The following is a complete version of "Christabel" as it issued (the first of three in the summer of 1816) from John Murray's press on 25 May 1816. Line numbers have been added for ease of reference. "Contents" links are located after each of the poem's Parts and Conclusions. Text was key entered and proofed from an 1816 copy, Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.
Part I | Conclusion to Part I | Part II | Conclusion to Part II
Preface The first part of the following poem was written in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety seven, at Stowey in the county of Somerset. The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year one thousand eight hundred, at Keswick, Cumberland. Since the latter date, my poetic powers have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended animation. But as, in my very conception of the tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the wholeness, no less than with the liveliness of a vision; I trust that I shall be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come, in the course of the present year.
It is probable, that if the poem had been finished at either of the former periods, or if even the first and second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been much greater than I dare at present expect. But for this, I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imitation from myself. For there is among us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and image is traditional; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably derive every rill, they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other man's tank. I am confident however, that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated poets whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate me from the charge, and who, on any striking coincidence, would permit me to address them in this doggerel verse of two monkish Latin hexameters:
'Tis mine and it is likewise your's,
But an if this will not do;
Let it be mine, good friend! for I
Am the poorer of the two.
I have only to add, that the metre of the Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded 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, yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless this occasional variation in the number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition, in the nature of the imagery or passion.
Preface | Conclusion to Part I | Part II | Conclusion to Part II
1 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock; Tu--whit!----Tu--whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, 5 How drowsily it crew.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch; From her kennel beneath the rock She makes answer to the clock, 10 Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Ever and aye, moonshine or shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.
Is the night chilly and dark? 15 The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. 20 The night is chill, the cloud is gray: 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, 25 What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight; Dreams, that made her moan and leap, 30 As on her bed she lay in sleep; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away.
She stole along, she nothing spoke, The breezes they were still also; 35 And nought was green upon the oak, But moss and rarest misletoe: She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, And in silence prayeth she.
The lady leaps up suddenly, 40 The lovely lady, Christabel! It moan'd as near, as near can be, But what it is, she cannot tell.-- On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.
45 The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek-- 50 There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
55 Hush, beating heart of Christabel! Jesu, Maria, shield her well! She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak.
What sees she there?
60 There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white; Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, And the jewels disorder'd in her hair. I guess, 'twas fearful there to see 65 A lady so richly clad as she-- Beautiful exceedingly!
Mary mother, save me now! (Said Christabel,) And who art thou?
The lady strange made answer meet, 70 And her voice was faint and sweet:-- Have pity on my sore distress, I scarce can speak for weariness. Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear, Said Christabel, How cam'st thou here? 75 And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet, Did thus pursue her answer meet:--
My sire is of a noble line, And my name is Geraldine. Five warriors seiz'd me yestermorn, 80 Me, even me, a maid forlorn: They chok'd my cries with force and fright, And tied me on a palfrey white. The palfrey was as fleet as wind, And they rode furiously behind. 85 They spurr'd amain, their steeds were white; And once we cross'd the shade of night. As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, I have no thought what men they be; Nor do I know how long it is 90 (For I have lain in fits, I wis) Since one, the tallest of the five, Took me from the palfrey's back, A weary woman, scarce alive. Some mutter'd words his comrades spoke: 95 He plac'd me underneath this oak, He swore they would return with haste; Whither they went I cannot tell-- I thought I heard, some minutes past, Sounds as of a castle bell. 100 Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she), And help a wretched maid to flee.
Then Christabel stretch'd forth her hand And comforted fair Geraldine, Saying, that she should command 105 The service of Sir Leoline; And straight be convoy'd, free from thrall, Back to her noble father's hall.
So up she rose, and forth they pass'd, With hurrying steps, yet nothing fast; 110 Her lucky stars the lady blest, And Christabel she sweetly said-- All our household are at rest, Each one sleeping in his bed; Sir Leoline is weak in health, 115 And may not well awaken'd be; So to my room we'll creep in stealth, And you to-night must sleep with me.
They cross'd the moat, and Christabel Took the key that fitted well; 120 A little door she open'd straight, All in the middle of the gate; The gate that was iron'd within and without, Where an army in battle array had march'd out. They lady sank, belike thro' pain, 125 And Christabel with might and main Lifted her up, a weary weight, Over the threshold of the gate: Then the lady rose again, And mov'd, as she were not in pain.
130 So free from danger, free from fear, They cross'd the court: right glad they were. And Christabel devoutly cried, To the lady by her side, Praise we the Virgin all divine 135 Who hath rescued thee from thy distress! Alas, alas! said Geraldine, I cannot speak for weariness. So free from danger, free from fear, They cross'd the court: right glad they were.
140 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! And what can ail the mastiff bitch? 145 Never till now she utter'd yell Beneath the eye of Christabel. Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail the mastiff bitch?
They pass'd the hall, that echoes still, 150 Pass as lightly as you will! The brands were flat, the brands were dying, Amid their own white ashes lying; But when the lady pass'd, there came A tongue of light, a fit of flame; 155 And Christabel saw the lady's eye, And nothing else saw she thereby, Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall, Which hung in a murky old nitch in the wall. O softly tread, said Christabel, 160 My father seldom sleepeth well.
Sweet Christabel her feet she bares, And they are creeping up the stairs; Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, And now they pass the Baron's room, 165 As still as death with stifled breath! And now have reach'd her chamber door; And now with eager feet press down The rushes of her chamber floor.
The moon shines dim in the open air, 170 And not a moonbeam enters here. But they without its light can see The chamber carv'd so curiously, Carv'd with figures strange and sweet, All made out of the carver's brain, 175 For a lady's chamber meet: The lamp with twofold silver chain Is fasten'd to an angel's feet.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim; But Christabel the lamp will trim. 180 She trimm'd 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 lady, Geraldine, 185 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 pity me, Who am a maiden most forlorn? 190 Christabel answer'd--Woe is me! She died the hour that I was born. I have heard the grey-hair'd friar tell, How on her death-bed she did say, That she should hear the castle bell 195 Strike twelve upon my wedding day. O mother dear! that thou wert here! I would, said Geraldine, she were!
But soon with alter'd voice, she said-- "Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 200 "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, 205 "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 rais'd to heaven her eyes so blue-- 210 Alas! said she, this ghastly ride-- Dear lady! it hath wilder'd you! The lady wip'd her moist cold brow, And faintly said, " 'Tis over now!"
Again the wild-flower wine she drank: 215 Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright, 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.
220 And thus the lofty lady spake-- All they, who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their sake And for the good which me befel, 225 Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.
Quoth Christabel, so let it be! 230 And as the lady bade, did she. Her gentle limbs did she undress, And lay down in her loveliness.
But thro' her brain of weal and woe, So many thoughts mov'd to and fro, 235 That vain it were her lids to close; So half-way from the bed she rose, And on her elbow did recline To look at the lady Geraldine.
Beneath the lamp the lady bow'd, 240 And slowly roll'd her eyes around; Then drawing in her breath aloud, Like one that shudder'd, she unbound The cincture from beneath her breast: Her silken robe, and inner vest, 245 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.
She took two paces, and a stride, 250 And lay down by the maiden's side: And in her arms the maid she took,
Ah wel-a-day! And with low voice and doleful look These words did say: 255 In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;
But vainly thou warrest, 260
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: 265 And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity, To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.
Preface | Part I | Part II | Conclusion to Part II
The Conclusion to Part the First
It was a lovely sight to see The lady Christabel, when she Was praying at the old oak tree.
Amid the jagged shadows
Of mossy leafless boughs,
Kneeling in the moonlight,
To make her gentle vows; Her slender palms together prest, 275 Heaving sometimes on her breast; Her face resign'd to bliss or bale-- Her face, oh call it fair not pale, And both blue eyes more bright than clear, Each about to have a tear.
280 With open eyes (ah woe is me!) Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, Fearfully dreaming, yet I wis, Dreaming that alone, which is---- O sorrow and shame! Can this be she, 285 The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree? And lo! the worker of these harms, That holds the maiden in her arms, Seems to slumber still and mild, As a mother with her child.
290 A star hath set, a star hath risen, O Geraldine! since arms of thine Have been the lovely lady's prison. O Geraldine! one hour was thine-- Thou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill, 295 The night-birds all that hour were still. But now they are jubilant anew, From cliff and tower, tu--whoo! tu--whoo! Tu--whoo! tu--whoo! from wood and fell!
And see! the lady Christabel 300 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 sheds-- Large tears that leave the lashes bright! 305 And oft the while she seems to smile As infants at a sudden light!
Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, Like a youthful hermitess, Beauteous in a wilderness, 310 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. 315 What if her guardian spirit 'twere What if she knew her mother near? What if she knows, in joys and woes, That saints will aid if men will call: For the blue sky bends over all!
Preface | Part I | Conclusion to Part I | Conclusion to Part II
320 Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first said, When he rose and found his lady dead: These words Sir Leoline will say, 325 Many a morn to his dying day. And hence the custom and law began, That still at dawn the sacristan, Who duly pulls the heavy bell, Five and forty beads must tell 330 Between each stroke--a warning knell, Which not a soul can choose but hear From Bratha Head to Wyn'dermere.
Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell! And let the drowsy sacristan 335 Still count as slowly as he can! There is no lack of such, I ween As well fill up the space between. In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair, And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, 340 With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, Who all give back, one after t'other, The death-note to their living brother; And oft too, by the knell offended, 345 Just as their one! two! three! is ended, The devil mocks the doleful tale With a merry peal from Borrowdale.
The air is still! thro' mist and cloud That merry peal comes ringing loud; 350 And Geraldine shakes off her dread, And rises lightly from the bed; Puts on her silken vestments white, And tricks her hair in lovely plight, And nothing doubting of her spell 355 Awakens the lady Christabel. "Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel? "I trust that you have rested well."
And Christabel awoke and spied The same who lay down by her side-- 360 O rather say, the same whom she Rais'd up beneath the old oak tree! Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair! For she belike hath drunken deep Of all the blessedness of sleep! 365 And while she spake, her looks, her air Such gentle thankfulness declare, That (so it seem'd) her girded vests Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts. "Sure I have sinn'd!" said Christabel, 370 "Now heaven be prais'd if all be well!" And in low faltering tones, yet sweet, Did she the lofty lady greet With such perplexity of mind As dreams too lively leave behind.
375 So quickly she rose, and quickly array'd Her maiden limbs, and having pray'd That He, who on the cross did groan, Might wash away her sins unknown, She forthwith led fair Geraldine 380 To meet her sire, Sir Leoline.
The lovely maid and the lady tall Are pacing both into the hall, And pacing on thro' page and groom Enter the Baron's presence room.
385 The Baron rose, and while he prest His gentle daughter to his breast, With cheerful wonder in his eyes The lady Geraldine espies, And gave such welcome to the same, 390 As might beseem so bright a dame!
But when he heard the lady's tale, And when she told her father's name, Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, Murmuring o'er the name again, 395 Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine?
Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; 400 And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain. And thus it chanc'd, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline. Each spake words of high disdain 405 And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted--ne'er to meet again! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining-- They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 410 Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
415 Sir Leoline, a moment's space, Stood gazing on the damsel's face; And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine Came back upon his heart again.
O then the Baron forgot his age, 420 His noble heart swell'd high with rage; He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side, He would proclaim it far and wide With trump and solemn heraldry, That they, who thus had wrong'd the dame, 425 Were base as spotted infamy! "And if they dare deny the same, "My herald shall appoint a week, "And let the recreant traitors seek "My tournay court--that there and then 430 "I may dislodge their reptile souls "From the bodies and forms of men!" He spake: his eyes in lightning rolls! For the lady was ruthlessly seiz'd; and he kenn'd In the beautiful lady the child of his friend!
435 And now the tears were on his face, And fondly in his arms he took Fair Geraldine, who met th' embrace, Prolonging it with joyous look. Which when she view'd, a vision fell 440 Upon the soul of Christabel, The vision of fear, the touch and pain! She shrunk and shudder'd, and saw again (Ah, woe is me! was it for thee, Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?) 445 Again she saw that bosom old, Again she felt that bosom cold, And drew in her breath with a hissing sound: Whereat the Knight turn'd wildly round, And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid 450 With eyes uprais'd, as one that pray'd.
The touch, the sight, had pass'd away, And in its stead that vision blest, Which comforted her after-rest, While in the lady's arms she lay, 455 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?" The Baron said--His daughter mild 460 Made answer, "All will yet be well!" I ween, she had no power to tell Aught else: so mighty was the spell. Yet he, who saw this Geraldine, Had deem'd her sure a thing divine, 465 Such sorrow with such grace she blended, As if she fear'd, she had offended Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid! And with such lowly tones she pray'd, She might be sent without delay 470 Home to her father's mansion.
"Nay! "Nay, by my soul!" said Leoline. "Ho! Bracy the bard, the charge be thine! "Go thou, with music sweet and loud, 475 "And take two steeds with trappings proud, "And take the youth whom thou lov'st best "To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, "And clothe you both in solemn vest, "And over the mountains haste along, 480 "Lest wand'ring folk, that are abroad, "Detain you on the valley road.
"And when he has cross'd the Irthing flood, "My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes "Up Knorren Moor, thro' Halegarth Wood, 485 "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, "More loud than your horses' echoing feet! 490 "And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, "Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! "Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free-- "Sir Leoline greets thee thus thro' me. "He bids thee come without delay 495 "With all thy numerous array; "And take thy lovely daughter home, "And he will meet thee on the way "With all his numerous array "White with their panting palfreys' foam, 500 "And, by mine honour! I will say, "That I repent me of the day "When I spake words of fierce disdain "To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!-- "--For since that evil hour hath flown, 505 "Many a summer's sun have shone; "Yet ne'er found I a friend again "Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine."
The lady fell, and clasped his knees, Her face uprais'd, her eyes o'erflowing; 510 And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, His gracious hail on all bestowing:-- Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell; Yet might I gain a boon of thee, 515 This day my journey should not be, So strange a dream hath come to me: That I had vow'd with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, Warn'd by a vision in my rest! 520 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, 525 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 underneath the old tree.
530 And in my dream, methought, I went To search out what might be found; And what the sweet bird's trouble meant, That thus lay fluttering on the ground. I went and peer'd, and could descry 535 No cause for her distressful cry; But yet for her dear lady's sake I stoop'd, methought, the dove to take, When lo! I saw a bright green snake Coil'd around its wing and neck. 540 Green as the herbs on which it couch'd, Close by the dove's its head it crouch'd; And with the dove it heaves and stirs, Swelling its neck as she swell'd hers! I woke; it was the midnight hour, 545 The clock was echoing in the tower; But tho' my slumber was gone by, This dream it would not pass away-- It seems to live upon my eye! And thence I vow'd this self-same day, 550 With music strong and saintly song To wander thro' the forest bare, Lest aught unholy loiter there.
Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while, Half-listening heard him with a smile; 555 Then turn'd to Lady Geraldine, His eyes made up of wonder and love; And said in courtly accents fine, Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove, With arms more strong than harp or song, 560 Thy sire and I will crush the snake! He kiss'd her forehead as he spake, And Geraldine, in maiden wise, Casting down her large bright eyes With blushing cheek and courtesy fine 565 She turn'd her from Sir Leoline; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again; And folded her arms across her chest, And couch'd her head upon breast, 570 And look'd 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, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, 575 And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she look'd askance!---- One moment--and the sight was fled! But Christabel in dizzy trance, Stumbling on the unsteady ground-- 580 Shudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound; And Geraldine again turn'd round, And like a thing, that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, She roll'd her large bright eyes divine 585 Wildly on Sir Leoline.
The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees--no sight but one! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise 590 So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resign'd To this sole image in her mind: And passively did imitate 595 That look of dull and treacherous hate. And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, Still picturing that look askance, With forc'd unconscious sympathy Full before her father's view---- 600 As far as such a look could be, In eyes so innocent and blue!
But when the trance was o'er, the maid Paus'd awhile, and inly pray'd, Then falling at her father's feet, 605 "By my mother's soul do I entreat "That thou this woman send away!" She said; and more she could not say, For what she knew she could not tell, O'er-mastered by the mighty spell.
610 Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, Sir Leoline? Thy only child Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, So fair, so innocent, so mild; The same, for whom thy lady died! 615 O by the pangs of her dear mother Think thou no evil of thy child! For her, and thee, and for no other, She pray'd the moment, ere she died; Pray'd that the babe for whom she died, 620 Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride!
That prayer her deadly pangs beguil'd,
And would'st thou wrong thy only child,
Her child and thine? Within the Baron's heart and brain 625 If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swell'd his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. His heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quiver'd, his eyes were wild, 630 Dishonour'd thus in his old age; Dishonour'd by his only child, And all his hospitality To th' insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy, 635 Brought thus to a disgraceful end-- He roll'd his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, And said in tones abrupt, austere-- Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? 640 I bade thee hence! The bard obey'd; And turning from his own sweet maid, The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine!
Preface | Part I | Conclusion to Part I | Part II
The Conclusion to Part the Second
A little child, a limber elf, 645 Singing, dancing to itself, A fairy thing with red round cheeks That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with light; 650 And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together 655 Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within, 660 A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (O sorrow and shame should this be true!) Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain, 665 So talks as it's most used to do.
Preface | Part I
| Conclusion to Part I
Part II | Conclusion to Part II