by Coleridge · Cluster: Blood · Verse Drama · Revenge
Abstract
Act I of an unfinished historic verse-drama set in Navarre: a returning general, court intrigue, a poisoned conspirator’s family, love and revenge, an attempted assassination thwarted by providence.
Connections
Archetypes: Avenger, Lover Themes & Concepts: Revenge, Romantic Love, Power and Corruption, Providence, Guilt, Kingship and Legitimacy Forms & Genres: Verse Drama, Tragedy Settings: Court
Testo integrale / Full text
FIRST PERFORMED WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, ON SATURDAY, FEBRUARY THE 7TH, 1801. APOECIDES. Quis hoc scit factum? EPIDICUS. Ego ita esse factum dico. PERIPHANES. Scin’ tu istuc? EPIDICUS. Scio. PERIPHANES. Qui tu scis? EPIDICUS. Quia ego vidi. PERIPHANES. [Ipse vidistine [Tragediam?]] Nimis factum bene! EPIDICUS. Sed vestita, aurata, ornata, ut lepide! ut concinne! ut nove! [Proh Dii immortales! tempestatem (plausuum Populus) nobis nocte hac misit!] (Plaut. Epidicus. Act 2. Scen. 2, ll. 22 sqq.) LONDON. PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1801. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Earl Henry MR. KEMBLE Don Curio MR. C. KEMBLE Sandoval MR. BARRYMORE Alva, the Chancellor MR. AICKIN Barnard, Earl Henry’s Groom of the Chamber MR. SUETT Don Fernandez MR. BANNISTER, JUN. The Governor of the State Prison MR. DAVIS Herreras (Oropeza’s Uncle) and three Conspirators MESSRS. PACKER, WENTWORTH, MATHEW, and GIBBON Officers and Soldiers of Earl Henry’s Regiment. The Queen of Navarre MRS. SIDDONS Donna Oropeza MRS. POWELL Mira, her attendant MISS DECAMP Aspasia, a singer MRS. CROUCH Scene, partly at the Country seat of Donna Oropeza, and partly in Pampilona [sic], the Capital of Navarre. THE TRIUMPH OF LOYALTY ACT I SCENE I. A cultivated Plain, skirted on the Left by a Wood. The Pyrenees are visible in the distance. Small knots of Soldiers all in the military Dress of the middle Ages are seen passing across the Stage. Then Enter EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL, both armed. Sandoval. A delightful plain this, and doubly pleasant after so long and wearisome a descent from the Pyranees [sic]. Did you not observe how our poor over wearied horses mended their pace as soon as they reached it? Earl Henry. I must entreat your forgiveness, gallant 5 Castilian! I ought ere this to have bade you welcome to my native Navarre. Sandoval. Cheerily, General! Navarre has indeed but ill repaid your services, in thus recalling you from the head of an army which you yourself had collected and disciplined. 10 But the wrongs and insults which you have suffered —— Earl Henry. Deserve my thanks, Friend! In the sunshine of Court-favor I could only believe that I loved my Queen and my Country: now I know it. But why name I my Country or my Sovereign? I owe all my Wrongs to the private enmity of 15 the Chancellor. Sandoval. Heaven be praised, you have atchieved [sic] a delicious revenge upon him! — that the same Courier who brought the orders for your recall carried back with him the first tidings of your Victory — it was exquisite good fortune! 20 Earl Henry. Sandoval! my gallant Friend! Let me not deceive you. To you I have vowed an undisguised openness. The gloom which overcast me, was occasioned by causes of less public import. Sandoval. Connected, I presume, with that Mansion, the 25 spacious pleasure grounds of which we noticed as we were descending from the mountain. Lawn and Grove, River and Hillock — it looked within these high walls, like a World of itself. Earl Henry. This Wood scarcely conceals these high walls 30 from us. Alas! I know the place too well… . Nay, why too well? — But wherefore spake you, Sandoval, of this Mansion? What know you? Sandoval. Nothing. Therefore I spake of it. On our descent from the mountain I pointed it out to you and asked to whom 35 it belonged — you became suddenly absent, and answered me only by looks of Disturbance and Anxiety. Earl Henry. That Mansion once belonged to Manric [sic], Lord of Valdez. Sandoval. Alas, poor Man! the same, who had dangerous 40 claims to the Throne of Navarre. Earl Henry. Claims? — Say rather, pretensions — plausible only to the unreasoning Multitude. Sandoval. Pretensions then (with bitterness). Earl Henry. Bad as these were, the means he employed to 45 give effect to them were still worse. He trafficked with France against the independence of his Country. He was a traitor, my Friend! and died a traitor’s death. His two sons suffered with him, and many, (I fear, too many) of his adherents. Sandoval. Earl Henry! (a pause) If the sentence were just, 50 why was not the execution of it public… . It is reported, that they were — but no! I will not believe it — the honest soul of my friend would not justify so foul a deed. Earl Henry. Speak plainly — what is reported? Sandoval. That they were all assassinated by order of the 55 new Queen. Earl Henry. Accursed be the hearts that framed and the tongues that scattered the Calumny! — The Queen was scarcely seated on her throne; the Chancellor, who had been her Guardian, exerted a pernicious influence over her 60 judgement — she was taught to fear dangerous commotions in the Capital, she was intreated to prevent the bloodshed of the deluded citizens, and thus overawed she reluctantly consented to permit the reinforcement of an obsolete law, and —— Sandoval. They were not assassinated then? —— 65 Earl Henry. Why these bitter tones to me, Sandoval? Can a law assassinate? Don Manrique [sic] and his accomplices drank the sleepy poison adjudged by that law in the State Prison at Pampilona. At that time I was with the army on the frontiers of France. 70 Sandoval. Had you been in the Capital —— Earl Henry. I would have pledged my life on the safety of a public Trial and a public Punishment. Sandoval. Poisoned! The Father and his Sons! — And this, Earl Henry, was the first act of that Queen, whom you idolize! 75 Earl Henry. No, Sandoval, No! This was not her act. She roused herself from the stupor of alarm, she suspended in opposition to the advice of her council, all proceedings against the inferior partisans of the Conspiracy; she facilitated the escape of Don Manrique’s brother, and to Donna Oropeza, his 80 daughter and only surviving child, she restored all her father’s possessions, nay became herself her Protectress and Friend. These were the acts, these the first acts of my royal Mistress. Sandoval. And how did Donna Oropeza receive these favors? Earl Henry. Why ask you that? Did they not fall on her, 85 like heavenly dews? Sandoval. And will they not rise again, like an earthly mist? What is Gratitude opposed to Ambition, filial revenge, and Woman’s rivalry — what is it but a cruel Curb in the mouth of a fiery Horse, maddening the fierce animal whom it cannot 90 restrain? Forgive me, Earl Henry! I meant not to move you so deeply. Earl Henry. Sandoval, you have uttered that in a waking hour which having once dreamt, I feared the return of sleep lest I should dream it over again. My Friend (his Voice 95 trembling) I woo’d the daughter of Don Manrique, but we are interrupted. Sandoval. It is Fernandez. Earl Henry (struggling with his emotions). A true-hearted old fellow —— 100 Sandoval. As splenetic as he is brave. Enter FERNANDEZ. Earl Henry. Well, my ancient! how did you like our tour through the mountains. (EARL HENRY sits down on the seat by the woodside.) Fernandez. But little, General! and my faithful charger 105 Liked it still less. The field of battle in the level plain By Fontarabia was more to our taste. Earl Henry. Where is my brother, Don Curio! Have you Seen him of late? Fernandez. Scarcely, dear General! 110 For by my troth I have been laughing at him Even till the merry tears so filled my eyes That I lost sight of him. Sandoval. But wherefore, Captain. Fernandez. He hath been studying speeches with fierce gestures; Speeches brimfull of wrath and indignation, 115 The which he hopes to vent in open council: And, in the heat and fury of this fancy He grasp’d your groom of the Chamber by the throat Who squeaking piteously, Ey! quoth your brother, I cry you Mercy, Fool! Hadst been indeed 120 The Chancellor, I should have strangled thee. Sandoval. Ha, ha! poor Barnard! Fernandez. What you know my Gentleman, My Groom of the Chamber, my Sieur Barnard, hey? Sandoval. I know him for a barren-pated coxcomb. Fernandez. But very weedy, Sir! in worthless phrases, 125 A sedulous eschewer of the popular And the colloquial — one who seeketh dignity I’ th’ paths of circumlocution! It would have Surpris’d you tho’, to hear how nat’rally He squeak’d when Curio had him by the throat. 130 Sandoval. I know him too for an habitual scorner Of Truth. Fernandez. And one that lies more dully than Old Women dream, without pretence of fancy, Humour or mirth, a most disinterested, Gratuitous Liar. Earl Henry. Ho! enough, enough! 135 Spare him, I pray you, were’t but from respect To the presence of his Lord. Sandoval. I stand reprov’d. Fernandez. I too, but that I know our noble General Maintains him near his person, only that If he should ever go in jeopardy 140 Of being damn’d (as he’s now persecuted) For his virtue and fair sense, he may be sav’d By the supererogation of this Fellow’s Folly and Worthlessness. —— Earl Henry. Hold, hold, good Ancient! Do you not know that this Barnard saved my life? 145 Well, but my brother —— Fernandez. He will soon be here. I swear by this, my sword, dear General. I swear he has a Hero’s soul — I only Wish I could communicate to him My gift of governing the spleen. — Then he 150 Has had his colors, the drums too of the Regiment All put in cases — O, that stirs the Soldiery. Earl Henry. Impetuous Boy! Fernandez. Nay, Fear not for them, General. The Chancellor, no doubt, will take good care To let their blood grow cool on garrison duty. 155 Sandoval. Earl Henry! Frown not thus upon Fernandez; ‘Tis said, and all the Soldiery believe it, That the five Regiments who return with you Will be dispers’d in garrisons and castles, And other Jails of honourable name. 160 So great a crime it is to have been present In duty and devotion to a Hero! Fernandez. What now? What now? The politic Chancellor is The Soldier’s friend, and rather than not give Snug pensions to brave Men, he’ll overlook 165 All small disqualifying circumstances Of youth and health, keen eye and muscular limb, He’ll count our scars, and set them down for maims. And gain us thus all privileges and profits Of Invalids and superannuate veterans. 170 Earl Henry. ‘Tis but an idle rumour — See! they come. Enter BARNARD and a number of Soldiers, their Colours wound up, and the Drums in Cases, and after them DON CURIO. All pay the military Honors to the General. During this time FERNANDEZ has hurried up in front of the Stage. Enter DON CURIO. Don Curio (advancing to EARL HENRY). Has Barnard told you? Insult on insult! by mine honor, Brother! (BARNARD goes beside CURIO.) And by our Father’s soul they mean to saint you, Having first prov’d your Patience more than mortal. 175 Earl Henry. Take heed, Don Curio! lest with greater right They scoff my Brother for a choleric boy. What insult then? Don Curio. Our Friend, the Chancellor, Welcomes you home, and shares the common joy In the most happy tidings of your Victory: 180 But as to your demand of instant audience From the Queen’s Royal Person,—’tis rejected! Sandoval. Rejected? Barnard (making a deep obeisance). May it please the Earl! Earl Henry. Speak, Barnard. Barnard. The noble Youth, your very valiant brother, And wise as valiant (bowing to DON CURIO who puffs at him) rightly doth insinuate 185 Fortune deals nothing singly — whether Honors Or Insults, whether it be Joys or Sorrows, They crowd together on us, or at best Drop in in quick succession. Fernandez (mocking him). ‘Ne’er rains it, but it pours,’ or, at the best, 190 ‘More sacks upon the mill.’ This fellow’s a Perpetual plagiarist from his Grandmother, and How slily in the parcel wraps [he] up The stolen goods! Earl Henry. Be somewhat briefer, Barnard. Barnard. But could I dare insinuate to your Brother 195 A fearless Truth, Earl Henry — it were this: Even Lucifer, Prince of the Air, hath claims Upon our justice. Fernandez. Give the Devil his Due! Why, thou base Lacquerer of worm-eaten proverbs, [And] wherefore dost thou not tell us at once 200 What the Chancellor said to thee? Barnard (looking round superciliously at FERNANDEZ). The Queen hath left the Capital affecting Rural retirement, but ‘I will hasten’ (Thus said the Chancellor) ‘I myself will hasten And lay before her Majesty the Tidings 205 Both of Earl Henry’s Victory and return. She will vouchsafe, I doubt not, to re-enter Her Capital, without delay, and grant The wish’d for Audience with all public honour.’ Don Curio. A mere Device, I say, to pass a slight on us. 210 Fernandez (to himself). To think on’t. Pshaw! A fellow, that must needs Have been decreed an Ass by acclamation, Had he not looked so very like an Owl. And he to —— (turns suddenly round, and faces BARNARD who had even then come close beside him). Boo! —— Ah! is it you, Sieur Barnard! Barnard. No other, Sir! Fernandez. And is it not reported, 215 That you once sav’d the General’s life? Barnard. ‘Tis certain! Fernandez. Was he asleep? And were the hunters coming And did you bite him on the nose? Barnard. What mean you? Fernandez. That was the way in which the Flea i’ th’ Fable Once sav’d the Lion’s life. Earl Henry. ‘Tis well. 220 The Sun hath almost finish’d his Day’s Travels; We too will finish ours. Go, gallant Comrades, And at the neighbouring Mansion, for us all, Claim entertainment in your General’s name. Exeunt Soldiers, &c. As they are leaving the Stage. Fernandez (to BARNARD). A word with you! You act the Chancellor 225 Incomparably well. Barnard. Most valiant Captain, Vouchsafe a manual union. Fernandez (griping [sic] his hand with affected fervor). ‘Tis no wonder, Don Curio should mistook [sic] you for him. Barnard. Truly, The Chancellor, and I, it hath been notic’d Are of one stature. Fernandez. And Don Curio’s Gripe too 230 Had lent a guttural Music to your voice, A sort of bagpipe Buz, that suited well Your dignity of utterance. Barnard (simpering courteously). Don Fernandez, Few are the storms that bring unmingled evil. Fernandez (mocking him). ‘Tis an ill wind, that blows no good, Sieur Barnard! [Exeunt. 235 DON CURIO lingering behind. Don Curio. I have offended you, my brother. Earl H. Yes! For you’ve not learnt the noblest part of valour, To suffer and obey. Drums put in cases, Colours wound up — what means this Mummery? We are sunk low indeed, if wrongs like our’s 240 Must seek redress in impotent Freaks of Anger. (This way, Don Sandoval) of boyish anger —— (Walks with SANDOVAL to the back of the Stage.) Don Curio (to himself). Freaks! freaks! But what if they have sav’d from bursting The swelling heart of one, whose Cup of Hope Was savagely dash’d down — even from his lips? — 245 Permitted just to see the face of War, Then like a truant boy, scourgd home again One Field my whole Campaign! One glorious Battle To madden one with Hope! — Did he not pause Twice in the fight, and press me to his breastplate, 250 And cry, that all might hear him, Well done, brother! No blessed Soul, just naturalized in Heaven, Pac’d ever by the side of an Immortal More proudly, Henry! than I fought by thine — Shame on these tears! — this, too, is boyish anger! [Exit. 255 EARL HENRY and SANDOVAL return to the front of the stage. Earl Henry. I spake more harshly to him, than need was. Sandoval. Observ’d you how he pull’d his beaver down — Doubtless to hide the tears, he could not check. Earl Henry. Go, sooth [sic] him, Friend! — And having reach’d the Castle Gain Oropeza’s private ear, and tell her 260 Where you have left me. (As SANDOVAL is going) Nay, stay awhile with me. I am too full of dreams to meet her now. Sandoval. You lov’d the daughter of Don Manrique? Earl Henry. Loved? Sandoval. Did you not say, you woo’d her? Earl Henry. Once I lov’d Her whom I dar’d not woo! —— Sandoval. And woo’d perchance 265 One whom you lov’d not! Earl Henry. O I were most base Not loving Oropeza. True, I woo’d her Hoping to heal a deeper wound: but she Met my advances with an empassion’d Pride That kindled Love with Love. And when her Sire 270 Who in his dream of Hope already grasp’d The golden circlet in his hand, rejected My suit, with Insult, and in memory Of ancient Feuds, pour’d Curses on my head, Her Blessings overtook and baffled them. 275 But thou art stern, and with unkindling Countenance Art inly reasoning whilst thou listenest to me. Sandoval. Anxiously, Henry! reasoning anxiously. But Oropeza — Earl Henry. Blessings gather round her! Within this wood there winds a secret passage, 280 Beneath the walls, which open 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 the covert by a silent stream, 285 Which, with one star reflected near its marge, Was the sole object visible around me. The night so dark, so close, the umbrage o’er us! No leaflet stirr’d; — yet pleasure hung upon us, The gloom and stillness of the balmy night-air. 290 A little further on an arbor stood, Fragrant with flowering Trees — I well remember What an uncertain glimmer in the Darkness Their snow-white Blossoms made — thither she led me, To that sweet bower! Then Oropeza trembled — 295 I heard her heart beat — if ‘twere not my own. Sandoval. A rude and searing note, my friend! Earl Henry. Oh! no! I have small memory of aught but pleasure. The inquietudes of fear, like lesser Streams Still flowing, still were lost in those of Love: 300 So Love grew mightier from the Pear, and Nature, Fleeing from Pain, shelter’d herself in Joy. The stars above our heads were dim and steady, Like eyes suffus’d with rapture. Life was in us: We were all life, each atom of our Frames 305 A living soul — I vow’d to die for her: With the faint voice of one who, having spoken, Relapses into blessedness, I vow’d it: That solemn Vow, a whisper scarcely heard, A murmur breath’d against a lady’s Cheek. 310 Oh! there is Joy above the name of Pleasure, Deep self-possession, an intense Repose. No other than as Eastern Sages feign, The God, who floats upon a Lotos Leaf, Dreams for a thousand ages; then awaking, 315 Creates a world, and smiling at the bubble, Relapses into bliss. Ah! was that bliss Fear’d as an alien, and too vast for man? For suddenly, intolerant of its silence, Did Oropeza, starting, grasp my forehead. 320 I caught her arms; the veins were swelling on them. Thro’ the dark Bower she sent a hollow voice; — ‘Oh! what if all betray me? what if thou?’ I swore, and with an inward thought that seemed The unity and substance of my Being, 325 I swore to her, that were she red with guilt, I would exchange my unblench’d state with hers. — Friend! by that winding passage, to the Bower I now will go — all objects there will teach me Unwavering Love, and singleness of Heart. 330 Go, Sandoval! I am prepar’d to meet her — Say nothing of me — I myself will seek her — Nay, leave me, friend! I cannot bear the torment And Inquisition of that scanning eye. — [Earl Henry retires into the wood. Sandoval (alone). O Henry! always striv’st thou to be great 335 By thine own act — yet art thou never great But by the Inspiration of great Passion. The Whirl-blast comes, the desert-sands rise up And shape themselves; from Heaven to Earth they stand, As though they were the Pillars of a Temple, 340 Built by Omnipotence in its own honour! But the Blast pauses, and their shaping spirit Is fled: the mighty Columns were but sand, And lazy Snakes trail o’er the level ruins! I know, he loves the Queen. I know she is 345 His Soul’s first love, and this is ever his nature — To his first purpose, his soul toiling back Like the poor storm-wreck’d [sailor] to his Boat, Still swept away, still struggling to regain it. [Exit.
Herreras. He dies, that stirs! Follow me this instant. 350
(First Conspirator takes his arrow, snaps it, and throws it on the
ground. The two others do the same.)
Herreras. Accursed cowards! I’ll go myself, and make sure work
(drawing his Dagger).
(HERRERAS strides towards the arbor, before he reaches it, stops and
listens and then returns hastily to the front of the stage, as he turns
his Back to the Arbor, EARL HENRY appears, watching the Conspirators,
and enters the Arbor unseen.)
First Conspirator. Has she seen us think you?
The Mask. No! she has not seen us; but she heard us
distinctly.
Herreras. There was a rustling in the wood — go, all of 355
you, stand on the watch — towards the passage.
A Voice from the Arbor. Mercy! Mercy! Tell me, why
you murder me.
Herreras. I’ll do it first. (Strides towards the Arbor, EARL
HENRY rushes out of it.)
The Mask. Jesu Maria. (They all three fly, EARL HENRY
attempts to seize HERRERAS, who defending himself retreats
into the Covert follow’d by the EARL. THE QUEEN comes
from out the arbor, veiled — stands listening a moment, then
lifts up her veil, with folded hands assumes the attitude of
Prayer, and after a momentary silence breaks into audible
soliloquy.)
The Queen. I pray’d to thee, All-wonderful! And thou
Didst make my very Prayer the Instrument,
By which thy Providence sav’d me. Th’ armed Murderer
Who with suspended breath stood listening to me,
Groan’d as I spake thy name. In that same moment, 365
O God! thy Mercy shot the swift Remorse
That pierc’d his Heart. And like an Elephant
Gor’d as he rushes to the first assault,
He turn’d at once and trampled his Employers.
But hark! (drops her veil) — O God in Heaven! they come again. 370
(EARL HENRY returns with the Dagger in his hand.)
Earl Henry (as he is entering). The violent pull with which I
seiz’d his Dagger
Unpois’d me and I fell.
[END OF THE FRAGMENT.]
[After 88] in which all her wrongs will appear twofold — (or) in a mist
of which her Wrongs will wander, magnified into giant shapes. MS.
erased.
to say — MS. erased.
[Before 211]
Fortune! Plague take her for a blind old Baggage!
That such a patch as Barnard should have had
The Honour to have sav’d our General’s life.
That Barnard! that mock-man! that clumsy forgery
Of Heaven’s Image. Any other heart
But mine own would have turn’d splenetic to think of it.
MS. erased.
No leaflet stirr’d; the air was almost sultry;
So deep, so dark, so close, the umbrage o’er us!
No leaflet stirr’d, yet pleasure hung upon
S. L.
[After 312]
Deep repose of bliss we lay
No other than as Eastern Sages gloss,
The God who floats upon a Lotos leaf
Dreams for a thousand ages, then awaking
Creates a World, then loathing the dull task
Relapses into blessedness, when an omen
Screamed from the Watch-tower—’twas the Watchman’s cry,
And Oropeza starting.
MS. (alternative reading).
[Before 314] Sandoval (with a sarcastic smile) S. L.
1895, i. 229.]
bliss. —
Earl Henry. Ah! was that bliss
S. L.
[After 327]
Even as a Herdsboy mutely plighting troth
Gives his true Love a Lily for a Rose.
MS. erased.
[Before 335]
Earl Henry thou art dear to me — perchance
For these follies; since the Health of Reason,
Our would-be Sages teach, engenders not
The Whelks and Tumours of particular Friendship.
MS. erased.
J
CHAMOUNY; THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE
A HYMN
[Vide ante, p. 376.]
[As published in The Morning Post, Sept. 11, 1802]
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course — so long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O Chamouny!
The Arvè and Arveiron at thy base
Eave ceaselessly; but thou, dread mountain form, 5
Resist from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee, and above,
Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep,
An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it
As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10
It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.
O dread and silent form! I gaz’d upon thee,
Till thou, still present to my bodily eye,
Did’st vanish from my thought. Entranc’d in pray’r, 15
I worshipp’d the INVISIBLE alone.
Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul,
E’en like some deep enchanting melody,
So sweet, we know not, we are list’ning to it.
But I awoke, and with a busier mind, 20
And active will self-conscious, offer now
Not, as before, involuntary pray’r
And passive adoration! —
Hand and voice,
Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake!
Awake ye rocks! Ye forest pines, awake! 25
Green fields, and icy cliffs! All join my hymn!
And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare,
O blacker, than the darkness, all the night,
And visited, all night, by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink — 30
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself Earth’s rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald! Wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill’d thy countenance with rosy light? 35
Who made thee father of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad,
Who call’d you forth from Night and utter Death?
From darkness let you loose, and icy dens,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks 40
For ever shatter’d, and the same for ever!
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam!
And who commanded, and the silence came — 45
‘Here shall the billows stiffen, and have rest?’
Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights
Adown enormous ravines steeply slope,
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp’d at once amid their maddest plunge! 50
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious, as the gates of Heav’n,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who with lovely flow’rs
Of living blue spread garlands at your feet? 55
GOD! GOD! The torrents like a shout of nations,
Utter! The ice-plain bursts, and answers GOD!
GOD, sing
the
meadow-streams
with
gladsome
voice,
And pine groves with their soft, and soul-like sound,
The silent snow-mass, loos’ning, thunders GOD! 60
Ye dreadless flow’rs! that fringe th’ eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle’s nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element, 65
Utter forth, GOD! and fill the hills with praise!
And thou, O silent Form, alone and bare,
Whom, as I lift again my head bow’d low
In adoration, I again behold,
And to thy summit upward from thy base 70
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffus’d by tears,
Awake, thou mountain form! rise, like a cloud!
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit thron’d among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heav’n — 75
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun,
Earth with her thousand voices calls on God!
•£¤—£•.
K
DEJECTION: AN ODE
[Vide ante, p. 362.]
[As first printed in the Morning Post, October 4, 1802.]
“Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon
With the Old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear,
We shall have a deadly storm.”
BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
Motto 2 Moon] one Letter to S.
DEJECTION:
AN ODE, WRITTEN APRIL 4, 1802.
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand Old ballad of SIR PATRICK SPENCE,
This night; so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unrous’d by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those, which mould yon cloud, in lazy flakes, 5
Or the dull sobbing draft, that drones and rakes
Upon the strings of this Œolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New Moon, winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light, 10
(With swimming phantom light o’erspread,
But rimm’d and circled by a silver thread)
I see the Old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming on of rain and squally blast:
And O! that even now the gust were swelling, 15
And the slant night-show’r driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have rais’d me, while they aw’d,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20
II
A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassion’d grief,
Which finds no nat’ral outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear —
O EDMUND! 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 tint of yellow-green:
And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye! 30
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 bedimm’d, but always seen;
Yon crescent moon, as fix’d as if it grew, 35
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue,
A boat becalm’d! a lovely sky-canoe!
I see them all so excellently fair —
I see, not feel how beautiful they are!
III
My genial spirits fail; 40
And what can these avail,
To lift the smoth’ring weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze for ever
On that green light that lingers in the west: 45
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
IV
O EDMUND!
we
receive
but
what
we
give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! 50
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world, allow’d
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth,
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 55
Enveloping the earth —
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
O pure of heart! Thou need’st not ask of me 60
What this strong music in the soul may be?
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making pow’r?
Joy, virtuous EDMUND! joy that ne’er was given, 65
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Joy, EDMUND! 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 — 70
JOY
is
the
sweet
voice, JOY
the
luminous
cloud —
We, we ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light. 75
Yes, dearest EDMUND, yes!
There was a time that, tho’ my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence fancy made me dreams of happiness: 80
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seem’d mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I, that they rob me of my mirth,
But oh! each visitation 85
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of imagination.
[The Sixth and Seventh Stanzas omitted.]
VIII O wherefore did I let it haunt my mind This dark distressful dream? I turn from it, and listen to the wind 90 Which long has rav’d unnotic’d. What a scream Of agony, by torture, lengthen’d out, That lute sent forth! O wind, that rav’st without, Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree, Or pine-grove, whither woodman never clomb, 95 Or lonely house, long held the witches’ home, Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, Mad Lutanist! who, in this month of show’rs, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flow’rs, Mak’st devil’s yule, with worse than wintry song, 100 The blossoms, buds, and tim’rous leaves among. Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! Thou mighty Poet, ev’n to frenzy bold! What tell’st thou now about? ‘Tis of the rushing of a host in rout, 105 With many groans of men, with smarting wounds — 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 tremulous shudderings — all is over! 110 It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud — A tale of less affright. And temper’d with delight, As EDMUND’S self had fram’d the tender lay — ‘Tis of a little child, 115 Upon a lonesome wild Not far from home; but she hath lost her way — And now moans low, in utter grief and fear; And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear! IX ‘Tis midnight, and small thoughts have I of sleep; 120 Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit him, gentle Sleep, with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above his dwelling, Silent, as though they watch’d the sleeping Earth! 125 With light heart may he rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, And sing his lofty song, and teach me to rejoice! O EDMUND, friend of my devoutest choice, O rais’d from anxious dread and busy care, 130 By the immenseness of the good and fair Which thou see’st everywhere, Joy lifts thy spirit, joy attunes thy voice, To thee do all things live from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of thy living soul! 135 O simple spirit, guided from above, O lofty Poet, full of life and love, Brother and friend of my devoutest choice, Thus may’st thou ever, evermore rejoice! •£¤—£•. TO W. WORDSWORTH (Vide ante, p. 403.) LINES COMPOSED, FOR THE GREATER PART ON THE NIGHT, ON WHICH HE FINISHED THE RECITATION OF HIS POEM (IN THIRTEEN BOOKS) CONCERNING THE GROWTH AND HISTORY OF HIS OWN MIND JAN{RY}, 1807. COLE-ORTON, NEAR ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. O friend! O Teacher! God’s great Gift to me! Into my heart have I receiv’d that Lay, More than historic, that prophetic Lay, Wherein (high theme by Thee first sung aright) Of the Foundations and the Building-up 5 Of thy own Spirit, thou hast lov’d to tell What may be told, to th’ understanding mind Revealable; and what within the mind May rise enkindled. Theme as hard as high! Of Smiles spontaneous, and mysterious Feard; 10 (The First-born they of Reason, and Twin-birth) Of Tides obedient to external Force, And currents self-determin’d, as might seem, Or by interior Power: of Moments aweful, Now in thy hidden Life; and now abroad, 15 Mid festive Crowds, thy Brows too garlanded, A Brother of the Feast: of Fancies fair, Hyblæan Murmurs of poetic Thought, Industrious in its Joy, by lilied Streams Native or outland, Lakes and famous Hills! 20 Of more than Fancy, of the Hope of Man Amid the tremor of a Realm aglow — Where France in all her Towns lay vibrating, Ev’n as a Bark becalm’d on sultry seas Beneath the voice from Heaven, the bursting Crash 25 Of Heaven’s immediate thunder! when no Cloud Is visible, or Shadow on the Main! Ah! soon night roll’d on night, and every Cloud Open’d its eye of Fire: and Hope aloft Now flutter’d, and now toss’d upon the Storm 30 Floating! Of Hope afflicted, and struck down, Thence summon’d homeward — homeward to thy Heart, Oft from the Watch-tower of Man’s absolute Self, With Light unwaning on her eyes, to look Far on — herself a Glory to behold, 35 The Angel of the Vision! Then (last strain!) Of Duty, chosen Laws controlling choice, Virtue and Love! An Orphic Tale indeed, A Tale divine of high and passionate Thoughts To their own music chaunted! Ah great Bard! 40 Ere yet that last Swell dying aw’d the Air, With stedfast ken I view’d thee in the Choir Of ever-enduring Men. The truly Great Have all one Age, and from one visible space Shed influence: for they, both power and act, 45 Are permanent, and Time is not with them, Save as it worketh for them, they in it. Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old, And to be plac’d, as they, with gradual fame Among the Archives of mankind, thy Work 50 Makes audible a linked Song of Truth, Of Truth profound a sweet continuous Song Not learnt, but native, her own natural Notes! Dear shall it be to every human Heart. To me how more than dearest! Me, on whom 55 Comfort from Thee and utterance of thy Love Came with such heights and depths of Harmony Such sense of Wings uplifting, that the Storm Scatter’d and whirl’d me, till my Thoughts became A bodily Tumult! and thy faithful Hopes, 60 Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt Were troublous to me, almost as a Voice Familiar once and more than musical To one cast forth, whose hope had seem’d to die, A Wanderer with a worn-out heart, [sic] 65 Mid Strangers pining with untended Wounds! O Friend! too well thou know’st, of what sad years The long suppression had benumb’d my soul, That even as Life returns upon the Drown’d, Th’ unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains — 70 Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe, Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart: And Fears self-will’d, that shunn’d the eye of Hope, And Hope, that would not know itself from Fear: Sense of pass’d Youth, and Manhood come in vain; 75 And Genius given, and knowledge won in vain; And all, which I had cull’d in Wood-walks wild, And all, which patient Toil had rear’d, and all, Commune with Thee had open’d out, but Flowers Strew’d on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier, 80 In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave! That way no more! and ill beseems it me, Who came a Welcomer in Herald’s guise Singing of Glory and Futurity, To wander back on such unhealthful Road 85 Plucking the Poisons of Self-harm! and ill Such Intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths Strew’d before thy Advancing! Thou too, Friend! O injure not the memory of that Hour Of thy communion with my nobler mind 90 By pity or grief, already felt too long! Nor let my words import more blame than needs. The Tumult rose and ceas’d: for Peace is nigh Where Wisdom’s Voice has found a list’ning Heart. Amid the howl of more than wintry Storms 95 The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal Hours, Already on the wing! Eve following eve, Dear tranquil Time, when the sweet sense of Home Becomes most sweet! hours for their own sake hail’d, And more desir’d, more precious, for thy song! 100 In silence list’ning, like a devout 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 105 Into the darkness! now a tranquil Sea Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the Moon! And when O Friend! my Comforter! my Guide! Strong in thyself and powerful to give strength! Thy long sustained Lay finally clos’d, 110 And thy deep Voice had ceas’d (yet thou thyself Wert still before mine eyes, and round us both That happy Vision of beloved Faces! All, whom I deepliest love, in one room all!), Scarce conscious and yet conscious of it’s Close, 115 I sate, my Being blended in one Thought, (Thought was it? or aspiration? or Resolve?) Absorb’d, yet hanging still upon the sound: And when I rose, I found myself in Prayer! S. T. COLERIDGE. YOUTH AND AGE [Vide ante, p. 439.] MS. I 10 SEPT. 1823. WEDNESDAY MORNING, 10 O’CLOCK On the Tenth Day of September, Eighteen hundred Twenty Three, Wednesday morn, and I remember Ten on the Clock the Hour to be [The Watch and Clock do both agree] 5 An Air that whizzed ´¹p ³ºµÆq»¿Å (right across the diameter of my Brain) exactly like a Hummel Bee, alias Dumbeldore, the gentleman with Rappee Spenser (sic), with bands of Red, and Orange Plush Breeches, close by my ear, at once sharp and burry, right over the summit of Quantock [item of Skiddaw 10 (erased)] at earliest Dawn just between the Nightingale that I stopt to hear in the Copse at the Foot of Quantock, and the first Sky-Lark that was a Song-Fountain, dashing up and sparkling to the Ear’s eye, in full column, or ornamented Shaft of sound in the order of Gothic Extravaganza, out of Sight, over 15 the Cornfields on the Descent of the Mountain on the other side — out of sight, tho’ twice I beheld its mute shoot downward in the sunshine like a falling star of silver: — ARIA SPONTANEA Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like, Friendship is a shelt’ring tree — 20 O the Joys, that came down shower-like, Of Beauty, Truth, and Liberty, When I was young, ere I was old! [O Youth that wert so glad, so bold, What quaint disguise hast thou put on? 25 Would’st make-believe that thou art gone? O Youth! thy Vesper Bell] has not yet toll’d. Thou always were a Masker bold — What quaint Disguise hast now put on? To make believe that thou art gone! 30 O Youth, so true, so fair, so free, Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d, Thou always, &c.
Ah! was it not enough, that Thou In Thy eternal Glory should outgo me? 35 Would’st thou not Grief’s sad Victory allow
Hope’s a Breeze that robs the Blossoms Fancy feeds, and murmurs the Bee ——
MS. II Verse, that Breeze mid blossoms straying Where Hope clings feeding like a Bee. Both were mine: Life went a Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young. When I was young! ah woeful When! Ah for the Change twixt now and then! This House of Life, not built with hands Where now I sigh, where once I sung. Or [This snail-like House, not built with hands, This Body that does me grievous wrong.] O’er Hill and dale and sounding Sands. How lightly then it flash’d along — Like those trim Boats, unknown of yore, On Winding Lakes and Rivers wide, That ask no aid of Sail or Oar, That fear no spite of Wind or Tide. Pencil { Nought car’d this Body for wind or weather, { When youth and I liv’d in’t together. Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering Tree; O the joys that came down shower-like Of Beauty, Truth and Liberty When I was young 5 When I was young, [ah woeful when] [Ah for the change twixt now and then] In Heat or Frost we car’d not whether Night and day we lodged together woeful when When I was young — ah [words of agony] 10 Ah for the change ‘twixt now and then [O youth my Home-Mate dear so long, so long:] I thought that thou and I were one I scarce believe that thou art gone Thou always wert a Masker bold I [mark that change,] in garb and size 15 heave the Breath Those grisled Locks I well behold But still thy Heart is in thine eyes What strange disguise hast now put on To make believe that thou art gone Or [O youth for years so many so sweet 20 It seem’d that Thou and I were one That still I nurse the fond deceit And scarce believe that thou art gone] When I was young — ere I was old Ah! happy ere, ah! woeful When 25 When I was young, ah woeful when Which says that Youth and I are twain! O Youth! for years so many and sweet ‘Tis known that Thou and I were one I’ll think it but a false conceit 30 [Tis but a gloomy] It cannot be, [I’ll not believe] that thou art gone Thy Vesper Bell has not yet toll’d always [And] thou wert [still] a masker bold What hast [Some] strange disguise [thou’st] now put on To make believe that thou art gone? 35 I see these Locks in silvery slips, This dragging gait, this alter’d size But spring-tide blossoms on thy Lips And [the young Heart] is in thy eyes tears take sunshine from Life is but Thought so think I will 40 That Youth and I are Housemates still. Ere I was old Ere I was old! ah woeful ere Which tells me youth’s no longer here! O Youth, &c. 45 Dewdrops are the Gems of Morning, But the Tears of mournful Eve: Where no Hope is Life’s a Warning me That only serves to make [us] grieve, Now I am old. 50 N LOVE’S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT [Vide ante, p. 488.] [FIRST DRAFT] In vain I supplicate the Powers above; There is no Resurrection for the Love That, nursed with tenderest care, yet fades away In the chilled heart by inward self-decay. Like a lorn Arab old and blind 5 Some caravan had left behind That sits beside a ruined Well, And hangs his wistful head aslant, Some sound he fain would catch — Suspended there, as it befell, 10 O’er my own vacancy, And while I seemed to watch The sickly calm, as were of heart A place where Hope lay dead, The spirit of departed Love 15 Stood close beside my bed. She bent methought to kiss my lips As she was wont to do. Alas! ‘twas with a chilling breath That awoke just enough of life in death 20 To make it die anew. TWO VERSIONS OF THE EPITAPH INSCRIBED IN A COPY OF GREW’S Cosmologia Sacra (1701) [Vide ante, p. 491.] Epitaph in Hornsey Church yard Hic Jacet S. T. C. Stop, Christian Passer-by! Stop, Child of God! And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod There lies a Poet: or what once was He. [Up] O lift thy soul in prayer for S. T. C. That He who many a year with toil of breath 5 Found death in life, may here find life in death. Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame He ask’d, and hoped thro’ Christ. Do thou the same. ETESI’S [for Estesi’s] Epitaph. Stop, Christian Visitor! Stop, Child of God, Here lies a Poet: or what once was He! [O] Pause, Traveller, pause and pray for S. T. C. That He who many a year with toil of Breath Found Death in Life, may here find Life in Death. 5 And read with gentle heart! Beneath this sod 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.’ ESTEESE’S ±ÅÄ¿µÀ¹Ä±Æ¹¿½ (From a copy of the Todten-Tanz which belonged to Thomas Poole.) Here lies a Poet; or what once was he: Pray, gentle Reader, pray for S. T. C. That he who threescore years, with toilsome breath, Found Death in Life, may now find Life in Death. TO JOHN THELWALL Some, Thelwall! to the Patriot’s meed aspire, Who, in safe rage, without or rent or scar, Bound pictur’d strongholds sketching mimic war Closet their valour — Thou mid thickest fire Leapst on the wall: therefore shall Freedom choose 5 Ungaudy flowers that chastest odours breathe, And weave for thy young locks a Mural wreath; Nor there my song of grateful praise refuse. My ill-adventur’d youth by Cam’s slow stream Pin’d for a woman’s love in slothful ease: 10 First by thy fair example [taught] to glow With patriot zeal; from Passion’s feverish dream Starting I tore disdainful from my brow A Myrtle Crown inwove with Cyprian bough — Blest if to me in manhood’s years belong 15 Thy stern simplicity and vigorous Song.