F

THE RAVEN

[As printed in the Morning Post, March 10, 1798.]

[Vide ante, p. [169].]

Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree,
There was of Swine a large company.
They were making a rude repast,
Grunting as they crunch'd the mast.
Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high— 5
One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy.
Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly;
He belong'd, I believe, to the witch Melancholy!
Blacker was he than the blackest jet;
Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet. 10
He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait,
By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low—
O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go! 15
Many Autumns, many Springs;
Travell'd he with wand'ring wings;
Many Summers, many Winters—
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he return'd, and with him a she; 20
And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were jolly enow.
But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise:
His brow like a pent-house hung over his eyes. 25
He'd an axe in his hand, and he nothing spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak.
His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart,
And his wife she did die of a broken heart! 30
[[1049]]The branches from off it the Woodman did sever!
And they floated it down on the course of the River:
They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip,
And with this tree and others they built up a ship.
The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land, 35
A tempest arose which no ship could withstand.
It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast—
The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast.
He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls—
They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls. 40
The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet,
They had taken his all, and Revenge was Sweet!

G

LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT[1049:1]

[Vide ante, p. [253].]

(1)

[Add. MSS. 27,902.]

High o'er the silver rocks I roved
To forget the form I loved
In hopes fond fancy would be kind
And steal my Mary from my mind
T'was twilight and the lunar beam 5
Sailed slowly o'er Tamaha's stream
As down its sides the water strayed
Bright on a rock the moonbeam playe[d]
It shone, half-sheltered from the view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew 10
True, true to love but false to rest,
So fancy whispered to my breast,
So shines her forehead smooth and fair
Gleaming through her sable hair
I turned to heaven—but viewed on high 15
The languid lustre of her eye
[[1050]] The moons mild radiant edge I saw
Peeping a black-arched cloud below
Nor yet its faint and paly beam
Could tinge its skirt with yellow gleam 20
I saw the white waves o'er and o'er
Break against a curved shore
Now disappearing from the sight
Now twinkling regular and white
Her mouth, her smiling mouth can shew 25
As white and regular a row
Haste Haste, some God indulgent prove
And bear me, bear me to my love
Then might—for yet the sultry hour
Glows from the sun's oppressive power 30
Then might her bosom soft and white
Heave upon my swimming sight
As yon two swans together heave
Upon the gently-swelling wave
Haste—haste some God indulgent prove 35
And bear—oh bear me to my love.

(2)

[Add. MSS. 35,343.]

THECIRCASSIAN'SLOVE-CHAUNT
Wild Indians

High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd
silver
To forget the form I lov'd.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Cora
Depart! for Lewti is not kind!
Cora
Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright beam 5
Speckled with many a moving shade,
Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream;
But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,
The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view
By pendent boughs of tressy Yew! 10
True to Love, but false to Rest,
My fancy whisper'd in my breast—
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair
Gleaming thro' her sable hair,
[[1051]] Image of Lewti! from my mind 15
Cora
Depart! for Lewti is not kind.
Cora

I saw a cloud of whitest hue;
Onward to the Moon it pass'd!
Still brighter and more bright it grew
With floating colours not a few, 20
Till it reach'd the Moon at last.

LEWTI; OR THE CIRCASSIAN'S LOVE-CHANT

(3)

[Add. MSS. 35,343, f. 3 recto.]

High o'er the rocks at night I rov'd
To forget the form I lov'd.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart: for Lewti is not kind. 25

Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m]
Speckled with many a moving shade,
Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream;
But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,
The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view 30
By pendent boughs of tressy Yew!
True to Love, but false to Rest,
My fancy whisper'd in my breast—
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair
Gleaming thro' her sable hair! 35
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart—for Lewti is not kind.

I saw a Cloud of whitest hue—
Onward to the Moon it pass'd.
Still brighter and more bright it grew 40
With floating colours not a few,
Till it reach'd the Moon at last:
Then the Cloud was wholly bright
With a rich and amber light!
deep
And so with many a hope I seek, 45
And so with joy I find my Lewti:
And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of Beauty
[[1052]] Image of Lewti! leave my mind
If Lewti never will be kind! 50

Away the little Cloud, away.
Away it goes—away so soon
alone
Alas! it has no power to stay:
It's hues are dim, it's hues are grey
Away it passes from the Moon. 55
And now tis whiter than before—
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie
A dying Man for Love of thee!
Thou living Image
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.