University of Virginia Library


133

CERULINE.

Φευ, φευ, τι ποτ' αυ κιναθισμα κλυω
πελας οιωνων; αιθηρ δ' ελαφραις
πτερυγων ριπαις υποσυριζει.
Æsch. Prom.

I. PART I.

The mirth was loud in the banquet hall,
For a hundred knights were feasting there,
And countless lamps upon the wall
Flash'd o'er the wine and the goblets' glare;
And the cold gales of heaven were lost in perfume,
And the darkness no more was fear and gloom:—
There merrily glances
In swift-footed dances
The chorus of maidens by;
Their harps are all strung,
Sweet is every tongue,
And glowing is every eye.
The dance never fail'd, the strains never ceased—
Right well have those warriors earn'd their feast!

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And the maidens were wreathing the laurel boughs
In garlands bright round the victors' brows;—
All shone with joyousness, hope, and bliss....
Is there room for grief in a scene like this?
Where goeth that lady? what to see?
Sad Ceruline, where goeth she?
And hath she left the warriors' hall,
And the choir of maidens one and all?
She hath left the banquet's light
To wander alone through the lonely night.
What charm hath music or dance on her
Whose soul is knit to the things that were?
Peerless in beauty, sylph-like in form,
Love beat in her heart, and true, and warm,
But it was love for unearthly things,
For the rush of spirit wings,
For the light that gleam'd through eyes
Wont to pierce beyond the skies,
For the tales that mortal ear
Dreams not of, though floating near.

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The moon is up, the forests thrill
With the hush'd silence of the rill;
The clear cold shadows, one by one,
And the moonlight clearer, colder still,
The spells of midnight felt by none
Save forest travellers wending on,—
All seem to warn that maiden thence
With her spotless innocence.
Yet her foot is firm, her eye is bright,
She trembles not in the lonely night,
But onward wendeth fearlessly
For the love of the things of a far countree.
The moon is up, but clouds are stealing
O'er the heaven's blue vaulted ceiling;
Though borne on the reckless gales of night
They cross not Cynthia's path of light,
But when they enter the magic sphere,
Where the beams of her light are crystal-clear,
She smiles on them with angel smile,
Their gloomy wildness to beguile,
And touches them with light, and they
Tremble with radiance, and float away.

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Athwart the moon-shadows on the grass
Fearless Ceruline doth pass:
Swift through the light, swift through the shade,
Her feet have travell'd many a glade:
See! she hath cast the veil aside
That droop'd above her eye serene,
And bared her snow-white breast of pride
To that marble clear moon-sheen.—
The banquet hall is far behind,
And it comes like a friend, that forest wind.—
Is there nought else thou seekest there
Up in heaven's pure untroubled air?
Why roams thine eye from star to star?
Is thy heart absent yet more far?
Whence comes that holy light serene
Writ on thy brow, fair Ceruline?
....In silence swiftly wendeth she
For the love of the things of a far countree.
Now she hath pass'd the tangled wood;
Light of foot is she!
And silent stands where once there stood
The one she came to see.

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There the clear cold waters flow
Deep from their unseen spring below,
And gushing with their saddest tone
Flow circling round a mossy stone;
In them no sparkling laughter shines,
But as they spring from the rocky mines
One moan they give, one sigh anon,
And then in silence hurry on:—
Like captives from a dungeon mist
Cast forth to wander where they list,
Who cannot bear the blaze of day,
But to some hidden haunt steal swiftly away.
Fair was the spot, and passing fair
She who came a pilgrim there:—
She look'd up with her sad dark eye
To the silvery moon that rode on high,
But soon she turn'd aside unheeded,
For she found not there the friend she needed;—
She look'd up where bright Jupiter,
Smiling in glory, smiled on her,
But she was too sad to hold converse proud
With his lordly eye, without mist or cloud;—

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Again look'd up that lady young,
Where the pearl-like lamp of Venus hung,
And dewy tears of radiance gave
Unto the rippling deep-blue wave:
On the lady's eye it softly shone,
But further still, and further on
To the inmost soul, I ween,
Of the sad lovely Ceruline.
For, as it had been a friend most dear,
She shed with it a kindred tear,
And gazing up with wishful eye,
Bless'd her pale sister in the sky:
And she took her lute, beside her slung,
And thus that fair sad lady sung—
“If in yon cerulean sphere
Thou hast a heart and a soul for me,
Spirit of my Hoel, hear,
Ceruline is whispering thee.
The banquet's light may glitter bright,
It hath for me no charms,
The voiceless lonesomeness of night
For me hath no alarms.

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Gaze on me from the dark-blue skies
With thy dark-blue spirit eyes;
And the banquet's light may sparkle bright
And spread its witching charms,
And the voiceless lonesomeness of night
Grow pale with cold alarms—
Only wave thy wings of light,
And clasp me to thine arms.”
And the echo nymphs, dwelling in caverns around,
O softly, “thy wings of light, wings of light,” cried;
And others caught up the clear silvery sound,
And sang “to thine arms,” and in singing they died.
And who then was that spirit, she
Was calling now from a far countree?
Oh! he was once an orphan child,
A wayward youth, a minstrel wild;—
Yes, once an orphan child was he,
Now drown'd in tears, now bright with glee;—

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Who with his wild harp's trancing tone,
And his wild visions all his own,
Sang at her noble father's call
To the princely guests of Sir Manfred's hall.
With her his young years came and went,—
Oh happy years for ever past!
She could remember when they bent
Their footsteps (prattlers innocent)
Together over hill and dale,
When he his wild enwoven tale
Would fling to the fitful mountain blast.
For from a child he loved to play
With that his harp, and she the while
Would watch his boyish fingers stray,
And repay him well with her own sunny smile.
That thrilling harp! his playmate wild—
'Twas the only thing beside him lying,
When he was found, an orphan child,
By the castle wall alone and dying.
In peace the happy infant years
Of Hoel flew, unmix'd with tears;

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But when thirteen summers—brief were they!—
Of his young life had glided away,
Young Ceruline with her sire cross'd o'er
The ocean blue for a distant shore;
And for five slow years,—oh! long were they—
Still chased returning by delay.
Often he sate the weary while
From morn to even on the rampart pile,
And gazed on the waves intensely long,—
And wove a wild and mournful song,
And scarcely knowing his fingers moved
Sang her he scarcely knew he loved.
One night he was watching the soft moon pour
Her silvery light the blue wavelets o'er,
When he saw a distant speck of white,
Gleaming beneath the swift moonlight:
Up straight-way leapt that orphan boy,
And held his breath for very joy—
But a speck of white, and dark below—
Yet Hoel told full true, I ween,
And shouted—“A sail—that sail I know—
'Tis she!—'tis she!—'tis Ceruline!”

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And the clarions rang, and the trumpets clang,
And Hoel, he leapt, and wept, and sang,
While crowded to the castle wall
The castle's inmates one and all.
Nearer the stately vessel comes,
Louder beat the castle drums,
Her flags and banners streaming were,
Dear hands were waved to welcome her;
But the first that greeted to his land
Sir Manfred, was the minstrel boy,
The first to clasp the trembling hand
Of Ceruline, who wept for joy.
But when the first flush of bliss had fled,
His heart within him sank like lead;
He felt, he knew, that now no more
They could roam as heretofore.
'Tis true, she wept, when he played again
With quivering hand her favourite strain;
Yet she sate not now beside his lyre,
But far from him by her noble sire:—
And he knew, he felt, that now no more
They should be one as heretofore.

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She was her father's proudest joy
And he a homeless orphan boy.
And again he sate the weary while
From morn to eve on the rampart pile,
And gazed on her turret intensely long,
And wove the same most plaintive song,
And scarcely knowing his fingers moved
Sang her he deeply felt he loved.
And she, although he knew it not,
Listen'd the while in some unknown spot;
For he sang a strain all wild and free
Of the fadeless joys of the far countree;
Where those who love are never parted,
But all are one and all true-hearted:—
And still there came in every scene
The spirit of young Ceruline.
Anon his fancy soar'd on high
On its own free wings to its own free sky,
And revell'd 'mid dreams of clouds and night,
Riven by troubled gleams of light,
Where faery steeds with faery cars
Wander'd away through the chime of stars;—

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But ever in storm or light serene
He was there and Ceruline.
She listen'd saying, none could chide—
He knew not, she was close beside.
And oh! he was the only one
With whom her heart found sympathy,
Ever warm and ever free;
In whom her spirit's every tone
Was echoed truer than her own.
The strains he loved, the legends wild
That he would sing of from a child,
His tones of minstrelsy and song,
These, too, were her delight erelong:
And dreams that strange to others were
Seem'd like familiar things to her.
Could wealth, could power, could princely friends
For a kindred spirit make amends?
Yet all were sorrow, sin, distress,
Without her father's fond caress.
That very eve she wander'd late
Lonely and sad the walls along

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And Hoel o'er the castle gate
Still sang a wild and mournful song:
And seeing her lonely wandering there,
His heart beat quick,—his music died:—
One moment saw him on the stair,
Another by the lady's side.
And never till that hour had he
Whisper'd his heart-thoughts in her ear,—
Never till that moment she
Deem'd she had loved him, loved so dear.
But soon she woke to consciousness,—
The spell had left her soul, I guess.
A trembling strange, a shuddering came
Over her slight and lovely frame,
And she cried, “What, Hoel, thine for ever?
“My father! never, Hoel, never.”
Her voice low-falter'd, and as she cried
“Never,” she fainted by his side.
Young Hoel raised her in his arms,
His love it was the best of charms!

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For soon the lady sat upright,
And open'd her eye to the soft moonlight;
And hasted then, and round her drew
Her thin light-floating robe of blue—
But the smile had left her faded cheek,
And with hollow voice she scarce could speak,
“My father! flee, oh! haste thee, flee—
My Hoel, I have murder'd thee!”
“Oh, cheer thee,” said that minstrel wild,
Oh, cheer thee—thou art Manfred's child.
Thy Hoel,—death is welcome so.”
She only whisper'd, “Woe! woe! woe!”
And passing from his startled view,
To her chamber swift withdrew;
And Hoel again on the rampart strong
Kept singing a wild, yet hopeful song.
Play, minstrel, play, for never more
Will thy fingers sweep those harpstrings o'er;
Sing, minstrel, sing, for never again
Will the wild air echo thy wayward strain.

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The haughty baron's ear hath heard
Thy love's scarce felt, scarce whisper'd word.
The baron's haughty eye hath seen
His minstrel with his Ceruline.
The lady sleeps, but restlessly;
She hath counted the chimes—one—two—and three.
The moon has sunk, and the clouds on high
Have blinded each star with its dewy eye.
She started up,—her hand she press'd
On the heart that ached in an aching breast,
And she hath laid her down again
All listlessly, as if in pain.
The zephyrs, last eve like a mermaid's song,
Now moan with their fitful blast along.
The lady sprang up from the bed,
And thrice she whisper'd, “Dead! dead! dead!”
Hush, Ceruline! 'twas but the blast
That moaning round thy casement pass'd.
“Dead!” she cried; “'twas his dying shriek!”
Nor, horror-stricken, more durst speak.

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Hush, Ceruline! 'twas but the roar
Of the ocean surges on the shore.
Oh! calm thee, fearful Ceruline,
'Twas the ocean roar I surely ween.
She listens with intensest thought,
Her ear each painful echo caught,
And she heard through the castle hall below
Her father's footsteps swiftly go,
(For never need twice be heard or told
The lofty step of Sir Manfred bold,)
And she heard him to another say,—
“Away!—a horrid task—away!”
The lady sank down on the bed,
And swoon'd away as she was dead;
And in the morning there she lay,
Alive or not 'twere hard to say.
And her maidens, one and all, were moved
To see the lady that they loved;
Her casement open, her straggling hair,
Dank with the dew on her bosom fair,
And her chill lips open, as in prayer.

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But she rose up and coldly smiled
As they tended her with thought and care,
And nerved her soul as one beguiled;
And went down at her father's call
To the princely guests of Sir Manfred's hall.
That morning (Heaven shield us from sin!)
At the foot of the castle wall within,
Was found with his harp—his only joy—
The mangled corse of the minstrel boy.
Of his harp (oh deep and wondrous token!)
Not one frail string was found unbroken;
Its master spirit had flown away,
And why should its tones of music stay?
One thrill of horror ran through all,—
One groan of anguish fill'd the hall,—
When the body of Hoel, cold and torn,
Into the hall was slowly borne;
Yet still the same high, speaking brow,
Though stain'd with blood and pallid now.
They groan'd—but to gaze they could not bear;
And Sir Manfred's groan was the loudest there.

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And many cover'd their throbbing eyes,
And wept in silence o'er his bier,—
A mournful band in mournful wise,—
Nor was there wanting Sir Manfred's tear.
But Ceruline nor groan'd, nor wept;
She seem'd like one who saw and slept.
Cold was her dark and sunken eye,
Her bosom heaved not, throbb'd not now;
Her hands alone in agony
Were clasp'd across her fever'd brow.
But one there was—the seneschal—
Who, as he wept young Hoel's fall,
Read in her cold, regardless mien,
The bleeding heart of Ceruline;—
Saw in her unimpassion'd air
The hidden anguish burning there.
And when the evening sun was sinking,
And the sinless flowers their night-dews drinking,
He went alone to her chamber door
With the minstrel's mantle—and no more.
Enough, enough! he need not tell
The mournful task she knew too well;

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And the seneschal was kind and true—
Words should not rend her bosom too.
She knew the token, and straightway
Follow'd to where the minstrel lay.
The old man wrapp'd his mantle round,—
Sad winding-sheet—and from the ground
Sweet Ceruline,—though she trembled much—
Took up the lyre he loved to touch.
The old man led the way, and she
Stole after, weeping silently.
With hurried step, those wanderers late
Came to the castle's outer gate.
It open'd to the seneschal,
And they pass'd out beyond the wall:
But when they had won the skirts o' the wood,
As if in doubt, the old man stood,
And, weeping, Ceruline anon
Took the lead, and hurried on.
Through lonesome paths which none frequent
That mournful pair in silence went;
The crescent moon, with flickering ray,
Glimmer'd faint on their weary way;

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Loud gush'd the rills, the forests moan'd,
Their deep lament the night-winds groan'd,
And now and then the sky would shed
A few brief tear-drops on their head.
The old man's heart was desolate,—
And dread to grief is near akin,—
And Hoel's corse—a lifeless weight—
Hung on his arms like a load of sin.
And still through paths which none frequent
His weeping guide before him went.
At length sad Ceruline stood still
Beside a dark and gushing rill;
She trembled once, she gave one moan,
As she pointed to a mossy stone;
And the old man, by the gushing wave,
At once began to scoop the grave.
Sad, maiden, sad is thy hard lot!
This is the stone, and this the spot,
And this the very night, I ween,—
Though five long years have come between,—
Where he sang his parting song to thee,
Ere thou didst cross the envious sea.

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The old man now hath scoop'd the grave
Hard beside the gushing wave,
Again hath wrapp'd the mantle round
Young Hoel's form; and from the ground
Lifted the body up with care....
Hark! what sound—what strain is there?
The minstrel's harp-strings, one and all,
Were broken in the minstrel's fall;
But, like a spirit sound, there came
Sad music from that broken frame,
And moan'd a requiem for the dead—
A requiem o'er his lonely bed.
Sweet Ceruline! her eye grew bright
Beneath the flickering moonbeam's light,
And she cried, ere ceased the music's swell,
“Bury it too—he loved it well.”
Soon their task—too soon—was done;
Then from her breast a cross she took,
And set it on the mossy stone
Beside the sadly-moaning brook.
That magic sound! that wondrous strain!
The lady's eye was bright again!

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And she press'd her hand upon her brow,
Then softly whisper'd “homeward now;”
And through lonesome paths, which none frequent,
Those wanderers back in silence went.
Many a night and many a day
Came she there to weep and pray;
Her eye was bright, her footstep free,—
She hath heard the strain of a far countree!
But a troubled shade of anguish now
Sate on her pale and sorrowful brow,
Whenever she enter'd the princely dome
Of her sire, Sir Manfred's home.
She saw, she mark'd, and only she,
The anguish hid in a murderer's glee.
He said he had strange dreams,—strange they were;
Wild was his woe, his laughter wild;
He laugh'd, he smiled, but even on her,—
Not like Sir Manfred on his child.
Her heart was broken, I surmise,
Yet, till its throbbing pulse grew cold,
With sad but unreproachful eyes
She watch'd him meekly as of old.

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Many a night and many a day
Came she there to weep and pray.
'Mid the autumn's dying leaves,
And the snow of wintry eves,
And the tears and the smiles of the reckless spring,
And the summer's golden welcoming,
In secret pilgrimage alone
She hath pray'd at that mossy stone.
And now twelve dreary months have pass'd
Since she on Hoel look'd her last;
And the banquet's light may glitter bright,
She will not be away to-night.
What charm hath music or dance on her,
Whose soul is knit to the things that were?
Still upward roams her bright, dark eye,
If once to see him ere she die.
And this was the blessed spirit she
Was calling now from the far countree.
 
“What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle-gate?”

Coleridge's Christabel.


156

II. PART II.

Like those who enter unaware
At night upon a lampless shrine,
When silent the voice of nightly prayer,
And silent the chant of praise divine,
Yet they entranced stand the while,
For wondrous organ-tones are stealing
Like spirits through each shadowy aisle,
And dying away on the vaulted ceiling.
So tranced was Ceruline, when she
First heard again strange melody
Steal round her, as from a far countree.
She could not dream,—it came again,—
She heard the same wild magic strain.
She heard?—she saw at her right hand
A spirit, her own minstrel, stand.
She could not dream,—he smiled on her,
And love, oh love! can never err!

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'Twas his own smile, 'twas his own eye,
But bright like theirs beyond the sky;
And he held a lyret in his hand,
One of the lyres of that distant land;
And even the trembling, earthly blast,
Won thence heaven's music as it pass'd.
Dreams scarce could tell, no tongue declare
The raptures of that meeting there;
The thrill of his voice was spirit-love,
Sweet echo, sure, of theirs above,
As he whisper'd he would have come ere now,
But could not break his heavenly vow,
Till she for a weary year had come
Unwearied to his lonely tomb.
And drawing closer to her side
Thus that spirit-minstrel cried:—
“My home is in the far countree,
This sorrowful earth imprisons thee:

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Grief shadows thine, joy blooms o'er mine,
But oh! my own sweet Ceruline,
The bridge of death lies yet between;
Say, wilt thou cross to the blessed sky?—
Oh ponder well, for thou must die.”
She ponder'd not, on his neck she fell,
Crying, “I will come with thee,
Thy home it is mine in the far countree;—
My father, take my last farewell!”
Straightway the minstrel touch'd the wire
Of his wild and charmèd lyre;
Straightway heavenly music stole,
Thrilling the ear and trancing the soul....
There was a light cloud floating high,
Just beneath pale Cynthia's eye,
Meet to be an airy car
To glide away from star to star;
For when that music began to flow,
At once it floated down below,
Hung like a mist for a moment o'er them,
Then lay in the bed of the rill before them.

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He kiss'd her once, that minstrel wild,
And she blush'd for joy, and for joy she smiled;
He kiss'd her twice,—her colour went,
And came again, and died, and came,—
She felt a thrill of rapture sent
Like lightning through her trembling frame;
He kiss'd her thrice,—and the beautiful soul
Rose from its earthly bond's control:
The same in beauty, form, and height,
But all transfused as it were to light.
“Now,” Hoel cried, “all one with me;”
She whisper'd, “One—yes, one with thee!”
And hand in hand they lightly flew
To that car of silver hue.
A car—nay, rather a heavenly skiff,
Meet to steer for a heavenly cliff.
A skiff—there are no sailyards there,
And no sails to catch the wingèd air.

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A car—a skiff—oh cease, be still;
It is of a wild and far countree,
And nothing on earth can like it be,—
It lieth now in the bed of the rill,
Waiting, Ceruline, for thee.
Till, as a wave bears up the wind,
They in a moment there reclined.
The blue heavens stretch'd their curtains bright
O'er many happy hearts that night,
But not on happier, as I ween,
Than Hoel and young Ceruline.
O wondrous is the union link'd
'Twixt music and all other things!
At once the car, as with thought instinct,
Began to wave its under wings,
When it heard the music flow
From Hoel's harp-strings faint and slow.
Faint and slow was the music's tone,
And slowly did the car move on.
Over the forests, over the hills,
It floated like a dewy mist

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Which the sun sometimes distils,
When he looks down from the snowy hills,
Right on the sea, which his beams have kiss'd.
Over the forests, over the glades,
Just above the woodland shades,
And lo! in sight of the castle now,
It hovers o'er the hill-top brow.
The music's murmur was faint and low,
And the car it floated soft and slow.
Over the little vale it pass'd,
And over the lady's secret bower,
And the fatal wall,—is it the blast
That groans from out Sir Manfred's tower?
The music's echo was well-nigh gone,
And the car it scarcely floated on.
“Oh touch thy lyret, Hoel, dear!”
Cried Ceruline, as if in fear.
But Hoel heard not,—perchance he slept,
Or a vision round his spirit swept.
A second groan, more loud and deep,
Broke from that tower where none may sleep.

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“Haste, Hoel, haste!” cried Ceruline.
He surely could not have heard, I ween:
When a third long and deep-drawn groan
Pierced the heart with its chilling tone.
“'Tis my father! Yes, I know that shriek!
Haste, Hoel, haste!” He did not speak;
But yet he sigh'd, though he answer'd not.
The car was charm'd o'er the fatal spot!
That moment (Heaven be praised well!)
Began the chime of the castle bell,
And as its silvery tones arose
More heavenly music with it flows.
'Twas the midnight chant the virgins young
Ever and aye at that night-hour sung;
And at the first tones of that music faint
The car was free from the charm's restraint!
And Hoel touch'd the silvery wire
Of his silvery warbling lyre.
“Now thank thee, thank thee, Hoel dear!”
Cried Ceruline, no more in fear.

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Happy, thrice happy wanderers they,
Slow soaring on their heavenward way!
Nothing their wingèd course to check,—
All blue above, around them blue!
Her arms about young Hoel's neck
Glad Ceruline in raptures threw,
And ask'd, with trembling tones, and wild,
“What strange spell there our car beguiled?”
Nor waited she, but in a tone
More trembling still did thus speak on,—
“Oh! tell me of that fearful night:
I left thee 'mid the soft moonlight,
And thou upon the tempest strong
Wert weaving a strangely joyous song.
Soon faded the soft moonlight away,
And soon, too, died thy wild harp's lay.
That night a frightful dream I dream'd,—
I thought we stood on a fearful height,
All beneath wild darkness seem'd,
Tossing waves and gulfs of night,—
When there came from forth the bright blue skies
A beautiful maiden with bright blue eyes;

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And she floated o'er us soft along,
And winningly ask'd for a minstrel's song.
And thou didst sing,—for bright was she—
And I was leaning over thee—
Bright was she, and thou didst sing
Sweet even for thy lyret's string,
When swiftly, swifter than the wind,
All unawares she stole behind,
And thrust—blue was her eye and bright,
Soft was her hand and snowy white—
Curse on her eye so bright and blue,
Curse on that hand so white of hue—
She thrust us, ere we could pray or speak,
Down from that mountain's dizzy peak.
Wild looming darkness round our feet,
Our arms the empty air did beat,—
Like shipwreck'd men, who cannot die,
Though fain amid the storm to drown,
With a whirling brain, and a giddy eye,
Down we sank, we flutter'd down....
And with the fright I sat upright,
And gazed out on the alter'd night.

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And I listen'd. Oh, the dream I had dream'd
Most hard to feel and frightful seem'd;
But more frightful still and dread to see
Coldly flash'd the truth on me.
That maiden was fair, and most untrue,
Yet she cast us together in our fall:
Now thou wert gone, and who, oh who
Can the woe of her that was left recall?”
Her tears away the minstrel kiss'd,
But some of his own fell on her wrist
As he cried, with softest voice serene,
“O hush thee! hush thee! Ceruline!
Mercy draws, with her first caress,
A mantle of forgetfulness
O'er every scene of wrong and woe
We may have suffer'd there below.
Blest be that pierceless veil between!
Oh! lift it not, dear Ceruline!
I did but guide our wingèd car
Under the spells of the evening star,
That while it floated o'er the towers,
Where Sir Manfred moans the midnight hours,

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I might breathe beneath that sacred fire
One prayer for him, thine own dear sire;
And know that, before to-morrow flee,
Thy father at thy side shall be.”
'Twere sweet, I wis, to see how bright
Grew the eye of Ceruline;
Her heart was full of love and light,
And the eye, it spake of the depths within.
Oh beautiful as light was she!
Never may mortal such beauty see.
The tresses wild of her flowing hair
Wanton'd with the playful air;
And like the hues with the soft waves blent
Her sudden blushes came and went.
How gently heaved her breast of snow!
How fondly round Hoel her arms did cling!
And round about her feet did flow
Her heavenly-wrought apparelling!
But oh! had ye been there, I ween,
Ye would not her tresses wild have seen,
Ye would not have mark'd her raiment's flow,
Her blushes swift, her breast of snow;

167

One spell, like a dewdrop 'mid clusters of flowers,
Would have fixed your gaze with its trancing powers,
The soul that lay in her dark bright eye,
The glance of immortality.
As one who hath an exile been,
An exile from his infant years,
Returning to the woodlands green,
Where first he shed his sunny tears,
Straineth his eye the waters o'er,
And buildeth many a phantom shore;
His bosom beating quick the while,
His face lit up with restless smile,—
As one who hath an exile been,
Such is the lovely Ceruline!
Oft looks she up, as if to see
The confines soon of the far countree.
The music had been faint and low,
And the car was moving soft and slow,

168

But when Hoel saw her wishful eye
Searching the depths of the deep-blue sky,
Over the chords his fingers swept,
And awaking up as one who slept,
The car exultingly anon
Waved its wings, and glided on.
The strain was wild, the strain was free;
'Tis a free wild path to that far countree.
The crescent moon no longer show'd
Her silver torchlight on their road;
But they are gliding in the light
Of another empress of the night,
Hers who gave her sweet caress
To Ceruline in her distress.
A pearl-like lamp it glitter'd then
Down to the haunts of mortal men,
Now brighter far than the brightest star,
Larger it grew as on they flew,
And its light was the sun in the morning dew.

169

'Tis a free wild path to that far countree,
And wild was the strain, the strain was free!
And the maiden's hair stream'd to the air,
And the minstrel's mantle flutter'd there.
Oh swiftly they glide to the smooth, swift song,
And they will be there, I ween, ere long.
Like a meteor's track in the blue midnight,
See how their road is mark'd with light,—
Here and there a gleam in the air,
A flash of brilliance here and there!
'Tis the lightning cast from steeds who have pass'd
Borne on the wingèd whirlwind blast,
Cast from the hoofs of heavenly steeds
That know no bridle, whom no man leads!
Away—away—the chords are ringing!
Away—the car is onward springing!
More thickly strewn are those sparks of light,—
Sure many steeds have pass'd this night.

170

They flash'd along the midnight sky,
They flash'd up in the lady's eye,
Till, as the chariot glided higher,
They paved the road with gleaming fire!
O! wilder than the strain so free
Is the free wild path to that far countree.
His strain was wild—hush! listen well.
Comes there not o'er thee a softer spell?
Far off, far off is music stealing,
Softly it rose, and soft it fell,
Like the bells of the long-lost minster pealing.
Well Hoel knew those tones serene,—
None but sphere-music stealeth thus;
And his bright eye spake to Ceruline,
“They come, they come to welcome us!”

171

With lyrets and dances, with garlands and glee,
And hearts quite as happy as happy could be,
Came forth from the skirts of that blessed countree
A beautiful band, Ceruline, to thee.
All clad they were in robes of blue,
Like the sky when it is fairest of hue;
And unsandall'd they trod on that radiant road,
And behind them their mantles right joyously flow'd.
Like morning glaciers sunlight-gilt,
Their path was of clouds and glory built,—
Meet road, I ween, for those spirits bright,
Whose song may be heard in the lone midnight.
But lo! at the base of that cloudland hill,
At length the wondrous car stood still;
And Hoel and his beauteous fere
Sprang on those peaks of light and snow,
'Mid music of the upper sphere,
And harpings, whose echo stole down below.
And the magic car, like a meteor flame,
Floated back on the way it came;
Over the cloud, and over the road,
Where the track of the radiant chargers glow'd;

172

Through the long, long pathway, wild and free,
That leadeth to the far countree.
And it hangeth there beneath the moon,—
A little grey cloud, that will stoop as soon
As it hears the music flow,
That it, and it alone, can know.
But when they join'd that spirit band
The clouds rose up on either hand,
And seem'd to fold on their radiant track
Like waves that receive their treasures back.
And nought is seen in the vault of night,
Save straggling gleams and streams of light.
Cease, minstrel, cease; thy thoughts would flee
To climes too beautiful for thee.
Cease, minstrel, cease; why doth thy finger
Still on that fragile harp-string linger?
Its happiest tones can never tell
The happiness it loves so well.
Enough! the lovely Ceruline
Hath reach'd her home, its shores hath seen.

173

Enough! the minstrel boy hath won
The angel spirit he doated on.
Theirs is to dwell for deathless years
Where pain is not known, nor grief, nor tears;
And thine to claim as thy sister, sorrow,
And to weep to-day for the bright to-morrow.
Yes! thou must turn from the pathway bright
That leadeth up to a land of light,
More strange and fair than the fabled isles,—
A sunny land of hopes and smiles,
Down to this gloomy earth below,
Where sobs will break forth, tears will flow.
Oh! murmur not, nor yet refuse,
Heaven sheds alike its smiles and dews,
And tears must flow when comrades go.
Now the seneschal was kind and true,
And he rose ere the sun smiled on the dew,
For his dreams had been troubled the live-long night—
He had heard strange sounds, he had seen strange light

174

And sad thoughts stole across his mind,
For the seneschal was true and kind.
So he went to Sir Manfred's turret lone:
He heard no sigh, nor whisper'd moan,—
And silence now was strange, I ween,
As groans in happier days had been.
So he cried, for he knew not what to tell,—
“Surely Sir Manfred sleepeth well.”
But, ere his voice the echo woke,
His heart belied the words he spoke.
So trembling at the door he stands,
And with one hand, and with both hands,
He gently knocks, he gently cries,—
“'Tis the morning watch; Sir Manfred, rise.”
He heard no answer, he heard no moan,
And he pray'd in a whisper's lowest tone,—
“Now Heaven defend this house from sin.”
And the old man shudder'd, and went in.
There he saw on the ruffled bed
Sir Manfred lying, cold and dead.

175

But oh! upon his alter'd mien
Was writ a smile that had not been
For twice six weary months before,—
Like one of Sir Manfred's in days of yore.
Sure, Hope had there her vigils kept,
And kiss'd him while in death he slept:
Sure, Heaven itself on him had smiled,—
On him, its late repentant child.
Oh! had you mark'd Sir Manfred right,—
His groans and shudderings yesternight,—
Ye would have cried, I guess, with me,
That, whatever that radiant smile might be,
No mortal spell, no mortal care,
Could have won such hope from such despair.
The seneschal fell on his knees,
His thin locks flutter'd to the breeze,—
And he cried, “Oh, faithless heart of mine.
No murderer's brow, Sir Knight, is thine.
Now Heaven be praised,” he cried anew,
“For what I feared, it is not true.”

176

So let him dream, and dreaming die,
For sure not seldom Mercy weaves
A veil that hides from every eye
The penitent whom she receives,
Lest others, gazing thoughtlessly,
The ghastly face of guilt should see;
And heeding not the burning tears,
That might move their hearts, vanquish'd hers,
Crush with their taunts a bruised heart,
Just healing through her heavenly art.
Why wring that old man's bosom, why?
So let him dream, and dreaming die.
Through the lady's secret bower,
Through every hall, o'er every tower,
The old man sought the hidden spot
Where she might weep, yet found her not.
He bethought himself; he spoke to none,
But with tottering steps he hurried on
(For the seneschal was worn with care,
And years had silver'd his thin grey hair);

177

And through lonesome paths, which none frequent,
In silent wretchedness he went,
Until he came to the lonely grave
That lay by that dark and gushing wave;
And he saw, yet scarcely saw, for tears
Dimm'd now his eye, even more than years,
(Oh, the sight will break his heart, I ween,)
He saw the corse of Ceruline!
The kind old man—his head he bow'd,
And long he wept and wept aloud;
And when the sun sank in the sea,
And the moonlight fell on the dark oak-tree,
He buried her there by Hoel's grave,
Watering the sods with his tears the while;
O'er them the dark oak-branches wave,
Their couch sad moaning waters lave,
And falleth there the moon's wan smile.
Enough, enough; turn back thine eye
From a bleeding heart thou canst not heal;

178

There is a tearless home on high,
There are in heaven who pity feel.
Partings and griefs dwell here below,
And tears must flow when comrades go.
Here we are toss'd from wave to wave,
Pilgrims of hope to the shadowy grave.
Yet, traveller, on; be thou content,
A few short years of banishment,
And there shall dawn o'er this billowy sea
The haven of the far countree.
 
“But he spoke.
How shall I tell thee of the startling thrill
In that low voice, whose breezy tones could fill
My bosom's infinite?”

—The Spirit's Return. Mrs. Hemans.

“She cross'd him once, she cross'd him twice....
She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold;
He rose beneath her hand.”

—Lady of the Lake.

“Some shone like suns, and as the chariot pass'd
Eclipsed all other light.”

—Queen Mab.

“From the celestial hoofs
The atmosphere in flaming sparkles flew.”

—Queen Mab.

The allusion here is to the beautiful German legend that the bells of “the lost church” are heard by forest wanderers.

“And there in tones, how sweetly grand,
The bell its solemn chimes is keeping;
Unmoved the rope by mortal hand,
A heavenly blast is o'er it sweeping!

Translated from the German by T. R. B.

1843.