Notes
Kubla Khan.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan |
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A stately pleasure-dome decree: |
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Where Alph, the sacred river, ran |
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Through caverns measureless to man |
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Down to a sunless sea. |
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So twice five miles of fertile ground |
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With walls and towers were girdled round: |
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And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills |
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Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree; |
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And here were forests ancient as the hills, |
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Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. |
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But O, that deep romantic chasm which slanted |
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Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! |
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A savage place! as holy and enchanted |
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As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted |
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By woman wailing for her demon-lover! |
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And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, |
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As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, |
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A mighty fountain momently was forced; |
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Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst |
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Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, |
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Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: |
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And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever |
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It flung up momently the sacred river. |
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Five miles meandering with a mazy motion |
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Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, |
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Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, |
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And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: |
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And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far |
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Ancestral voices prophesying war! |
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The shadow of the dome of pleasure |
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Floated midway on the waves; |
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Where was heard the mingled measure |
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From the fountain and the caves. |
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It was a miracle of rare device, |
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A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! |
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A damsel with a dulcimer |
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In a vision once I saw: |
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It was an Abyssinian maid, |
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And on her dulcimer she play'd, |
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Singing of Mount Abora. |
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Could I revive within me, |
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Her symphony and song, |
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To such a deep delight 'twould win me, |
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That with music loud and long, |
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I would build that dome in air, |
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That sunny dome! those caves of ice! |
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And all who heard should see them there, |
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And all should cry, Beware! Beware! |
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His flashing eyes, his floating hair! |
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Weave a circle round him thrice, |
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And close your eyes with holy dread, |
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For he on honey-dew hath fed, |
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And drunk the milk of Paradise. |
TO THE POET COLERIDGE.
MARY ROBINSON
RAPT in the visionary theme!
SPIRIT DIVINE! with THEE I'll wander,
Where the blue, wavy, lucid stream,
'Mid forest glooms, shall slow meander!
With THEE I'll trace the circling bounds
Of thy NEW PARADISE extended;
And listen to the varying sounds
Of winds, and foamy torrents blended.
Now by the source which lab'ring heaves
The mystic fountain, bubbling, panting,
While Gossamer its net-work weaves,
Adown the blue lawn slanting!
I'll mark thy sunny dome, and view
Thy Caves of Ice, thy fields of dew!
Thy ever-blooming mead, whose flow'r
Waves to the cold breath of the moonlight hour!
Or when the day-star, peering bright
On the grey wing of parting night;
While more than vegetating pow'r
Throbs grateful to the burning hour,
As summer's whisper'd sighs unfold
Her million, million buds of gold;
Then will I climb the breezy bounds,
Of thy NEW PARADISE extended,
And listen to the distant sounds
Of winds, and foamy torrents blended!
SPIRIT DIVINE! With THEE I'll trace
Imagination's boundless space
With thee, beneath thy sunny dome,
I'll listen to the minstrel's lay,
Hymning, the gradual close of day;
In Caves of Ice enchanted roam,
Where on the glitt'ring entrance plays
The moon's-beam with its silv'ry rays;
Or, when glassy stream,
That thro' the deep dell flows,
Flashes the noon's hot beam;
The noon's hot beam, that midway shows
Thy flaming Temple, studded o'er
With all PERUVIA'S lustrous store!
There will I trace the circling bounds
Of thy NEW PARADISE extended!
And listen to the awful sounds,
Of winds, and foamy torrents blended!
And now I'll pause to catch the moan
Of distant breezes, cavern-pent;
Now, ere the twilight tints are flown,
Purpling the landscape, far and wide,
On the dark promontory's side
I'll gather wild flow'rs, dew besprent,
And weave a crown for THEE,
GENIUS OF HEAV'N-TAUGHT POESY!
While, op'ning to my wond'ring eyes,
Thou bidst a new creation rise,
I'll raptur'd trace the circling bounds,
Of thy RICH PARADISE extended,
And listen to the varying sounds
Of winds, and foaming torrents blended.
And now, with lofty tones inviting,
Thy NYMPH, her dulcimer swift smiting,
Shall wake me in ecstatic measures!
Far, far remov'd from mortal pleasures!
In cadence rich, in cadence strong,
Proving the wondrous witcheries of song!
I hear her voice! thy sunny dome,
Thy caves of ice, loud repeat,
Vibrations, madd'ning sweet,
Calling the visionary wand'rer home.
She sings of THEE, O favour'd child
Of Minstrelsy, SUBLIMELY WILD!
Of thee, whose soul can feel the tone
Which gives to airy dreams a magic ALL THY OWN!
(1801)