Christabel

                    It was a lovely sight to see 
                    The lady Christabel, when she 
                    Was praying at the old oak tree. 
                    Amid the jagg`d shadows 
                    Of mossy leafless boughs, 
                    Kneeling in the moonlight, 
                    To make her gentle vows; 
                    Her slender palms together prest, 
                    Heaving sometimes on her breast; 
                    Her face resigned 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. 
                                        
                    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, 
                    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. 
                                        
                    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, 
                    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 fell! 
                                        
                    And see! the lady Christabel 
                    Gathers herself from out her trance; 
                    Her limbs relax, her countenance 
                    Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids 
                    Close o'er her eyes; and tears she sheds—
                    Large tears that leave the lashes bright! 
                    And oft the while she seems to smile 
                    As infants at a sudden light! 
                                        
                    Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, 
                    Like a youthful hermitess, 
                    Beauteous in a wilderness, 
                    Who, praying always, prays in sleep. 
                    And, if she move unquietly, 
                    Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free 
                    Comes back and tingles in her feet. 
                    No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. 
                    What if her guardian spirit 'twere, 
                    What if she knew her mother near? 
                    But this she knows, in joys and woes, 
                    That saints will aid if men will call: 
                    For the blue sky bends over all! 
                                        

                    * * *

                    PART II     CHRISTABEL - CONTENTS

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