"Christabel" is confessedly an unfinished poem ;we shall not, therefore, in its present state, enter into any discussion of the merits of its plot.-It will be sufficient to give the outline of it. The scene opens in the middle of the night;-Christabel, the daughter of "Sir Leoline rich," has, in consequence of sundry dreams of her lover which had annoyed her on the preceding night, strayed into the wood adjacent to her father's castle. She is here praying in silence under a huge oak tree," when a sudden noise alarms her. She starts up in dismay, and steals gently to the other side of the tree, and there beholds

Christabel, after invoking the protection of heaven, asks this unknown damsel her name and story. The stranger replies

"My sire is of a noble line,

And my name is Geraldine.
Five warriors seized me yestermorn,

Me, even me, a maid forlorn :

They chok'd my cries with force and fright,

And tied me on a palfrey white.

The palfrey was as fleet as wind,

And they rode furiously behind.

They spurr'd amain, their steeds were white;
And once we cross'd the shade of night.

As sure as Heaven shall rescue me,

I have no thought what men they be;
Nor do I know how long it is
(For I have lain in fits, I wis)

Since one, the tallest of the five,
Took me from the palfrey's back,
A weary woman, scarce alive.

Some mutter'd words his comrades spoke:
He plac'd me underneath this oak,
He swore they would return with haste;
Whither they went I cannot tell-

I thought I heard, some minutes past,
Sounds as of a castle bell.

Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she),

And help a wretched maid to flee."

They reach the chamber of Christabel, after much exertion on her part to sustain the sinking spirits of Geraldine. Christabel accidentally mentions the name of her mother, when

"Alas! what ails poor Geraldine?
Why stares she with unsettled eye?
Can she the bodiless dead espy?
And why with hollow voice cries she,
'Off, woman, off! this hour is mine→
• Though thou her guardian spirit be,
'Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me.'
Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side,
And rais'd to heaven her eyes so blue-
Alas! said she, this ghastly ride-
Dear lady! it hath wilder'd you!
The lady wip'd her moist cold brow,
And faintly said, 'Tis over now!'
Again the wild-flower wine she drank:
Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright,
And from the floor whereon she sank,
The lofty lady stood upright:.
She was most beautiful to see,

Like a lady of a far countrée.

And thus the lofty lady spake

All they, who live in the upper sky,
Do love you, holy Christabel!

And you love them, and for their sake

And for the good which me befel,
Even I in my degree will try,
Fair maiden, to requite you well,
But now unrobe yourself; for I
Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie."

Christabel disrobes herself first accordingly, and

"Lies down in her loveliness."

She cannot however refrain from watching the motions of Geraldine. She accordingly raises herself on her elbow and looks towards the stranger.

"Beneath the lamp the lady bow'd,
And slowly roll'd her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud,
Like one that shudder'd, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and full in view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side

A sight to dream of, not to tell!
And she is to sleep by Christabel.
She took two paces, and a stride,
And lay down by the maiden's side:
And in her arms the maid she took,
Ah wel-a-day!

And with low voice and doleful look
These words did say:

In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell,
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel!
Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow
This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;
But vainly thou warrest,

For this is alone in

Thy power to declare,

That in the dim forest

Thou heard'st a low moaning,

And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair:

And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity,
To shield her and shelter her from the damp air"

This finishes the first part;-we have, however, in what is termed a "conclusion to part the first," some farther intelligence of the proceedings of the night.— "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 and fell!"

Christabel

"Gathers herself from out her trance," and "sheds

"Large tears that leave the lashes bright."

and then,

"Yea, she doth sinile, 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 the second commences with a most ludicrous

scene.

"Each matin bell, the Baron saith,
Knells us back to a world of death.

These words Sir Leoline first said,
When he rose and found his lady dead:
These words Sir Leoline will say

Many a morn to his dying day.
And hence the custom and law began,

That still at dawn the sacristan,
Who duly pulls the heavy bell,

Five and forty beads must tell
Between each stroke-a warning knell,
Which not a soul can choose but hear
From Bratha Head to Wyn'dermere.
Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell!
And let the drowsy sacristan
Still count as slowly as he can!
There is no lack of such, I ween
As well fill up the space between.
In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair,
And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent,
With ropes of rock and bells of air
Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent,
Who all give back, one after t'other,
The death-note to their living brother;
And oft too, by the knell offended,
Just as their one! two! three! is ended,
The devil mocks the doleful tale
With a merry peal from Borrowdale."

The peal arouses Geraldine, who

"nothing doubting of her spell,

Awakens the lady Christabel."

After praying that

He who on the cross did groan,
Might wash away her sins unknown,"