And Geraldine, in maiden wise,
Casting down her large bright eyes,
With blushing cheek and courtesy fine
She turned 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 couched her head upon her breast,
And looked 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,

And with somewhat of malice and more of dread

At Christabel she looked askance :-
One moment and the sight was fled !
But Christabel, in dizzy trance
Stumbling on the unsteady ground,
Shuddered aloud with a hissing sound;
And Geraldine again turned round,
And like a thing that sought relief,
Full of wonder and full of grief,
She rolled her large bright eyes divine
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

So deeply had she drunken in

That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resigned

To this sole image in her mind :

And passively did imitate.

That look of dull and treacherous hate!

And thus she stood, in dizzy trance,

Still picturing that look askance,

With forced, unconscious sympathy,
Full before her father's view-

As far as such a look could be

In eyes so innocent and blue—

And when the trance was o'er, the maid
Paused a while, and inly prayed:
Then, falling at the Baron's feet,
"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'ermastered by the mighty spell.

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.
O by the pangs of her dear mother,
Think thou no evil of thy child !
For her, and thee, and for no other,
She prayed the moment ere she died;
Prayed that the babe for whom she died
Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride!
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled,
Sir Leoline!

And wouldst thou wrong thy only child
Her child and thine?

Within the Baron's heart and brain
If thoughts like these had any share,
They only swelled his rage and pain,
And did but work confusion there.
His heart was cleft with pain and rage,

His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild-
Dishonored thus in his old age;

Dishonored by his only child,

And all his hospitality

To the insulted daughter of his friend
By more than woman's jealousy
Brought thus to a disgraceful end!
He rolled his eye with stern regard
Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
And said in tones abrupt, austere,
"Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here?
I bade thee hence!" The bard obeyed;
And, turning from his own sweet maid,
The aged knight, Sir Leoline,

Led forth the Lady Geraldine !

THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.

A little child, a limber elf,
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 ;
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
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
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,

So talks as it's most used to do.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

IN SEVEN PARTS.

PART I.

T is an Ancient Mariner,

IT

And he stoppeth one of three:

"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,

And I am next of kin;

The guests are met, the feast is set—
May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand:

"There was a ship," quoth he.

'Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still;
He listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone-
He cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared;

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the light-house top.

"The sun came up upon the left,

Out of the sea came he;

And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea;

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The Wedding The bride hath paced into the hall

Guest heareth

the bridal mu Red as a rose is she;

sic: but the

Mariner

Con

tinueth his Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.

tale.

The ship drawn by a

storm toward

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,

Yet he cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyed Mariner :

"And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong;

the south pole. He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.

The land

"With sloping masts and dipping prow— As who, pursued with yell and blow,

Still treads the shadow of his foe,

And forward bends his head

The ship drove fast; loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,

And it grew wondrous cold;

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

of "And through the drifts the snowy clifts

ice, and of fear

ful sounds, Did send a dismal sheen;

where no liv

ing thing was

to be seen. Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken

The ice was all between.