ? 

fiction of your own, why truly “tis a very 
modest one for yew.’ But the ‘scandal’ 
was not omitted in Sid, Leaves, 


152. A Christmas Carol, p. 150. 

First printed in Morning Post, Dec. 25, 
1799; then in Ams. Anthol, 1800; and 
afterwards in all editions of Coleridge's 
poems. ‘The Carol was probably inspired 
by the passage of Ottfriod (p. 144). 

153. Tishleyramd to Lord Grenville, 

Pe ISI. 

1 have thought it better to print this 
political squib werAafim ef fiterating as it 
first appeared, rather than to follow any of 
the slight changes introduced by the editor 
of the ruprint in Assays om bir own Times 
(i 233). The verses were never reprinted 
by Coleridge. 


154. The Keepiade, p. 154. 
First printed in the Morning Post, Sep 





Bait ie 
fi 


‘beautiful Mrs. Richart 
Brinsley Sheridan, Sir Joshua's ‘St, Cecilia’ 


156. A Stranger Minstrel, p 155. 





NOTES 


: 


died to express what 
her death-bed affection and 
me.’ He quotes a few lines of 
which ex an intense desire 
summit of Skiddaw once more. 
never quit the prespect_ (she 
5 it would be present till my eyes 
closed for ever," 
was no doubt in response to this letter 
Coleridge sent The Stranger Minstrel, 
‘says nothing of it to Poole. 
much affected by Coleridge's 
1 *Esighed from the bottom of my 
he writes; and asks, "Should no 
dwell a moment on the affecting 
2° Perhaps the inquiry suggested to 
Coleridge the next poom — The Mad Mont. 
The Stranger Minstrel contains one un 
line—the forty-fifth—as addressed 
10 Perdita :— 
* His voice was like a monarch wooing." 
When writing the opening passage Cole- 
probably had in his mind Words- 


ASRRET3E 
pit 


FE 


iUaE 


i 


ridge 
worth’s lines, which he often heard repeated 
at Alfoxden less than three years before >— 
+Theard a thousand blended notes 
‘While in a grove 1 sate reclined, 
‘Tn that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts: 
Bring sad thoughts to the mind, 
Lines weritten in Barly Spring. 


157. The Mad Afonk, p, 156. 
First peinted in The Wild Wreath (1804), 
edited by M.S, Robinson, a daughter of 
Perdita.” Tt was first reprinted in the 
“Supplement” to Coleridge's P, and D. W,’ 
1877-80, See preceding ‘ Note," 


158. The Two Rownd Spaces on the 
Tembstone, p. 157- 

First printed in Aforminy Post, Dec. 4, 
1800, with the title—*The Two Round 
Spaces: A Skeltoniad,’ A squib is always 
best in its original form, and this 1 have 
preferred to print, rather than the revised 
‘version given in the /.1V. 1834. Two 
‘others were given in Pruser’s Magazine for 
Feb, and May 1833 respectively ; a fourth 
fs printed In J. Payne Collier's Old Man's 


c 





from Aberdeen’ was Sir James Mackintest, 
aman whom Coleridge heartily detested, 

‘When the verses were reprinted in 2834 
this: note was prefixed the apology 
for the "Fire, Famine, and Slaughter.” 
‘This is the first time the author ever pub: 
lished these lines.1 He would have 
glad had they perished; but they have 
now been printed repeatedly in magazines, 
and he is told that the verses will not 
perish. Here, therefore, they are owned, 
with the hope that they will be taken, as 
assuredly they were composed, in mere 
sport." ‘The verses were excluded from 
the edition of 1852. 


159. The Snowdrop, p. 158. 

‘This fragment is here printed for the first 
time, In quality f is very snequal, but 
there are some lines which no one but 
Coleridge could have written, ‘The draft 
tide and the letter explain the motive and 
intention of the verses. There are five 
stanzas more, but they are too immperfect 
for print. 


‘LINES WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE 
PERUSAL OF Mrs, RONINSON's SNOW 
Dkor. 

To the Editor of the Morning Post. 
Sux, 

Tam one of your many readers who 
have been highly gratified by some extracts 
from Mrs. Robinson's * Walsingham’ : 
you will oblige me by inserting the follow- 
ing lines [composed] immediately on the 
perusal of her beautiful poem, ‘The Snow 
Drop.” Zagat, 


160, On Revisiting the Sea-shore, p, 159. 


First printed in the Morning Post, Sept. 
ts, 1801, and signed 'Eoroe.’ The 
lines were sent to Southey in. a letter dated 
“Bishop Middicham, Aug. 11, 1801." 


161, Ode to Tramguiliity, po 189. 
First printed, without signature, in. the 
Morning Post, Dec. 4. 180%, with these 
1 Were shey, then, printed in the fi Psul wlthe 
‘out Coleridge's sanction? Very unlikely. 
23 








NOTES 


798 (p 163}; In 220 (p, 162) “Otway 
is substituted for ‘Edmund’; and lastly 
of all—the con- 


ifs 
A 
fi 


rit 
: 
i 
i 


iy 
3: 


i The Prelude (p. 176), 
camie to be printed in Sid. 
wept is operated 
composition and 

+ whi 


f 


: 


i 


1g tongues’ = 

‘two friends to stand aloof for 
and the recoecinson 

had not wholly done away 


ae 


phlet on the Convention 
BP. 138; see Prove Works, 


Append” to Cottle’s Zarly 
{lle 201-240) will be found a 
‘Felix’ Farley's. (Bristol) 
some Busays on the Fine Arts, 
Coleridge in August 1814, 

‘hid, ROS eN props of 


ing its contrary nature, and sces et 
shining forth in other forms, it 

the scattered whole, and 

: to itself, and to the indivisible 
form wiabin; and renders it consonant, 
ruous, and friendly to its own intimate 


“Addivine passage (continues Coleridge) 








627 


faintly represented in the following lines, 
written many years ago by the writer, 
though without reference to, or recollection 
of, the above.’ 

"The construction of the quotation from 
Dajection is remarkable—the identification 
of ‘this light, this glory, this fair luminous 
mist” with ‘ that green light that Tingers in 
the west’; and it is also notable that Cole- 


was 
| ridge should have, in 1814, described a 


poem published in 1802 as still ‘in MS." 
In the text of the quotation are a few 
various readings of no great importance. 

Ui, 21-28. Ina 'Scholium’ on the fore- 
going passage and quotation, Coleridge 
remarks that ‘the sensation of pleasure 
always precedes the judgment, and is its 

determining cause. We find [the object] 


may even. exist without ‘sensibly pro- 
ducing it) And then he quotes Il 
21-28 without a Maps that they come from 
‘the same poem, ‘The passage in the 
‘Essay’ which immediately follows is 
printed as a fragment in Allsop's Letters, 
ete. ti, 42-44. 

I. 80-81. ‘Ere I speak of myself in the 
tones, which are alone natural to me under 
the circumstances of late years [c. 1819- 
15], I would fain present myself [in Satyr~ 
ane's Letters, 1799-1800) to the Reader 
as I was in the first dawn of my literary 
life— 

* When Hope grew round me, like the 
climbing vine, 
And fruits and foliage, not my own, 
seem'd mine.’ 
(Bing, Lit, x8xp, th. 182.) 


‘To this passage the Editor of the 1847 
edition (ii, 186) adds the apposite note -— 
Miraturqutnevas fromdess et mon sua poma. 

Grore. tL v. 82. 

‘i. 86-93. In a letter to Josiah Wedg- 
wood, of October 20, 1802 (* This is my 
‘birthday, my thirtieth’—the azst was 
really the birthday), coletigy NE wrote? +7 
found no comfort but in the 
tions: inthe *' Orie to Dejection” tl ye you 
were pleased with, these lines, in the orl: 





628 


NOTES 





gital, followed the line, ** My shaping spirit 
of Imagination,” “—and then he quotes Il, 
87-93. the sole difference in text being in 
the last— 


* And now is almost grown the temple of 
my soul." 
Corrie, Rew. pe 444e 


UL 247-125. Here, of course, the refer+ 
ence is to Wordsworth’s Lucy Gray, 
rendered not the less palpable by the suc~ 
cessive changes from * William’ to ‘Ed- 
mund,’ and from * Edmund" to * Otway.” 
‘The germ of the passage occurs in a letter 
{unpablished) to Poole a whole year earlier: 
"Greta Hall, Feb, 1, r80r.—O my dear, 
dear Friend! that you were with me by 


the fireside of my study here, that T might | 


talk it over with you to é8c fume of this 
nightswind that piper its thim, doloful, 
climbing, sinking motes, like a child that 
Aas lost its way, and is crying alow, half 
im gridf, and Aalf in the hope to be heard 
ty its mother.” Lucy Gray had just been 
printed (£.8 1800), and Poole was then 
reading the copy Wordsworth sent him, 
80 that he would not fail to catch the alla- 
sion, 


163. The Pictwre ; or, The Lover's 
Resolution, p. 162, 


First printed in the Morning Post, 
Sept. 6, 1802. Lamb had arrived home 
from his visit to Greta Hall on the day 
before, and on the 8th he wrote thus to 
Coleridge, in a letter only a small portion 
of which has been published; ‘I was 
pleased to recognise your blank-verse poem 
(the Picture) in the Aform. fut of Mon- 
day. It reads very well, and I feel some 
dignity in the notion of being able to un- 
derstand it better than most Southern 
readers.’ ‘This settles the scenery of the 
poem, ns well as the date of its composi- 
tion, | It was conveyed from the Morming 
Post to the Poetical Register for 1802 
(1804) with but litle change in text; but 
it reappeared in Si, Leaver (1817) 0 
good deal altered. Lines 17-26 and 34- 
4a had been added, and also, by way of the 
Brrota, 11, 126-133, and some minor text- 
ual changes were effected. The poem, 
indeed, was kept under the file up to 18: 





ot would be scence sl Ea 


tn Woods "ef Winhen Joe eae 
Rocks, 


[1 quote from the original letter, printed 
incorrectly in Rem, p, 981.) 
1 79-86. 


Tn Mr. Samuel's 2S 
Coleridge bas 


rive ‘oe 
Th oigocegs) Ck amy Meee 





NOTES 


629 





‘with Coleridge's diction.) 


164. Hyon before Sun-vise, in the Vale 
of Chamouni, p. 165. 


‘First printed in the Morning Post, 
‘Sept. rr, 180a, with the following title and 
{ntroductory note :— 


(CHAMOONI, THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE. 


*{Chamouni is one of the highest moun- 
valleys of the Barony of Faucigny in 
Savoy Alps; and exhibits a kind of 
I, in which the wildest appear- 
{ft had almost said horrors) of Na- 
alternate with the softest and most 
‘The chain of Mont Blanc is 
‘boundary; and besides the Arve it is 
with sounds from the Arveiron, which 
from the melted glaciers, like 
with joy, from a dungeon, and 
torrents of snow-water, having 
in the glaciers which slope down 
valley, The beautiful Gentiana 
‘or greater gentian, with blossoms 
itest blue, grows in large com- 
‘steps from the never-melted 
jer. thought it an affect- 
the boldness of human 
near, and, as it were, 
‘over the brink of the grave. In- 
vale, its every light, its 
must needs impress every 
callous with the thought 
who cowit be an Atheist 
If any of the 
fonxiNG Post have visited 
journeys among the Alps, 
that they will not find the 
‘and feelings expressed, or at- 
fo be expressed, in the following 
extravagant.) " 
t very natur- 


that Coleridge had composed 

in the Vale of Chamouni, or with 
Impressions of its scenery fresh on his 
eye; but he never saw the place, 
Acknowledged that be was in- 

the germ of the pocm, and for 

‘its words and images, to the fol- 


pete 


HE 
t 


a 


Hi 


emblem 


& 


Lu 
# 
hi 


: 





lowing stanzas by Frederike Brun (née 
Minter), a German poetess, who called 
her poem ‘Chamouni at Sun-rise, and 
addressed it to Klopstock. “This was 
pointed out by De Quincey in Fixit": Maga- 
sine for September 1834 (p. sto); but he 
allowed that Coleridge had ‘created the 
dry bones of the German outline into the 
fulness of life.’ 


* Aus tiefem Schatten des schweigenden 
Tannenhains 

Exblick’ ich bebend dich, Scheitel der 
Ew 


igkelt, 

Blendender Gipfel, von dessen Hihe 

Ahndend mein Geist ins Unendliche schwe- 
bet! 


“Wer senkte den Pfeiler tief in der Erde 
‘Schooss, 
Der, seit Jalirtausenden, fest deine Masse 
stiitzt ? 
‘Wer thirmte hoch in des Aethers Wolbung 
a | und kihn dein umstrahltes Ant« 
ite? 


* Wer goss Euch hoch aus des ewigen 
Winters Reich, 
O Zackenstriime, mit Donnergetiis herab? 
Und wer gebietet laut mit der Allmacht 
timme ; 
“ Hiersollen ruhendie starrenden Wogen?" 


* Wer zeichnet dort dem Morgensterne 
die Babn? 

Wer krinzt mit Biltithen des ewigen Frostes 
Saum? 

‘Wem tont in schrecklichen Harmonicen, 

Wilder Arveiron, dein Wogengetlimmel? 


‘Jehovah | Jehovah! kracht’s im ber- 
stenden Eis ; 

Lavinendonner rollen's die Kluft hinab > 

Jehovah rauscht's in den hellen Wipfeln, 

Fiistert’s an rieselnden Silberbtichen." 


‘What may possibly have prompted Cole- 
ridge to concealment is stated in the 
apology put forward by his nephew in the 
Preface to the first edition of Tadle Talt 
(1835), who pleads that Coleridge could 
not have had ‘any ungenerous wish to 
conceal the obtigation,” for * the words and 
images that are taken are taken bodily 
and without alteration, and not the slightest 
art is used—and a little would have sufficed 
—to disguise the fact of any community 








NOTES 


168, The good, great Man, p. 169, 
sent this | to the 


og, in the course of a ainglation on ‘on 
ges which says that ' Fortune 
favours Fools.’ No, says Coleridge, good 


what they themselves seck—each class 
the a ate means to the 
desired end. ‘In this sense the Proverb 
‘is current by a misuse, or a catachresis at 
ae both the words, Fortune and 
Ml. 24,15. No doubt Coleridge had in 
mind Hooker's words (eel. Pol. Bk. 
; * Half a hundred years spent in doubt- 
which of the two in the end would 
the side which had all, or else the 
had no friend, but God and 
}. the one a Defender of his Innocency, 
a finisher of all his troubles.’ 1 
lis reference pencilled by an un- 
hand on ‘the margin of a copy 

ins, | 53: 


169, Answer to a Child's Question, 
p- 170. 
First printed in Morning Post, Oct. 16, 


Hew ‘with the heading ; * The Language of 
Birds: 2a) cog pated tree 
child in carly ‘When reprinted in 
Sib. aes car fer, the two couplets T 
‘within [] were omitted. ‘This 

at least twice set to music 

the Birds, by J. M. Capes, 

love, by S 


t70, The Pains of Sleep, p. 170. 

First printed in 1817, in the pamphlet 
with CArintabel and Avdla Khan. 1n the 
fintreduetion to Awivla Khaw it was thus 
alluded to: "As a contrast to this vision T 
have annexed a fragment ie eal 
character, describing with eq: ity 
‘the dream of pain and disease.’ 


In Poems, 1852, the verses were printed 
with a note saying that ‘it has been 
recently ascertained to have been written 
in 1803." On the e2nd Bent. 805, se0n 
after his return from hi tour, 
Coleridge wrote thus to Sir G. Grand Lady 
Beaumont (Coléorfon Letters, i. 6) -— 

‘Previously to my taking the coach, I 
had walked 263 miles in eight days, in the 
hope of forcing the disease [gout] into he 
extremities—and so strong am I, that 
would undertake at this present time a 
walk so miles a day fora week together, 
In short, while Iam in possession of my 
will and my reason, I can keep the fiend at 
arm's length; but with the night my 
horrors commence, During the whole of 
my journey three nights out of four T have 
fallen asleep struggling and resolving to 
lie awake, and, awaking, have blest the 
scream which delivered me from the re- 
luctant sleep. Nine years ago I had 
three months’ visitation of this kind, and 
I was cured by a sudden throwing off of a 
burning corrosive acid. ‘These dreams, 
with all their mockery of guilt, rage, 
unworthy desires, remorse, , and 
terror, formed at that time the subject of 
some Verses, which I had forgotten til 
the return of the complaint, and which 1 
will send you in my next as a curiosity 

‘The statement regarding the. * visitation 
nine years ago’ is entirely uncorroborated, 
Coleridge seems not to have sent the verses 
to the Beaumonts ; but a fortnight later he 
writes thus to Poole (Oct. 3): "God forbid 
that my worst enemy should ever have the 
Nights and the Sleeps that I have had 
night after night—surprised by sleep, 
while T struggted to remain awake, starting 
upto bless my own loud seream that had 
awakened me— yea, dear friend! till 
my repeated night-yells bad made me a 
nuisance in my own house. As J live and 
am a man, this is an unexaggerated tale. 
My dreams became the substances of my 
life,’ Then follow, in the letter, without 
further introduction and with but a few 
verbal differences, I, 28-32 of The Pains 
of Sleep. The rest of the poem was 
probably written about the same time 
De Quincey relates similar experiences in a 
cancelled passage of his Confessions, which 
is printed only in thenotes to Dr. Gamett's 
edition of that work (Parchment Library 








amor = 
‘troppo mat 


ae 


uit iH 


a 
| Tu pur rope sdegmeni, 


ies Path 


Neier Fines (1594) mer 


(08j:) kas axfre—E 


2 So im Ziantink 1 chink aytee meme 
A mnprint for auf, oF aaplde, oF 


Ken 





if: 
i 





172. Te Ave, p17! 


‘This was found in 2 very much tortured 





NOTES 





W. 9, to Cf. * After a pause of silence : 
‘even thus, said he, like two strangers that 
have fled to the same shelter from the 
same storm, not seldom do Despair and 
‘mect for the first time in the porch 

* (Allegorie Vision, *Averx- 


fel 


has himself experienced, and of 
reader may find a description in 
the earlier volumes of the Man- 
funnily pre Stecee nese 
ly in wing ppass- 

BRIM ddrte Refer — 
Pindar’s fine remark respecting the 
fifferent effects of music, on different 
characters, holds equally true of Genius ; 
as many 48 are not delighted by it are 
disturbed, perplexed, irritated. ‘The be- 


i 
4 


§ 
% 


il 


spectre.” "Ais to Reflection, 
1825, p. 920. [Note by S. T. C.) 


177. Farewell to Love, p. 173. 


First printed in Gentleman's Magazine, 
Nov, 1815; then in Lit. Remains, |, 280 ; 
Bea Alltop (Leters, ec. 1064, p76). 
1 believe it was com 


178. What is Life? p. 173. 


in the Lét. Sowvenir for 
{m Lit, Remains and dated 


sent the lines to Mr. Worship 
‘of Yarmouth (see *Note 175") in 1819, 
that he wrote them when he wasaged 
“between 1g and 16.’ His memory served 
Bim badly, for they were really composed 
at Malta on the ‘16th August r8os, the 
day of the Valetta Horse-racing—bells 
and stupefying music all day." 

they are immediately pre- 

ceded by the lines 1 have called A Sunset 
Ki. _378}, bled were begun a8 nonsense 
verses, ines, What is Life? have 
PaaS <Wiihea ai terse tsansce 





and for the same purpose, but of course 
with more consciousness than the two 
stanzas on the preceding leaf’ [ie A 
‘Swnsef). Cf. Alvar's speech in Remorse 
(Act fli, Se. 1. p. 979, b 44)— 


‘Teall up the Departed 1 


. * 


Of that innumerable company 

Who in broad circle, Toveller than the 
rainbow, 

‘Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, 

With noise too vast and constant to be 


heard = 
Fitliest unheard {" 


179. The Blosroneing of the Solitary 
Date-Tret, po 173: 

First printed in PW, 1828, Tn 1829 
a few verbal alterations were made in the 
text both of prose and verse. 

I. 28-30 See Allsop's Letters, etc. 
1864, p. 208. 

1 31. In a letter (unpublished) written 
in 181g to @ young friend who was about 
to be married Coleridge wrote: *O! 
that you could appreciate by the light of 
‘other men's experience the anguish which 
prompted the ejaculation 

‘Why was I made for love, yet love denied. 
to me? 


or the state of suffering instanced by the 
following description :— 
Lingering he raised his lateh at eve, 
“Though tired in heart and limb : 
He loved no other place, and yet 
Home was no home to him." 


[v. Three Graves, p. 91:] 


180, Separation, p. 075. 

First printed in P. HW. 1834. Believed 
to have been written on the voynge to 
Malta. In ed. 1848 there is the following 
note: ‘The fourth and last stanzas are 
adapted from the twelfth and last of Cotton's 
Chlorinda -— 


«O my Chlorinda ! could’st thou see 
Into the bottom of my heart, 
There's such a Mine of Lave for thee, 
‘The treasure would supply desert. 








‘Not half enough to part with thee. 


* The &fth stan is the eleventh of Cotton's 
poem.’ 


181. 4 Thongit suggested by a View 
of Saddleback, tin Po VTS. 

First printed in The Amulet for 1833 
with this title ; then in Frieedstip's Oftring 
for 1834 with the tithe of A Verzified Re- 
Aéction (see * Note 127"), with this note >— 


Coleridge was on his way home from Malta. 


182. 79 @ Gentleman [William Words 

worth}, ef¢., p 176. 
Composed at Coteorton Farmhouse in 
with 


first printed in Sit, Leaves (1815, pub. 1827), 
bat with title and text much altered free the 
original MIS. which was sent to the Beau- 
ments at the time. The changes are so 
namercas and so significant that I have 
printed the original copy in *Arrexprx 
11” to this volume. Almost as completely 
as in the case of Dejection (see ‘Note 
162") Coleridge renoved all traces of 
personality. The interested reader will 
prefer to seek out the changes for himself, 


this line was omitted ia print — 
(All whos I dcepliest love—ia one room 
alt") 


‘Coleorton Farmbouse contained at the 
time—besides Coleridge and hits little son 
Hartey—Wordswoeth, his wife and chil- 
dren, his sister Dorothy, and his sister-in- 
law Miss Sarah Hutchinson. It was a 
crue! line: for it excluded not merely his 





tf 


h 
SE 
ef 


i 
4 


i 
ere 


ig 
q 
é 


- 


iif 
E i 


al 
bre 





NOTES 


635 





‘Multa dedit ;—Jugere nihil, ferre omnia ; 


‘See * Note 123." 
beautiful white cloud of foam 
coursed by the side 
with a roar, and little stars of 
‘and went out 


from the vessel's side, each 
‘own small constellation, over 


‘scoured out of sight lke a | 


‘over a wilderness,’ —Tihe 
5. Cc, in 
is in *Satyr- 


Life of Wordsworth (ii, 
very interesting letter 
to Wordsworth dated 
815," in which he 
“never determined" to 


2 | per se 1s a Potassium—i 
itself, tho’ in presence it has a natural 


sey 
iH 


all of which is 
eresting, closes thus: ‘God 
1 Tam, and never have been 
your most affectionate S. T. 


uh 


> 


recollections of Love, p. 178. 
iad tn Si, Leaves (185 
springs’ of the second stanza 
summer (or later) of 807, but 
Hartley Coleridge thinks the 


73 ff 
£ 


FRR? 
fry 





poem may have been written in 2803, 
regarding the ‘eight’ as merely a ‘figure 
of speech,’ used because in its place more 
harmonious than six or nine, or what not. 
I have therefore put both dates, and 
queried both. 1 introduce here an early 
Umprinted fngment of prose, beeause not 
only is it very charming in ‘itself, but it 
lights up one of the stanzas of the Recollee~ 
tions of Love, eis called 


QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS IN THE 
Covrr ov Love, 

‘Why is my Love like the Sun? 

4. The Dawn=the presentiment of my 
Love, 

No voice as yet had made the air 
Be music with thy name: yet why 
‘That obscure [over aching] Hope: that 
yearning Sigh? 
‘Phat sense of Promise everywhere? 
Beloved ! flew thy spirit by ? 

2. The Sunrise =the suddenness, the 
all-at-once of Love—and the first silence 
=the beams of Light fall first on the 
distance, the interspace still dark. 

3. The Cheerful Morning—the estab- 
lished Day-light aniversal, 

4. The Sunset—who can bebold it, and 
think of the Sunrise? It takes all the 
thought to itself, The Moon-reflected 
Light—soft, melancholy, warmthless—the 
absolute purity (nay, it is always gure, but) 
the incorporeity of Love in absence—Love 

can subsist by 


and n combination with a com= 
burient principle. All other Lights (the 
fixed Stars) not borrowed from the absent 
Sun—Lights for other worlds, not for me. 
I see them and admire, but they irradiate 
nothing. 


‘The exquisite fragment (No. 63, P. 450). 
beginning— 
“Within these circling hollies, woodbine- 
lad "— 


was probably composed as the opening of 
Recollections of Love, and abandoned on 
account of a ¢l of metre. 


184. A Day-Dream, p t79. 
First printed in Tie Bijow for 1828, 





636 


NOTES 





‘There cannet be any doubt, T think, that 
the “Asra® of thir poem is Miss Sarah 


= Hammersmith, later to the neigh 
Beerhood of Bath, and later still to Calne, 
sod in all these homes Coleridge had an 
tenoured place and was tenderly cared 
fe. 


The was never reprinted, bet ts 
PLA. 1834 these few lines were inserted 
with the keading— 


Ox TAKING LEAVE OF —, 2817.4 
‘To know, to esteem, to love—and then to 


part, 

Makes up life's tate 10 many a feeling 
heart | 

© for some dear abiding-place of Love, 

Orer which my spirit, like the mother dowe, 

Might brood with warming wings !—O 
fair ax kind, 

Were bat one sisterhood with you com- 
bined, 

(Your very image they in shape and mind) 

Far rather would I sit in solitude, 

‘The forms ef memory all my mental fed, 

And dream of you sweet sisters, (sh, not 
mine }) 


1A misprint for * eBoy" fn 2834, and repeated 
in all subsequent editions until #877-8.—Kn. 





iy 


And only dream of you (ah, dream asd 
1) 
Than Bave the presener. and partake the 
And shine in the eye of all the wodd 
beside! 


The editor of P. and D. W. 187740, 
en orn a ee 


% 


ak 


ni 
¥ 


The 
at 
c— 


PPELEY 
il 


feet obliged to add a query, 
lines to belong toa much eartier date, 





INDEX TO THE POEMS, ETC. 





SAipoorech, To a Lady with Falconer’, 185, 


Slave Trade, Greek Prine Ode on the, 476. 

Sleep, The Pains of, 170 

‘Soow-trop, The, 128. 

‘Sober Statement of Human Life, A, 473. 

‘Solitude, Fears in, 127. 

‘Something childish, but very natural, 196. 

‘Seng, ex Ervprowire, 906 

Songs of the Pixies, 21. 

‘Sounet toa Friend who asked how I felt when the 
‘Nune fint presented my Infant to me, 6. 

Scanets attempted in the Manner of Contem- 
porary Writers, 110 

Sonnets on Eminent Characters, 98. 

Sonnets on receiving news of the Birth of a 
Son, 66, 

‘Southey, Sonnetto Robert, «2 

‘Southwell, Robert, Adaptation of, 473: 

Spenser, Lines in the Manner of, 44 

‘Spring in a Village, Lines to a beautiful, 24. 

Stanbope, Sonnet to Earl, 43. 

Stanhope, Sonnet to Lord, 40. 

Starting, ‘The Death of the [Catullus], =p. 

Stranger Minstrel, A, 135. 

Stripling’s WarSong, The British, 1¢1. 

‘Sulckle’s Argument, The, and Nature's 
Answer, 18s. 

‘Sun, Spots in the, a0. 

Sunset, A, 172. 

Supper, Witten afer a Walk before, 44 


‘Tatexyeann to Lond Greaville, 151. 

Tea-Kettle, Monody on a, 12. 

Tears of a grateful People, 188. 

Tells Birb-place, 14% 

‘Thimble, The Silver, sr 

‘Thought suggested by a View of Saddleback in 
‘Cumberland, 175. 

‘Three Graves, The, Bs. 

‘Time, Real and tmaginary, 287. 

‘Time-piece, Inscription for 2, 181, 

To—, 64. 

‘Tombless Epitaph, A, sto. 

‘Tomitstove, The two round Spaces on the, 137. 





Tooke, Verses addressed to J. Home, 6- 
Tranquillity, Ode to, 159 

‘Translation from Pindar, 465; Heraclitus, 454. 
‘Translation of a Pauage in Ottfried's Gospel, e44. 
‘Trandlation of Latin Verses by Wranghai, 9° 
‘Transparency, Motto for, 490. 

‘Trevenen, In the Album of Miss, 906. 

‘Two Founts The, 14% 

‘Two round Spaces on the Tombstone, The, x57- 
‘Two Sisters, To, 179. 


Unvuuisuep Poem, To a Friend together with 
fan, 33. 

Unfortunate, An, $2. 

Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre, To an, 32. 

‘Unfortunare Woman whom the Author had 
known in the Days of her Innocence, Te 
am, 39. 


‘Vice, Progress of, 8: 

Village, Lines to & beautiful Spring in a, 24. 
‘Virgin's Cradle Hymn, The, x83. 

Visionary Hope, They 371 

Visit of the Gods, The, age. 


Wattares tin, 926. 

Wallenstein, The Death of, 305. 

Wanderings of Cain, The, 112 

War-Song, The British Stripting’s, 143. 

Water Ballad, 143: 

‘Welsh, Imitated from the, 33+ 

‘Westphalian Song, 143- 

Wills of the Wisp, The, 460 

Wisdom in Folly, 449 

Wish, Ay 19. 

Wordsworth, Ad Pilwwme Axiolagune, 13% 

Wordsworth, Dejection : an Ode (addressed to), 
159, $32 

Wordsworth, oo addressed to Wittlam 


vidual Mind, 176, ses. 
Work without Hope, 203, 643- 


Yours Ass, To 3, 35, 477- 

Young Lady, To 3, on her Recovery from a 
Fever, 

‘Young Lady, 

Young Lady, To a, with a Poem on the French 
Revolution, 6. 

Young Man of Fortune, Addressed to a, 68 

Youth affectionately wolcomed by » Sister, On 
seaing 2 

‘Youth and Age, 19%. 


Zarouva: a Christmas Tale, 39 








NOTES 


639 





Limbo (0. 1x to the end) was first printed 
in PW. 3834. 


moi. The Knight's Toms, p. 190. 

First printed in P.W/. 1834. There is 
ho means of arri at the date of com- 
Pear te reneance that a few 

lines were quoted by Sir Walter Scott in 

foankoe he x $6). published in 182 
#Fo borrow lines from x contemporary 
poet, who has written but too little— 

‘Tho knights are dust, 

‘And their good swords rust ;— 

"Their souls are with the saints, 1 trust.’ 


Sir Walter was quoting, of course, from 
fcmory. Gillman (Life, p. 227) tells us 
that tis convinced Coleridge that Scott 
‘was the author of the Waverley Novels. 
"The lines were composed as an experiment 
for a metre, and repeated by the author to 
& mutual friend, who repeated them again 
‘ata dinner-party to Scott on the following 
day." This does not help us to the date, 
but Iam disposed to believe that 1 may 
have post-dated it (*?1817") even con- 
f On the other hand, if it was 
fan early composition, it would probably 
have been sent to the Morning Post, or 
Be Courier, or included in Sis, Leaver, 


202. On Donne's Poetry, p. 190, 

Printed in Lit, Rem. i, 148, from ‘notes 
weritten by Mr. Coleridge in a volume of 
Chalmers's Poets, belonging to Mr. Gill- 
man,” and now first collected. 


203. Fancy in mubibus, p. 190. 
First printed in Blackwood: Magazine 
for N Brg. In his Profatory 
Mernoir in the Tsuchnitz edition of Cole- 
Tidge’s Poems, F. Freiligrath states that 
“the last five lines of Fancy im nubidws" 
to Stolberg (sce his stanzas ‘An 
)." "These are the lines alluded 
to by Freiligrath : 
* Der blinde Singer stand am Meer, 
Die Wogen rauschten um ibn her, 
Und Riesenthaten goldner Zeit 
Umrauschten ihn im Feicrkleid. 
* Es kam zu ihm auf Schwanenschwung 
Melodisch dic Begeisterung, 
Und Miad und Odyssee 
Entsteigen mit Gesang der See.’ 





There are interesting allusions to the 
sonnet in two contemporary letters of 
Lamb to Coleridge (Ainger’s Letiers, 
ii, 32 and grr; fi, 2g0 and 345). Exami- 
nation of the original letters at the first 

enables me to say that phrase 
which has puzsled Lamb's editors—' Who 
‘ut your marine sonnet about Browne ito 

?’—was written thus: *Who 
bes marine sonnet, and about Browne, 
into Blackwood?’ In the same number 
there is a note on Sir Thomas Browne by 
Coleridge, but not contributed by him. It 
is signed “G. J.'—very, probably James 
Gillman’s iniais reverss. 


204. To Nature, p. 190. 

First printed by Allsop (Letters, ete., 
1836, i. 144; 1864, p. 76) along with 
Farewell to Lave (p. 173). Of To Nature 
he says: ‘The second sonnet I have found 
‘on a detached piece of paper, without note 
or observation. How it came into my 
possession I have now forgotten, tho’ I 
have some faint impression that I wrote it 
down from dictation." 


205. Youth and Age, p. 191. 


First printed in The Bijou, and in The 

ry Souvenir, both for 1828. The 
double publication was the result of some 
mistake on Coleridge's part. ‘The poem 
as then printed closed with the 38th line: — 


‘That youth and 1 are house-mates still,” 


In Biackwood's Magesine for June 1832 
there appeared the following lines entitled 
* The Old Man's Sigh: a Sonnet,’ prefaced 
by some rambling remarks headed ‘What 
isan English Sonnet?" In the course of 
these Coleridge states that the verses below 
are an ‘out-slough, or hypertrophic stanza 
‘of a certain poem called “Youth and 
Age,” and (ironically) that as they consist 
of exctly fourteen lines, they have a right 
to be called ‘an English Sonnet": 
* Dewdrops are the gems of morning, 
But the tears of mournful ere t 
Where no hope is, life's a warning 
‘That only serves to make us grieve, 
In our old age, 
Whose bruised wings quarrel with the bars 
of the still narrowing cage— 





662 INDEX TO 


FIRST LINES 





Beitoost wheo last ye met, with distant 
streak, 5. 

“Broad-breasted Pollards, with broad -branching 
heads, 434. 

*Broad-breasted rock—hanging cllif that glases, 


con 


*CAut.the World Spider; and at fancy’s touch, 455. 
Charles, grave or merry, at no tie would stick, 447- 
Charles! my slow heart wax only sd, when 

first, 66 
Child of my muse ! in Barbour's gentle hand, 907. 
xpwede daiyp wiphy, Taare BoSxor" abrip & xpwabe, 


Come; your opinion of my manuscript ! 449- 

*Complained of, complaining, there shov'd, and 
here shoving, 637. 

Cupid, If storying Legends tell aright, 23. 


Deax Charles! whilst yet thou wert » babs, 7 
ween, &9, 
Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the 
West ! 23. 
"Dear tho’ unseen | tho' hard has been my lot, 203. 
Deep in the gulph of Guilt and Woe, &, 
Depart in joy from this world's noise and strife, 
& 
"Desire of pure Love born, itself the same, 644. 
Dewdrops are the gems of morning, 63>. 
Didst thou think less of thy dear wolf, 44% 
Dim Hour! that aleep'st on pillowing clouds 
afar, 47- 
*Dim specks of entity, 453. 
‘Discontent mild as an infant, 45% 
Do call, dear Jess, whene'er my way you come, 
47. 
Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, 
the Dove, 170 
Doris exe find no taste in tea, 444. 
Dormi, Jesu! Mater rides, 1 
*Due to the Staggerers, that made drunk by 
Power, 454: 


Eacu Bond-atreet buck concelts, unhappy ef! 
47, 

Fach crime that once ertranges from the virtues, 
468. 

Earth! thou mother of numberlexs children, the 
nurse and the mother, 13% 

Edmund! thy grave with aching eye I scan, 95. 

Encinctured with a twine of leaves, 113. 

Ere on my bed my Fibs I lay, #70 

Ere on my bed my limbs T lay, 17 

Krre Sin could blight or Sorrow fuule, 145. 

ere the Mrth of my life, if T wish'd Iter no, 9B. 


“Eat mem ef est tus, nmice | et sl ambons 
nequit ene, 460. 
Eu! Dei vices gervas, ips Diows, ay 


FAxewat, parental scenes! a sad farewell! 15 

Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you sot ay 
truth, ery 

‘Fear thot. no more, thea tisaid Flower! ag. 

* Fie, Mr. Colercige !andt can thia be you!” 394 

+Pond, peerish, wedded pair ! why all this matt 


46. 

For she had lived in this beaut wath, 455. 

Frail creatures are we all! Te be the best, of 

+Friend, Lover, Husbasa, Sister, Beother | ert 

Friend of the wise ! and Teacher of the Geol! 
a6. 

+Edend pure of heart aad fervent! we bow 
Jearnt, 465 

*Briends shou Se swigh'd, nee eid’; sho bouts 
to have won, 47> 

From his brimatoae bed at break of day, 547, fre 

From me, Aurelia t you dered, 44% 

«From the Miller's rosy wheel, 45 

«Prom yonder tomb of recent dats, 443: 


Grwtey I took that which ungently came, oi 

TrGA eeaurée !—and is this the prime, so 

"God and the World we wordtip both together, 
at. 

Goat be with thee, ghadsome Ocean t 195. 

Get 00 distance knows, 456 

God's child in Christ adopted, —Chhrlst wy all 


oe 
Good Candle, thos that with thy brother, Fim, 


4 

Good verse most good, and tbad verse thes seem 
‘Better, 47. 

Grant me & patron, graclous Heaven | when, 


4st 

*Great oddenses are they to lazy fay, at. 

"Great things ack as the Ocean counsertiit ie 
finity, 49%. 


*Hasroxy fell dows and hurt himaetf, ay (set 
Vat thou a charm to stay the moming-star, 25h 
| He coo has fitted freen bis secret eat, wha, 
Hear, my beloved, a2 old Mileian story! 4 
Hear, sweet spirit, Bear the «pall, 379: 
| Heant'st thou yoo waiverial exy, 6 
Hence, soul-dieelving Harmony, 10, 
Hence that fantastic wartoaness of wot, 6 
Her attachment may differ from yours in dept 
=. 
“Here lies a Poet or what cece was be, 64s 
Here lies the Dev2—ask 0 ether tame, 447. 
‘Here sleeps ot length poor Coll, aad whet 
sereaming, 49. 








INDEX TO FIRST LINES 


Here’ Jem’s first copy of nonsense verses, 465 
‘Hipporia lets no silly 

“* His native accents to her stranger's ear, 467. 

| Histown falr countenance, his kingly forehead, 462. 
‘Hearse Marvius reads his hobbling verse, 444. 
How long will ye round me be swelling, 20. 
How seldom, friend ! a good great man inherits, 

cal 

‘How pweet, when crimson colours dart, 470. 
‘How warm this woodland wild recess! 178. 
‘Hush! ye clamorous Cares! be mute! 44- 


1 Asn’ my fair one happy day, 144. 
ST Ihave experienced the worst the world ean 
‘wreak on me, 462. 
have heard of reasons manifold, 181, 
Theand a yoice from Etna’s side, 156. 
T hold of all our viperous race, 445. 
‘Thknow it is dark j and though F have lain, 168, 
love, and he loves me again, 143. 
T mix in life, nnd labour to seem free, 64. 
Tnever saw the manrwhom you describe, 83. 
T note the moods and feelings men betray, 19%, 
1 sigh, fair injured stranger! for thy fate, 6. 
“+L epeake in figures, inward thoughts and woes; 643+ 
+1 stand alone, nor tho’ myheart should break, 467. 
T stood on Hrocken’s sovran height, and saw, 245. 
| Ttoo a sister had t too cruel Death ! 13. 
*E touch this scar upoa my skull behind, 466. 
F yet remain to mourn the hours of youth, 474. 
“idly we supplicate the Powers above, 644. 
I-dead, we cease to be ; If total gloom, 186. 
TET had but two little wings, 146. 
If Love be dead, 209. 
Af Peganua wil lee thee only ride him, 1). 
Af the guilt ofall lying consists in deceit, 443- 
If thou wert here, these tears were tears of Tight ! 


aa 

If while my passion f impart, 33 
Imagination: honourble aims, r74. 

In a cave in the mountains of Cashmeer, 437+ 
Jn darkness T remain'd—the neighbour’ 





_In many ways does the full heart reveal, 18; 
"STn Spain, that land of Monks and Apes, 453. 
Jum the bexameter rises the fountain's silvery 
column, 140 
‘In this world we dwell among the tombs, 452. 
An waln I praise thee, Zoilus! 448. 
In vain we supplicate the Powers stove, 209. 
In Xanadu did Kubla Khao, 94. 
‘Into my Heart, as ‘were some magic glass, 677. 
[vt retumed as "twas sent? Is't no wore for the 
wear? 182. 
Te ts an ancient Mariner, 95, 59%. 





663 


Tt may indeed be phantasy when I, 199 
Te was some Spirit, Sheridan! that breathed, 42. 
Tes balmy lips the infant blest, 145. 


Jack drinks fine wines, wears modish clothing, 


‘Jack finding gold left a rope on the ground, 463- 
Jem writes his vernes with more speed, 444. 
Julla was blest with beauty, wit, and grace, 4 


Kavern! to whom, as to a second self, 209. 
Know’st thou the land where the pale citrons 
grow, 14 


“Lavy, to Death we're doom'd, our erime the 
same! 172. 
“Lastus abi! mundi strepltn curisque remotus,’ 
by. 
Last Monday all the papers said, 432. 
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, 199. 
“Let clumps of earth, however glorified, 469. 
“Let Eagle bid the Tortoive sunward soar, qf, 
*Let us not blame him: for against such chances, 
460. 
“Light cargoes waft of modulated sound, 459 
Like a lone Arab, old and blind, 208. 


Little Miss Funny, 467. 
Lo! through the dusky silence of the groves, 19. 
Love would remain the same if true, #00. 

* Lov'd the same Love, and hated the same hate, 

4s 

*Lovely gems of radiance meek, 19, 

‘Low was our pretty Cot ¢ our tallest roxe, $2. 
Lunatic Witch fires! Ghosts of Light and 
Motion! qf. 


‘Marorx, that with sullen brow, 3% 
Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve! 1, sft. 
Maid of unboastful charms! whom. white-robed 
‘Truth, 30 
Mark thie holy chapel well 142. 
* Matilda ! {have heard a sweet tune play'd, 167, 
Mild Splendour of the variouswested Night! 3. 
* Money, I've heard a wise man sry, 45%: 
‘Most candid critic, what if 1, 447 
‘Mourn, Israel { Sons of Ieract, mourn 1 183. 
Buch on my early youth f love to dwell, 6 
‘Muse that late sang another's poignant pain, 19. 
‘Must there be still some discord mixt among, 
2. 
My apes mae pitunes, when they are sb, 79: 
My father confessor is strict and holy, 45% 
My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those 





soft strains, 40, 





664 


INDEX TO FIRST LINES 





* My heart seraglion = whole host of Joys 454- 
* My lnvitable fears all sprang from Love, 46a. 
My Lesbia, let us lowe and live, 28 
My Lord ! though your Lordship repel deviation, 
ast. z 
My Maker! of thy power the trace, 185. 
‘My Merry men all, that drink with glee, 445. 
My pensive Sara ! thy soft cheek reclined, 9. 
Myrtle-heaf that, ill besped, sx 


“Narrurn wrote Rascal o@ his face, 45: 

Nay, dearest Anna! why so grvve? 

Near the lone pile with ivy overepread, 3. 

Never, believe me, 143, 

No cloud, no relique of the sunken day, £31, 

10 daleful faces bere, no sighing, 443- 

No more “twit conscience staggering and the 
Pope, r98. 

No mortal spirit yet had clomb so high, 46x. 

Noprivate grudge they need, nopersonal spite, 451. 

Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest, 148, 

Nor travels my meandering eye, 47. 

Not always should the trar's aumbrosial dew, 4a, 

Not her's to win the sense by words of rhetoric, 
a4. 

Not, Stanhope! with the Patriot's doubtful 
ame, 43: 

Now! itis gone. Our brief hours travel post, 18x. 

Now prompts the Muse poetic lays, 8. 


+0 weaury ina besuteous body dight! 461. 
+0 blessed Letters! that combine in one, 472. 
*O! Christmas Day, O gloomy day, 171. 
+0! Christmas Day, Ob} happy day, x7 
fair is Love's first hope to gentle mind } 193, 
© form'd V' illumne a suntess world forlorn, 4. 
*O Friend ! OTeacher! God's great gift tome! ses. 
QO! Edo love thee, meek Simplicity ! rn, 
O1 itis pleasant, with x heart at caae, 190 
leave the lily on its stem, 6r2. 
"0 man! thou haldead Angel ! 458 
© meek attendant of Sol's setting blaze, 11. 
© Peace, that on a lilied bank dost love, 46. 
*"0 oxitu wohas, Bdvare, epodelnms, 476. 
*O1 Superstition is the giant shadow, 469. 
© thou wild Fancy, check thy wing! 
more, 24. 
+0 th’ Opprressive, irkome weight, 461. 
hat a life is the eye! 438 
what a loud and fearful shrick was there, 39. 
O what a wonder seems the fear of death, 6e. 
O would the Baptist come again, 44 
* O'er the rained earth the gales of evening sigh, 499- 
(O'ee wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm 
mile, 208 
‘Of him that in this gorgeous tomb doth tie, 446, 


| Of tne, 6 one of thou most weary hows mp 


Oft, oft methinks, the while with thes, rf 
Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy oh 


e 
|-Oh! might my ill past bours rete again: 


| Old age, ‘the shape and memenger of Death, 


44 

‘Old Harpy joers at castes in the alr, 49% 

‘On a given finite fine, a4. 

‘On stern Blencarcha’s perilous height, 135 

‘On the broad mountaintop, 48% 

Qn the wide level ca mountain's head, #83. 

On wide or nazrow scale shall Many #7. 

"Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee ! po 

Once could the Borns first beans, the beilihit 
breetey He 

Once more, sweet Stream! with stow feo 
wandering wear, 4. 

‘One kiss, dear Maid ! 1 saihd and sighed, 9 

Oppress'd, confused, with grief and pale, BEL 

Our English poets, bad and good, agrer, 44 

* Outmalice Calumny's imposhum'd tomgos, 44: 


Pains ventral, subventral, 452. 

Pale Roamer through she night! thos yor 
Fodeot we. 

Parry secks the Polar ridge, 451~ 

"Pass under Jack's window af twelve at wide 
47: 

Pensive at eve on the hard world f mmedy 118 

Perish warmth tinfaithful to ite seerming 1 45 

“Phidins changed marble iat feet and begs 4 

Pity! mourn in plaistive tome, 29. 

‘“Postry without egotism, compuentively ssi 
teresting. 454. 

Poor little foat of an oppeessed mice f 38, 47% 

*Promptress of unnumber'd sighs, #7. 


Qeae linguam, ant nibil, aut wibil, aut vx eal 
mea. Soren, apa. 


*Rarnatine mich wees at Bowbes, 49% 
Reserables life what once was deem'd of gil 
7% 
Richer than Miser o'er his countless hoary 
$70 
‘Rid of a vexing and a beavy load, 474. 
“Rush oo my car, a cataract of sound, 464. 


‘Sap lot, to have no Hope t “Though lowly kewl 
og, 17% 

“Say what you will, Ingenious Youth 443 

Scarce any scandal, bait has a han, 44 

Schiller! that hour 1 would have wishel # 





die, 34 
‘Seraphs ! around th’ Etersal's meat who throng. 5 





NOTES 


643 





Ole fiends ‘burn dim, like lamps in noisome 
air, 

Tove them for what they are; nor love 
them less, 

Because to thee they are not what they 


were ! 
STC. Sept, 2, 1826. 


213. Limes js Leander Words of 
‘Berengarius, p. 198. 
First printed in the Literary Souve 
for bay) Tn a footie wo the ‘tile <8 
Ahern the lap Teme 
210) 


214. Sancti Dominicl Pallium, p. 198. 
First printed (with the names in blank} 

im P.W. 1834. 1 have no doubt the 
‘Friend (so far as there may have been 
Ef interlocutor) was Southey, whose Boot 
‘the Church aid been attacked by Charles 
at was moved to much in- 
dignation, lost no time in replying by 
Gis Plnticte Keclaia Angticone 


215. The Jmprovitatore, p. 200. 
First printed in Zhe Amulet for 1828, 
With an introductory note having little to 
do with the article, and which has not been 
eg The Improvisatore was first 
in 1829 and reprinted in 1834, 
‘Some hater editors have mutilated the piece 
by ‘out the prose setting. 
I §-8 of “Answer,” p 202. Ch. Zo 
Mary Pridkam (p. 203), Ml. 7-10, 


216. Work without Hope, p. 203. 


Fist printed in The Bifow for 1828 
‘ith this title, followed by the words, 
* Lines composed on a day in February.” 
In 1828 these were changed to ‘Lines 
composed on the arst February 1827." 
Inthe P. W. r828.and 1829 an unfortunate 
occurred in the first line, Stagr 
haying been substituted for Siugs : but this 


wersy on the subject, 
ail the eilice of the dine ediion (1885) 

adopted stags, ‘having no 
doubt that it is the correct reading.” A 





reference which 1 have been able to make 
to the first draft settles the point definitely. 
Coleridge, having fiest written * snails,’ 
erased the word, and substituted ‘ slugs.” 
‘The only line in the draft which varies 
from print is the eleventh. Coleridge first 


stroll." 
He left this, but, with a query, wrote above 
it this alternati 
“With lips unmoisten’d, wreathless brow T 
stroll,” 
‘Here is the draft with its context, never 
before printed :— 

Strain in the manmer of George Herbert, 
which might be entitled Tne ALONE MOST 
Dean! o Complaint of Jacob to Rachel, ax 
in the tenth year of his service, he srw tm 
her, or fancled that he soto, some symptom of 
alienation, 

* All Nature seems at work, Slugs Teave 
their lair*— 

ete, with difference in eleventh line, toz—) 

* And Hope without an object cannot live!" 


“T speak in figures, inward thoughts and 


? Where daily nearer me } more close with 
2 What time and where magic ties, 
Line upon line, and thickening #s they 


rive, 

‘The world her spidery threads on all sides 
spun, 

Side answering side with narrow inter- 
space. 

‘My Faith (say I—my Faith and Lare one) 

Mung asa Mirror there! And face to face 

(For nothing else there was, between 
‘or near) 

One sister-mirror hid the dreary Wall, 

But That is broke ! and with that bright 
Compecr 

I lost my object, and my inmost All, 

Faith in the Faith of Ti ALON: sos 


DrAR! 
Jacob Hodiernus. 

Ab! mett* 

The whole of this seems to have been 
written in 189s, but as it is not quite 
certain, the poet's printed date, ‘1827," 
hhns been retained. 

On the 18th March 1836 Coleridge 





‘Thy babes ne'er greet thee with the faeher's 


name, 445 

‘Thy lap-dog, Rufa, isa dainty beast, 445- 

‘Thy smiles 1 note, sweet early flower, #4. 

“Thy stern and sullen eye, and thy dark brow, 


“T's tinoge place, this Limbo !—not a Place, 


‘Tis hard on Bagshot Heath to try, 30 
Tis mine and it is likewise your's, 460. 
"Tis not the lly-brow F prise, 20. 
“Tis sweet to bim who all the week, x46. 
'Ts the middle of night by the enatle elock, 116. 
“Tis true, Idoloelastes Satyrane ! x80. 
‘To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to party 
779, 636 
‘To praise men as good, and to take them for 
auch, 468. 
*To tempt the dangerous deep, too vemnurous 
youth, 2. 
*To wed a fool, I really cannot see, 447. 
‘Tom Slothful talks, as slothful Tom beseoms, 


449 
‘Tranquillity! thou better name, 155. 
‘Trochie trips frm Jong tf shirt, 140 
“Truth I pursed, ax Fancy sketch'd the way, 465. 
"Twas my lsat waking thought, how it could. be, 
195. 
"Twas not a mist, nor was it quite a cloud, 465. 
"Twas sweet to know it only pomibile, 456. 
‘Two things hast thou made known to half the 
nation, 448. 
"Two wedded hearts If ere were such, 46r. 


‘Uxnoastret Bard! whose! verse concise yet 


$e 
‘Unchanged within, to sce all changed without, 
19% 
“Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree, 475. 
Under this stane does Walter Harcourt lic, 446. 
Underneath a huge oak tree, 18, 
"Ungrateful he, who pluck’d thee from thy 


iy She 
Vnperishlng youth t 142. 
Up, up! yw dames, and lasses gay 1 236, 437- 
*Upon the mountain's edge with light touch rest 
ing, 37% 
Utter the song, O my soul! the flight and return 
of Mi 139. 


‘Vurnstt, 2 breeze mid blossoms straying, 291. 
yes, Caria music, thoughts both grave and 


Virtues and mt Woes alike too grest for man, se. 


‘Wee ask and urge—(here ends the story), 45x: 


Weill live together, fike two: 

weve « conques'd us a Peace, Uke beds 
inetalled, 490 

“We've fought far Peace, and conqeer’d itat et 


+s 

‘What! rise nguin with ell one's bones? 446 

‘What a spring-tide of Love te dear friends i 
shoal ! 


4 

What boots to tell how o'er his geave, 4 

What is an Epigram? a dwarfs whste, 47 

“What never is but only sto be, 61 

“What now, © Man thoa doot or wel 
itr, 


*What pleasures shall be ever fiad? 2 
scheree, and scbdiees wrk, 


‘When thieves come, I bark: when gallaaty 
= 
When thou to 


‘When Youth hi 
Sih ay em 





“Wade, Muto of ralrel haigha as 
Mies Le ian om dromedary 


‘With any & paces ed oft sovard 66 t 
ith many 6 seh oops eae 3 
"With secret hand the conjecourd 


454 





NOTES 


645 





in The Amulet for 1833, a8 given at p. 
+309. 


224, Ta the Young Artist, Kayser of 
Kaserwerth, p, 209, 
First printed in P.1V. 1834. Kayser 
Made an cellent pencil ‘drawing of 
's head, which is now in the pos- 
session of Mr. Emest Hartley Coleridge. 


225. Afy Baptismal Birth-Day, p. 210. 

First printed in Ariemdship's Ofering 
for 1834, with the title: *My Baptismal 
Birth-day. Lines composed on a sick-bed, 
under severe bodily suffering, on my 
spiritual birthday, October 28th.’ The 
first line ran thus :— 


‘Born unto God in Christ—in Christ my 
Au!" 


and other lines had been altered before the 
poem was printed in 1834. 
Emerson visited Coleridge on the sth of 
3833. When he was leaving, 
Tecited to him ‘with strong 
emphasis, standing, ten or twelve lines, 
Weginning “Born unto God in Christ’ 
(ENonisn Trains, Fire Visit to Eng- 


When he composed the lines, Coleridge 

y had in his mind the passage in the 

Medicl (Part 1. Sect. 45. See 

Dr. i's comin Golden’ ‘Trea- 
30) 


‘edition, 1885, p. 
Coleridge expands the thought in an- 
‘other direction in * Fragment 96° (p. 467). 


226, Epitaphium Testamentarium, 
pe 210. 

First printed in the Literary Souvenir 
ees asa by ef i _ of 
suggested fast jeren- 
gerius. ‘The ‘Epitaph’ both one 
word, dx:davods, of which none of the class- 
feal scholars T have consulted can make 


for, the Worthless 7), 
written with his own hand. What things 
T may leave are cither nought or of no 





account, or hardly my own, The fill 
dregs I give to Death ; the rest, I return 
to Thee, O Christ!" 


227. Epitaph, p. 210. 

First printed in 2. HW. 1834. In a copy 
‘of Grew's Cosmologia Sacra (now in the 
British Museum), copiously annotated by 
Coleridge in 1833, are these drafts of 
the ‘Epitaph.’ “1 printed them in the 
Athenceusn for April 7, 1888, 

* Bpitaph 
in Hornsey Church 
Hic Jacet S.‘T. C. 
Stop, Christian Passersby! Stop, Child 
of God t 


And read with gentle heart, Beneath this 
sod 


‘There lies a Poet : or what once was He. 
(¥p] 0 lik thy soul in prayer for S. T. C. 
He who many a year with toil of 


breath 
Found death in life, may here find life in 
death, 


That 


Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame 
He askd, and hoped thro’ Christ. Do 
thou the same.” 
* Erest’s [for Estesi's] Epitaph, 
Stop, Christan Visor ! Stop, Child of 


Here tesa Poet? or what once was He! 

[0] Pause, Traveller, pause and pray for 
aT.C 

‘That He who tunny. aout Wah ol) of 
Breath 


Found Death in Life, may here find Life 
in Death, 


And read with gentle heart! Beneath this 
vod 


‘There lies a Poet, etc. 


“Inscription on the Tomb-stone of one 
not unknown; yet more commonly known 
by the Initials of his Name than by the 
‘Name itself.” 

Ina copy of an old Zodten-Tans which 
belonged to Thomas Poole, Coleridge 
wrote the following :— 


ESTHESE'S avroemiragior 


Here lies a Poet ; or what once was he: 
Pray, gentle Reader, pray for 8, T. C. 








@ENERAL BOOKBINDING CO. 


2 3egntsc ene sk 


QUALITY CONTROL MARK 





NOTES 


647 





November following he excuses himself for 
not finishing CArisadel, by ‘the deep un- 
‘utterable 


Segui which Thad sufored in 


July, he had 
apcadent(r. 437): *It is a dull heavy play, 
I qntertain hopes that you will think 
m4 marcas for the greater part natural, 
food common-sense English.’ His 
i ‘of ungrateful task-work is doubtless 
eee enialie for the following out- 
fn a letter to the Editor of the 
Review from Greta Hall, Kes- 
wick, . 48, 1800,—In the review of 
ty translation of Schiller’s Wallenstein 
for sos the G am numbered among 


opinion can be legitimately formed, and 
fas the truth would not have been exceeded 
if the direct contrary bad been affirmed, T 
isis dof your jastion that in your An- 
lents you would remove 

‘The mere circum- 


less that I am “polars ad. 
plays in that language.—I 
ST. Coneniae.’ 
ton was almost a complete 
the publishers’ point of view. 
was probably sold off as 
and when, in 1824, Carlyle 
his Life of Sckiller in the 
Magexine, it was unprocurable, 
had 
ty he says, ‘we should 
Ing Sotheby's Oberon, 
A the only sufferable 


Watlenstein with 

» Ina note to Essay 
Friend (1818, |. 204—it is 
in later editions), he thanks 
for quoting it ‘with 





applause.’ Sie Walter certainly sald 
* Coleridge had made Schiller’s “ Wallen- 
stein” far finer than he found it’ (Lock- 
hart's Life, iv. 193). In another passage 
in The Friend (1818, iii, 99) Coleridge 
again makes his acknowledgments to Sir 
Walter and other ‘eminent and even 
Uteratl.’ He told Allsop (prob- 
ably about 1820) that Wallenstein was & 
specimen of his "happiest attempt, during 
the prime manhood of his intellect, before 
he had been buffeted by adversity or crossed 
by fntality* (Letters, etc. 1864, P. St). 


NOTES TO “THE PICCOLOMINI~ 


Act i, Sc. iv. IL 46 ef sey. pp» 235° 
237. Ina presentation copy of Wallenstein 
‘To Mr. John Anastasius Russell, from 
the ‘Translator, ST. Coleridge, '1808," 
the following observations are added in 
the poet's handwriting » 

“The great main moral of this play is 
the danger of dallying with evil thoughts 
‘under the influence of superstition, ax did 
Wallenstein ; and the grandeur of perfect 
sincerity in Max Piccolomini, the unhappy 
effects of insincerity, though for the best 
purposes, in his father Octavio" (Note to 
Preface, Part L in ed. 1877-80). 

Act L Se. ly, IL 68-71, Soe The Friend, 
1818, |, 203 and lil, 343. 


Timmxta’s SONG, p. 260. 


“1 found it not in my power to translate 
this song with Jitera/ fidelity, preserving, 
at the same time the Alcaic movement ; 
and haye therefore added the original 
with a prose translation, Some of my 
readers may be more fortunate. 


* TAekis (spiel send singt). 
“Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken zichn, 


Das Migdlein wandelt an Ufers Grin, 
Es brricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit 


Macht, 
Und sic aingt hinaus in die finstre 
Nacht, 
Das Auge von Weinen gotribet : 
Das Herz ist gestorben, dio Welt istleer, 
Und weiter giebt sic dem Wunsche nichts 
mehr, 
Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurfcle, 
Ich habe genossen das irdische Glick, 
Ich habe gelebt und geliebet, 














NOTES 


651 





taken almost bodily from 
‘Thekla and Neu- 
&f Wallenstein, Act iv. 


ee 
Betet. iv. Sc. i Ml. 18-20, p. 385. sb 

| The Linse-tree Bower my Prison, M1 

Bos 

Act iv, Se. i ll. 37, 38, p. 3986 In an 
‘annotated copy Coleridge speaks of the 
=e ad to ech De Camp taps 
Uines properly—'a hurried under- 
re ne ‘anticipating Ordonio's scorn, 
P d yot unable 10 suppress his own super- 


Visionary Hoge oth 171). 
June 25, 1892, Art. ‘Cole- 
ge's Orie and Resorse. 


‘Sc. ii, I gre6a. Cf, *Frag- 
a-24, and Jong stage 
follows. This was first 
edition. Iam disposed 
‘Alhadma’s’ soliloquy was not 
the stage, for fear the pit should 

ing woods’ as ‘ the gallows.” 
‘a curious are which seems to point 

in Remains, ii. een ae n 
generally, and Public Past See 
Atheneum, Jane potbeng 1892, Art . ‘Cole- 
's Ovorio and 


fate Lp 3 ‘A long scene 
‘opened the act in Osorio 


Remorse 2 opens with Tike 
(sce p. 85), and the following 
{gt-105) were composed for Remorse, 


Act vy. Soi Ik azanys. Ch The 
Ancient Mariner, NI. 255-258. 
Act ¥. Se. 1. IL 952, ete, pp. 397, 998: 
must have three distinct issues 
of the ‘first edition” of Remorse. ‘This por- 
‘tom differs in the copies used respectively 
‘fn editing Ororio (1873) and P. and D. 
W. (1877-80), and all the copies I have 
agree in differing from these 





two. To go into the eriawsic would take 
more space than the importance of the 
matter warrants, but the following Note 
attached to 1 248 (p, 497) ined. 877-80 
will shew one of the versions of the crisis of 
the tgedy, ‘There is not a word of it in 
any copy of the first edition I have seen. 
‘The curious may see the matter gone into 
with some detail in the Adhemeum, April 
$1890 :— 

"In the first edition of Remorse, after 
the cry of ‘No mercy!" “*Naomi ad- 
vances with the sword, and Alhadra 
swatches it from him and suddenly stabs 
Ordonio, Alvar rushes through the Moors 
and catches him in his arms." After 
Ordonio’s dying speech there are ‘shouts 
of Alvar! Alvar! behind the scenes, A 
‘Moor rushes in.”* 

Moor. Weare surprised! Away! away! 

this instant 1 
The country is in arms! Lord Valder 
heads them, 
And still cries out, 
lives !"* 
Haste to the shore! they come the oppo- 
site read. 
Your wives and children are already safe, 
‘The boat is on the shore—the vessel waits 
Alhadra. ‘Thou then art Alvar! to my 
aid and safety 
‘Thy word stands pledged. 

Alvar, Arm of avenging Heaven ! 

1 had two cherish’ hopes—the one re- 
mains, 

‘The other thou hast snatch'd from me ; 
but my word 

Is pledged to thee; mor shall it be re- 
tracted. —1813." 

About 1820, Coleridge told Allsop, "The 

Remorse \s certainly a great favourite of 

mine, the more so as certain pet abstract 

notions of mine are therein expounded." 


231. Zapolya, p. 399. 

First printed asa pamphilet before Christe 
mas 1817, See 'AvreNnix K,' p. 552. 
Tt was composed at Calne in the winter of 
1815-16, under encouragement from Lord 
Byron, and rejected in March 28:6 by 
the Committee of Drury Lane Theatre in 
favour of Maturin's Berfram—the butterfly 
which Coleridge broke on the wheel in 
Biog. Lit. The MS, was put into 


“My son! my Alvar