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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 Unpublished Letters from S. T. Coleridge to the Rev.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