The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume II Part 201

The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Volume II Part 201

Image of LEWTI in my mind, 60 Methinks thou lookest not [*kin*] unkind!

FOOTNOTES:

[1049:1] The first ten lines of MS. version (1) were first published in _Note 44_ of _P. W._, 1893, p. 518, and the MS. as a whole is included in _Coleridge's Poems_, A Facsimile Reproduction of The Proofs and MSS., &c., 1899, pp. 132-4. MSS. (2) and (3) are now printed for the first time.

H

INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE[1052:1]

[Vide _ante_, p. 330.]

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST.

SIR,

The following Poem is the Introduction to a somewhat longer one, for which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the Old Ballad word, _Ladie_, for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust, that 'the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity' (as Camden says) will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties _explode_ around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old fashioned love; and, five years ago, I own, I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly unspired [? inspired] with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have resided a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

1

O leave the Lily on its stem; O leave the Rose upon the spray; O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids!

And listen to my lay.

2

A Cypress and a Myrtle bough, 5 This morn around my harp you twin'd, Because it fashion'd mournfully Its murmurs in the wind.

3

And now a Tale of Love and Woe, A woeful Tale of Love I sing: 10 Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighs And trembles on the string.

4

But most, my own dear Genevieve!

It sighs and trembles most for thee!

O come and hear the cruel wrongs 15 Befel the dark Ladie!

5

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

6

All thoughts, all pa.s.sions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.

7

O ever in my waking dreams, 25 I dwell upon that happy hour, When midway on the Mount I sate Beside the ruin'd Tow'r.

8

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve, 30 And she was there, my hope! my joy!

My own dear Genevieve!

9

She lean'd against the armed Man The statue of the armed Knight-- She stood and listen'd to my harp, 35 Amid the ling'ring light.

10

I play'd a sad and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story, An old rude song, that fitted well The ruin wild and h.o.a.ry. 40

11

She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace: For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face.

12

I told her of the Knight that wore 45 Upon his shield a burning brand.

And how for ten long years he woo'd The Ladie of the Land:

13

I told her, how he pin'd, and ah!

The deep, the low, the pleading tone, 50 With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own!

14

She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace.

And she forgave me, that I gaz'd 55 Too fondly on her face!

15

But when I told the cruel scorn, That craz'd this bold and lovely Knight; And how he roam'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day or night; 60

16

And how he cross'd the Woodman's paths, Thro' briars and swampy mosses beat; How boughs rebounding scourg'd his limbs, And low stubs gor'd his feet.

17