The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Chapter 97 : There was a hurry in her looks, Her struggles she redoubled: 345 'It was a wicked

There was a hurry in her looks, Her struggles she redoubled: 345 'It was a wicked woman's curse, And why should I be troubled?'

These tears will come--I dandled her When 'twas the merest fairy-- Good creature! and she hid it all: 350 She told it not to Mary.

But Mary heard the tale: her arms Round Ellen's neck she threw; 'O Ellen, Ellen, she cursed me, And now she hath cursed you!' 355

I saw young Edward by himself Stalk fast adown the lee, He s.n.a.t.c.hed a stick from every fence, A twig from every tree.

He snapped them still with hand or knee, 360 And then away they flew!

As if with his uneasy limbs He knew not what to do!

You see, good sir! that single hill?

His farm lies underneath: 365 He heard it there, he heard it all, And only gnashed his teeth.

Now Ellen was a darling love In all his joys and cares: And Ellen's name and Mary's name 370 Fast-linked they both together came, Whene'er he said his prayers.

And in the moment of his prayers He loved them both alike: Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy 375 Upon his heart did strike!

He reach'd his home, and by his looks They saw his inward strife: And they clung round him with their arms, Both Ellen and his wife. 380

And Mary could not check her tears, So on his breast she bowed; Then frenzy melted into grief, And Edward wept aloud.

Dear Ellen did not weep at all, 385 But closelier did she cling, And turned her face and looked as if She saw some frightful thing.

PART IV

To see a man tread over graves I hold it no good mark; 390 'Tis wicked in the sun and moon, And bad luck in the dark!

You see that grave? The Lord he gives, The Lord, he takes away: O Sir! the child of my old age 395 Lies there as cold as clay.

Except that grave, you scarce see one That was not dug by me; I'd rather dance upon 'em all Than tread upon these three! 400

'Aye, s.e.xton! 'tis a touching tale.'

You, Sir! are but a lad; This month I'm in my seventieth year, And still it makes me sad.

And Mary's sister told it me, 405 For three good hours and more; Though I had heard it, in the main, From Edward's self, before.

Well! it pa.s.sed off! the gentle Ellen Did well nigh dote on Mary; 410 And she went oftener than before, And Mary loved her more and more: She managed all the dairy.

To market she on market-days, To church on Sundays came; 415 All seemed the same: all seemed so, Sir!

But all was not the same!

Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no!

But she was seldom cheerful; And Edward looked as if he thought 420 That Ellen's mirth was fearful.

When by herself, she to herself Must sing some merry rhyme; She could not now be glad for hours, Yet silent all the time. 425

And when she soothed her friend, through all Her soothing words 'twas plain She had a sore grief of her own, A haunting in her brain.

And oft she said, I'm not grown thin! 430 And then her wrist she spanned; And once when Mary was down-cast, She took her by the hand, And gazed upon her, and at first She gently pressed her hand; 435

Then harder, till her grasp at length Did gripe like a convulsion!

'Alas!' said she, 'we ne'er can be Made happy by compulsion!'

And once her both arms suddenly 440 Round Mary's neck she flung, And her heart panted, and she felt The words upon her tongue.

She felt them coming, but no power Had she the words to smother: 445 And with a kind of shriek she cried, 'Oh Christ! you're like your mother!'

So gentle Ellen now no more Could make this sad house cheery; And Mary's melancholy ways 450 Drove Edward wild and weary.

Lingering he raised his latch at eve, Though tired in heart and limb: He loved no other place, and yet Home was no home to him. 455

One evening he took up a book, And nothing in it read; Then flung it down, and groaning cried, 'O! Heaven! that I were dead.'

Mary looked up into his face, 460 And nothing to him said; She tried to smile, and on his arm Mournfully leaned her head.

And he burst into tears, and fell Upon his knees in prayer: 465 'Her heart is broke! O G.o.d! my grief, It is too great to bear!'

'Twas such a foggy time as makes Old s.e.xtons, Sir! like me, Rest on their spades to cough; the spring 470 Was late uncommonly.

And then the hot days, all at once, They came, we knew not how: You looked about for shade, when scarce A leaf was on a bough. 475

It happened then ('twas in the bower, A furlong up the wood: Perhaps you know the place, and yet I scarce know how you should,)

No path leads thither, 'tis not nigh 480 To any pasture-plot; But cl.u.s.tered near the chattering brook, Lone hollies marked the spot.

Those hollies of themselves a shape As of an arbour took, 485 A close, round arbour; and it stands Not three strides from a brook.

Within this arbour, which was still With scarlet berries hung, Were these three friends, one Sunday morn, 490 Just as the first bell rung.

'Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet To hear the Sabbath-bell, 'Tis sweet to hear them both at once, Deep in a woody dell. 495

His limbs along the moss, his head Upon a mossy heap, With shut-up senses, Edward lay: That brook e'en on a working day Might chatter one to sleep. 500

And he had pa.s.sed a restless night.

And was not well in health; The women sat down by his side, And talked as 'twere by stealth.

'The Sun peeps through the close thick leaves, 505 See, dearest Ellen! see!

'Tis in the leaves, a little sun, No bigger than your ee;

'A tiny sun, and it has got A perfect glory too; 510 Ten thousand threads and hairs of light, Make up a glory gay and bright Round that small orb, so blue.'

And then they argued of those rays, What colour they might be; 515 Says this, 'They're mostly green'; says that, 'They're amber-like to me.'

So they sat chatting, while bad thoughts Were troubling Edward's rest; But soon they heard his hard quick pants, 520 And the thumping in his breast.

'A mother too!' these self-same words Did Edward mutter plain; His face was drawn back on itself, With horror and huge pain. 525

Both groaned at once, for both knew well What thoughts were in his mind; When he waked up, and stared like one That hath been just struck blind.