255 Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs;
Ah! what a stricken look was hers!
Deep from within she seems half-way
To lift some weight with sick assay,
And eyes the maid and seeks delay;
260 Then suddenly, as one defied,

Collects herself in scorn and pride,
And lay down by the maiden's side!—
And in her arms the maid she took,
Ah wel-a-day!

265 And with low voice and doleful look
These words did say:

"In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,

Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!

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

Thou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill,
The night-birds all that hour were still.
But now they are jubilant anew,

From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-
whoo!

310 Tu-whoo! tu-whoo! from wood and fell!

And see! the lady Christabel

Gathers herself from out her trance; Her limbs relax, her countenance Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids Close o'er her eyes; and tears she shedsLarge tears that leave the lashes bright! And oft the while she seems to smile As infants at a sudden light! Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, 320 Like a youthful hermitess,

325

Beauteous in a wilderness,

Who, praying always, prays in sleep. And, if she move unquietly, Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free Comes back and tingles in her feet. No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. What if her guardian spirit 'twere, What if she knew her mother near? But this she knows, in joys and woes, 330 That saints will aid if men will call: For the blue sky bends over all!

And hence the custom and law began
That still at dawn the sacristan,
340 Who duly pulls the heavy bell,
Five and forty beads must tell
Between each stroke-a warning knell,
Which not a soul can choose but hear
From Bratha Head to Wyndermere.

345 Saith Bracy the bard, "So let it knell!
And let the drowsy sacristan
Still count as slowly as he can!"'
There is no lack of such, I ween,
As well fill up the space between.
In Langdale Pike1 and Witch's Lair,
And Dungeon-ghyll2 so foully rent,
2 valley

350

1 peak

With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, Who all give back, one after t'other, 355 The death-note to their living brother; And oft too, by the knell offended, Just as their one! two! three! is ended, The devil mocks the doleful tale With a merry peal from Borodale.

360 The air is still! through mist and cloud That merry peal comes ringing loud; And Geraldine shakes off her dread, And rises lightly from the bed; Puts on her silken vestments white, 365 And tricks her hair in lovely plight,1 And nothing doubting of her spell Awakens the lady Christabel. "Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel? I trust that you have rested well."

370 And Christabel awoke and spied

The same who lay down by her sideO rather say, the same whom she Raised up beneath the old oak tree! Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair! 375 For she belike hath drunken deep Of all the blessedness of sleep! And while she spake, her looks, her air Such gentle thankfulness declare, That (so it seemed) her girded vests 380 Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts. "Sure I have sinn'd!" said Christabel, "Now heaven be praised if all be well!'' And in low faltering tones, yet sweet, Did she the lofty lady greet

385 With such perplexity of mind

As dreams too lively leave behind.

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

The lovely maid and the lady tall
Are pacing both into the hall,

395 And pacing on through page and groom, Enter the Baron's presence-room.

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

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

But when he heard the lady's tale,
And when she told her father's name,

1 manner

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

Alas! they had been friends in youth; . But whispering tongues can poison truth; 410 And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain. And thus it chanced, as I divine, 415 With Roland and Sir Leoline.

Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted-ne'er to meet again! But never either found another 420 To free the hollow heart from painingThey stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between;But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, 425 Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been.

Sir Leoline, a moment's space, Stood gazing on the damsel's face: And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine 430 Came back upon his heart again. O then the Baron forgot his age, His noble heart swelled high with rage; He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side He would proclaim it far and wide, 435 With trump and solemn heraldry, 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, 440 And let the recreant traitors seek 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! 445 For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and he kenned

In the beautiful lady the child of his friend!

Again she saw that bosom old,
Again she felt that bosom cold,

And drew in her breath with a hissing
sound:

460 Whereat the Knight turned wildly round, 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, 465 Which comforted her after-rest

While in the lady'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, 470 What ails then my beloved child?" 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.

475 Yet he, who saw this Geraldine,

Had deemed her sure a thing divine. Such sorrow with such grace she blended, As if she feared she had offended Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid! 480 And with such lowly tones she prayed She might be sent without delay Home to her father's mansion.

“Nay!

The lady fell, and clasped his knees, 520 Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing; And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, His gracious Hail on all bestowing!"Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell; 525 Yet might I gain a boon of thee,

This day my journey should not be, So strange a dream hath come to me, That I had vowed with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, 530 Warned by a vision in my rest!

"And when he has crossed the Irthing flood,

My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes 495 Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood,

And reaches soon that castle good
Which stands and threatens Scotland's
wastes.

"Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet,

Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet,

500 More loud than your horses' echoing feet! And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free

540

For in my sleep I saw that dove,
That gentle bird, whom thou dost love,
And call'st by thy own daughter's name-
Sir Leoline! I saw the same
Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan,
Among the green herbs in the forest alone.
Which when I saw and when I heard,

I wonder'd what might ail the bird;
For nothing near it could I see,
Save the grass and green herbs under-
neath the old tree.

"And in my dream methought I went To search out what might there be found; And what the sweet bird's trouble meant, That thus lay fluttering on the ground. 545 I went and peered, and could descry No cause for her distressful cry; But yet for her dear lady's sake

I stooped, methought, the dove to take, When lo! I saw a bright green snake 550 Coiled around its wings and neck.

Green as the herbs on which it couched, Close by the dove's its head it crouched; And with the dove it heaves and stirs, Swelling its neck as she swelled hers! 555 I woke; it was the midnight hour,

The clock was echoing in the tower;
But though my slumber was gone by,
This dream it would not pass away-
It seems to live upon my eye!

560 And thence I vowed this self-same day
With music strong and saintly song
To wander through the forest bare,
Lest aught unholy loiter there."

Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while, 565 Half-listening heard him with a smile; Then turned to Lady Geraldine,

His eyes made up of wonder and love;
And said in courtly accents fine:

"Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous
dove,

570 With arms more strong than harp or song,
Thy sire and I will crush the snake!"
He kissed her forehead as he spake,
And Geraldine in maiden wise
Casting down her large bright eyes,

575 With blushing cheek and courtesy fine
She turned her from Sir Leoline;
Softly gathering up her train,
That o'er her right arm fell again;
And folded her arms across her chest,
580 And couched her head upon her breast,
And looked askance at Christabel-
Jesu, Maria, shield her well!

A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy; And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head,

585 Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye,

of dread,

At Christabel she looked askance!One moment-and the sight was fled! But Christabel in dizzy trance 590 Stumbling on the unsteady ground Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; And Geraldine again turned round, And like a thing, that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, 595 She rolled her large bright eyes divine Wildly on Sir Leoline.

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees-no sight but one! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, 600 I know not how, in fearful wise, So deeply had she drunken in

That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resigned
To this sole image in her mind:
605 And passively did imitate

That look of dull and treacherous hate!
And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,
Still picturing that look askance
With forced unconscious sympathy

610 Full before her father's view

As far as such a look could be In eyes so innocent and blue!

His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild,
Dishonored thus in his old age;
Dishonored by his only child,
And all his hospitality

645 To the wronged daughter of his friend
By more than woman's jealousy
Brought thus to a disgraceful end-
He rolled his eye with stern regard
Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
650 And said in tones abrupt, austere-
"Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?
I bade thee hence!" The bard obeyed;
And turning from his own sweet maid,
The agéd knight, Sir Leoline,
655 Led forth the lady Geraldine!

The frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud-and hark, again! loud as
before.

The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, 5 Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradle infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange 10 And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,

With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; 15 Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,1

Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,

20 Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling

With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come!

So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,

35 Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!

And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye

Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:

Save if the door half opened, and I snatched

40 A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped

up,

For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!

crags

Of ancient mountain, and beneath the

clouds,

Which image in their bulk both lakes and

shores

And mountain crags: so shalt thou see

and hear

The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible 60 Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in himself. Great universal Teacher! he shall mould Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

65

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,

Whether the summer clothe the general

earth

With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing

1 See Wordsworth's The Prelude, 8, 433-37 (p. 256).