[267:1] Parts III and IV of the Three Graves were first published in The Friend, No. VI, September 21, 1809. They were included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. Parts I and II, which were probably written in the spring of 1798, at the same time as Parts III and IV, were first published, from an autograph MS. copy, in Poems, 1893. [For evidence of date compare ll. 255-8 with Dorothy Wordsworth's Alfoxden Journal for March 20, 24, and April 6, 8.] The original MS. of Parts III and IV is not forthcoming. The MS. of the poem as published in The Friend is in the handwriting of Miss Sarah Stoddart (afterwards Mrs. Hazlitt), and is preserved with other 'copy' of The Friend (of which the greater part is in the handwriting of Miss Sarah Hutchinson) in the Forster Collection which forms part of the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensington. The preface and emendations are in the handwriting of S. T. C. The poem was reprinted in the British Minstrel, Glasgow, 1821 as 'a modern ballad of the very first rank'. In a marginal note in Mr. Samuel's copy of Sibylline Leaves Coleridge writes:—'This very poem was selected, notwithstanding the preface, as a proof of my judgment and poetic diction, and a fair specimen of the style of my poems generally (see the Mirror): nay! the very words of the preface were used, omitting the not,' &c. See for this and other critical matter, Lyrical Ballads, 1798, edited by Thomas Hutchinson, 1898. Notes, p. 257.
[268:1] in the common ballad metre MS.
[268:2] mistaking The Friend.
[269:1] In the first issue of The Friend, No. VI, September 21, 1809, the poem was thus introduced:—'As I wish to commence the important Subject of—The Principles of political Justice with a separate number of The Friend, and shall at the same time comply with the wishes communicated to me by one of my female Readers, who writes as the representative of many others, I shall conclude this Number with the following Fragment, or the third and fourth [second and third MS. S. T. C.] parts of a Tale consisting of six. The two last parts may be given hereafter, if the present should appear to have afforded pleasure, and to have answered the purpose of a relief and amusement to my Readers. The story as it is contained in the first and second parts is as follows: Edward a young farmer, etc.'
[271:1] It is uncertain whether this stanza is erased, or merely blotted in the MS.
[271:2] Othello iii. 3.
[271:3] The words 'Part II' are not in the MS.
[276:1] In the MS. of The Friend, Part III is headed:—'The Three Graves. A Sexton's Tale. A Fragment.' A MS. note erased in the handwriting of S. T. C. is attached:—'N. B. Written for me by Sarah Stoddart before her brother was an entire Blank. I have not voluntarily been guilty of any desecration of holy Names.' In The Friend, in Sibylline Leaves, in 1828, 1829, and 1834, the poem is headed 'The Three Graves, &c.' The heading 'Part III' first appeared in 1893.
In the silent summer heat MS. alternative reading.
turned] strove MS. erased.
happy] wedding MS. variant.
A deadly] The ghastly MS. erased.
Part III] III MS. erased.
220 foll. In The Friend the lines were printed continuously. The division into stanzas (as in the MS.) dates from the republication of the poem in Sibylline Leaves, 1817.
as ripe] as they MS.
High on the hedge-elms in the lane MS. erased.
spikes] strikes Sibylline Leaves, 1817. [Note. It is possible that 'strikes'—a Somersetshire word—(compare 'strikes of flax') was deliberately substituted for 'spikes'. It does not appear in the long list of Errata prefixed to Sibylline Leaves. Wagons passing through narrow lanes leave on the hedge-rows not single 'spikes', but little swathes or fillets of corn.]
over boughed] over-bough'd MS.
they] he MS. The Friend, 1809.
So five months passed: this mother foul MS. erased.
dark] dank MS. The Friend, 1809.
swinging] singing MS. The Friend, 1809: swaying S. L.
You could not hear the Vicar. MS. The Friend, 1809.
you] thou The Friend, 1809.
Part IV] The Three Graves, a Sexton's Tale, Part the IVth MS.
O Sir!] Oh! 'tis S. L.
you're] how MS.
we] one MS. The Friend, 1809.
Lone] Some MS. The Friend, 1809.
a] the MS. The Friend, 1809.
friends] dears MS. erased.
in] in MS. The Friend, 1809.
inserted by S. T. C. MS.
A prose composition, one not in metre at least, seems primâ facie to require explanation or apology. It was written in the year 1798, near Nether Stowey, in Somersetshire, at which place (sanctum et amabile nomen! rich by so many associations and recollections) the author had taken up his residence in order to enjoy the society and close neighbourhood of a dear and honoured friend, T. Poole, Esq. The work was to have been written in concert with another [Wordsworth], whose name is too venerable within the precincts of genius to be unnecessarily brought into connection with such a trifle, and who was then residing at a small distance from Nether Stowey. The title and subject were suggested by myself, who likewise drew out the scheme and the contents for each of the three books or cantos, of which the work was to consist, and which, the reader is to be informed, was to have been finished in one night! My partner undertook the first canto: I the second: and which ever had done first, was to set about the third. Almost thirty years have passed by; yet at this moment I cannot without something more than a smile moot the question which of the two things was the more impracticable, for a mind so eminently original to compose another man's thoughts and fancies, or for a taste so austerely pure and simple to imitate the Death of Abel? Methinks I see his grand and noble countenance as at the moment when having despatched my own portion of the task at full finger-speed, I hastened to him with my manuscript—that look of humourous despondency fixed on his almost blank sheet of paper, and then its silent mock-piteous admission of failure struggling with the sense of the exceeding ridiculousness of the whole scheme—which broke up in a laugh: and the Ancient Mariner was written instead.
Years afterward, however, the draft of the plan and proposed incidents, and the portion executed, obtained favour in the eyes of more than one person, whose judgment on a poetic work could not but have weighed with me, even though no parental partiality had been thrown into the same scale, as a make-weight: and I determined on commencing anew, and composing the whole in stanzas, and made some progress in realising this intention, when adverse gales drove my bark off the 'Fortunate Isles' of the Muses: and then other and more momentous interests prompted a different voyage, to firmer anchorage and a securer port. I have in vain tried to recover the lines from the palimpsest tablet of my memory: and I can only offer the introductory stanza, which had been committed to writing for the purpose of procuring a friend's judgment on the metre, as a specimen:—
I have here given the birth, parentage, and premature decease of the 'Wanderings of Cain, a poem',—intreating, however, my Readers, not to think so meanly of my judgment as to suppose that I either regard or offer it as any excuse for the publication of the following fragment (and I may add, of one or two others in its neighbourhood) in its primitive crudity. But I should find still greater difficulty in forgiving myself were I to record pro taedio publico a set of petty mishaps and annoyances which I myself wish to forget. I must be content therefore with assuring the friendly Reader, that the less he attributes its appearance to the Author's will, choice, or judgment, the nearer to the truth he will be.
'A little further, O my father, yet a little further, and
we shall come into the open moonlight.' Their road was
through a forest of fir-trees; at its entrance the trees stood
at distances from each other, and the path was broad, and
the moonlight and the moonlight shadows reposed upon it, 5
and appeared quietly to inhabit that solitude. But soon the
path winded and became narrow; the sun at high noon
sometimes speckled, but never illumined it, and now it was
dark as a cavern.
'It is dark, O my father!' said Enos, 'but the path under 10
our feet is smooth and soft, and we shall soon come out into
the open moonlight.'
'Lead on, my child!' said Cain; 'guide me, little child!'
And the innocent little child clasped a finger of the hand
which had murdered the righteous Abel, and he guided his 15
father. 'The fir branches drip upon thee, my son.' 'Yea,
pleasantly, father, for I ran fast and eagerly to bring thee
the pitcher and the cake, and my body is not yet cool. How
happy the squirrels are that feed on these fir-trees! they leap
from bough to bough, and the old squirrels play round their 20
young ones in the nest. I clomb a tree yesterday at noon,
O my father, that I might play with them, but they leaped
away from the branches, even to the slender twigs did they
leap, and in a moment I beheld them on another tree. Why,
O my father, would they not play with me? I would be good 25
to them as thou art good to me: and I groaned to them
even as thou groanest when thou givest me to eat, and when
thou coverest me at evening, and as often as I stand at thy
knee and thine eyes look at me?' Then Cain stopped, and
stifling his groans he sank to the earth, and the child Enos 30
stood in the darkness beside him.
And Cain lifted up his voice and cried bitterly, and said,
'The Mighty One that persecuteth me is on this side and on
that; he pursueth my soul like the wind, like the sand-blast
he passeth through me; he is around me even as the air! 35
O that I might be utterly no more! I desire to die—yea,
the things that never had life, neither move they upon the
earth—behold! they seem precious to mine eyes. O that
a man might live without the breath of his nostrils. So
I might abide in darkness, and blackness, and an empty 40
space! Yea, I would lie down, I would not rise, neither
would I stir my limbs till I became as the rock in the den
of the lion, on which the young lion resteth his head whilst he
sleepeth. For the torrent that roareth far off hath a voice:
and the clouds in heaven look terribly on me; the Mighty One 45
who is against me speaketh in the wind of the cedar grove;
and in silence am I dried up.' Then Enos spake to his father,
'Arise, my father, arise, we are but a little way from the place
where I found the cake and the pitcher.' And Cain said,
'How knowest thou!' and the child answered:—'Behold the 50
bare rocks are a few of thy strides distant from the forest;
and while even now thou wert lifting up thy voice, I heard
the echo.' Then the child took hold of his father, as if he
would raise him: and Cain being faint and feeble rose slowly
on his knees and pressed himself against the trunk of a fir, 55
and stood upright and followed the child.
The path was dark till within three strides' length of its
termination, when it turned suddenly; the thick black trees
formed a low arch, and the moonlight appeared for a moment
like a dazzling portal. Enos ran before and stood in the open 60
air; and when Cain, his father, emerged from the darkness,
the child was affrighted. For the mighty limbs of Cain were
wasted as by fire; his hair was as the matted curls on the
bison's forehead, and so glared his fierce and sullen eye
beneath: and the black abundant locks on either side, a rank 65
and tangled mass, were stained and scorched, as though the
grasp of a burning iron hand had striven to rend them; and his
countenance told in a strange and terrible language of agonies
that had been, and were, and were still to continue to be.
The scene around was desolate; as far as the eye could 70
reach it was desolate: the bare rocks faced each other, and
left a long and wide interval of thin white sand. You might
wander on and look round and round, and peep into the
crevices of the rocks and discover nothing that acknowledged
the influence of the seasons. There was no spring, no summer, 75
no autumn: and the winter's snow, that would have been
lovely, fell not on these hot rocks and scorching sands. Never
morning lark had poised himself over this desert; but the huge
serpent often hissed there beneath the talons of the vulture, and
the vulture screamed, his wings imprisoned within the coils of 80
the serpent. The pointed and shattered summits of the ridges
of the rocks made a rude mimicry of human concerns, and
seemed to prophecy mutely of things that then were not;
steeples, and battlements, and ships with naked masts. As far
from the wood as a boy might sling a pebble of the brook, there 85
was one rock by itself at a small distance from the main ridge.
It had been precipitated there perhaps by the groan which the
Earth uttered when our first father fell. Before you approached,
it appeared to lie flat on the ground, but its base slanted from
its point, and between its point and the sands a tall man might 90
stand upright. It was here that Enos had found the pitcher
and cake, and to this place he led his father. But ere they
had reached the rock they beheld a human shape: his back was
towards them, and they were advancing unperceived, when they
heard him smite his breast and cry aloud, 'Woe is me! woe is 95
me! I must never die again, and yet I am perishing with
thirst and hunger.'
Pallid, as the reflection of the sheeted lightning on the
heavy-sailing night-cloud, became the face of Cain; but the
child Enos took hold of the shaggy skin, his father's robe, and 100
raised his eyes to his father, and listening whispered, 'Ere
yet I could speak, I am sure, O my father, that I heard that
voice. Have not I often said that I remembered a sweet voice?
O my father! this is it': and Cain trembled exceedingly.
The voice was sweet indeed, but it was thin and querulous, 105
like that of a feeble slave in misery, who despairs altogether,
yet can not refrain himself from weeping and lamentation.
And, behold! Enos glided forward, and creeping softly round
the base of the rock, stood before the stranger, and looked up
into his face. And the Shape shrieked, and turned round, 110
and Cain beheld him, that his limbs and his face were those
of his brother Abel whom he had killed! And Cain stood
like one who struggles in his sleep because of the exceeding
terribleness of a dream.
Thus as he stood in silence and darkness of soul, the 115
Shape fell at his feet, and embraced his knees, and cried
out with a bitter outcry, 'Thou eldest born of Adam, whom
Eve, my mother, brought forth, cease to torment me! I was
feeding my flocks in green pastures by the side of quiet rivers,
and thou killedst me; and now I am in misery.' Then Cain 120
closed his eyes, and hid them with his hands; and again he
opened his eyes, and looked around him, and said to Enos,
'What beholdest thou? Didst thou hear a voice, my son?'
'Yes, my father, I beheld a man in unclean garments, and
he uttered a sweet voice, full of lamentation.' Then Cain 125
raised up the Shape that was like Abel, and said:—'The
Creator of our father, who had respect unto thee, and unto
thy offering, wherefore hath he forsaken thee?' Then the
Shape shrieked a second time, and rent his garment, and
his naked skin was like the white sands beneath their feet; 130
and he shrieked yet a third time, and threw himself on his
face upon the sand that was black with the shadow of the
rock, and Cain and Enos sate beside him; the child by his
right hand, and Cain by his left. They were all three under
the rock, and within the shadow. The Shape that was like 135
Abel raised himself up, and spake to the child, 'I know where
the cold waters are, but I may not drink, wherefore didst
thou then take away my pitcher?' But Cain said, 'Didst
thou not find favour in the sight of the Lord thy God?'
The Shape answered, 'The Lord is God of the living only, 140
the dead have another God.' Then the child Enos lifted up
his eyes and prayed; but Cain rejoiced secretly in his heart.
'Wretched shall they be all the days of their mortal life,'
exclaimed the Shape, 'who sacrifice worthy and acceptable
sacrifices to the God of the dead; but after death their toil 145
ceaseth. Woe is me, for I was well beloved by the God of
the living, and cruel wert thou, O my brother, who didst
snatch me away from his power and his dominion.' Having
uttered these words, he rose suddenly, and fled over the sands:
and Cain said in his heart, 'The curse of the Lord is on me; 150
but who is the God of the dead?' and he ran after the Shape,
and the Shape fled shrieking over the sands, and the sands
rose like white mists behind the steps of Cain, but the feet
of him that was like Abel disturbed not the sands. He greatly
outrun Cain, and turning short, he wheeled round, and came 155
again to the rock where they had been sitting, and where Enos
still stood; and the child caught hold of his garment as he
passed by, and he fell upon the ground. And Cain stopped,
and beholding him not, said, 'he has passed into the dark
woods,' and he walked slowly back to the rocks; and when he 160
reached it the child told him that he had caught hold of his
garment as he passed by, and that the man had fallen upon
the ground: and Cain once more sate beside him, and said,
'Abel, my brother, I would lament for thee, but that the spirit
within me is withered, and burnt up with extreme agony. 165
Now, I pray thee, by thy flocks, and by thy pastures, and
by the quiet rivers which thou lovedst, that thou tell me all
that thou knowest. Who is the God of the dead? where doth
he make his dwelling? what sacrifices are acceptable unto him?
for I have offered, but have not been received; I have prayed, 170
and have not been heard; and how can I be afflicted more than
I already am?' The Shape arose and answered, 'O that thou
hadst had pity on me as I will have pity on thee. Follow me,
Son of Adam! and bring thy child with thee!'
And they three passed over the white sands between the 175
rocks, silent as the shadows.
1798.
[285:1] The Wanderings of Cain in its present shape was first published in 1828: included in 1829, and (with the omission of that part of the Prefatory Note which follows the verses) in 1834. The verses ('Encinctured', &c.) were first published in the 'Conclusion' of Aids to Reflection, 1825, p. 383, with the following apologetic note:—'Will the Reader forgive me if I attempt at once to illustrate and relieve the subject ["the enthusiastic Mystics"] by annexing the first stanza of the Poem, composed in the same year in which I wrote the Ancient Mariner and the first Book of Christabel.' The prose was first published without the verses or 'Prefatory Note' in the Bijou for 1828. [See Poems, 1893, Notes, p. 600.]
A rough draft of a continuation or alternative version of the Wanderings of Cain was found among Coleridge's papers. The greater portion of these fragmentary sheets was printed by the Editor, in the Athenaeum of January 27, 1894, p. 114. The introduction of 'alligators' and an 'immense meadow' help to fix the date of The Wanderings of Cain. The imagery is derived from William Bartram's Travels in Florida and Carolina, which Coleridge and Wordsworth studied in 1798. Mr. Hutchinson, who reprints (Lyrical Ballads of 1798, Notes, pp. 259-60) a selected passage from the MS. fragment, points out 'that Coleridge had for a time thought of shaping the poem as a narrative addressed by Cain to his wife'.
'He falls down in a trance—when he awakes he sees a luminous body coming before him. It stands before him an orb of fire. It goes on, he moves not. It returns to him again, again retires as if wishing him to follow it. It then goes on and he follows: they are led to near the bottom of the wild woods, brooks, forests etc. etc. The Fire gradually shapes itself, retaining its luminous appearance, into the lineaments of a man. A dialogue between the fiery shape and Cain, in which the being presses upon him the enormity of his guilt and that he must make some expiation to the true deity, who is a severe God, and persuades him to burn out his eyes. Cain opposes this idea, and says that God himself who had inflicted this punishment upon him, had done it because he neglected to make a proper use of his senses, etc. The evil spirit answers him that God is indeed a God of mercy, and that an example must be given to mankind, that this end will be answered by his terrible appearance, at the same time he will be gratified with the most delicious sights and feelings. Cain, over-persuaded, consents to do it, but wishes to go to the top of the rocks to take a farewell of the earth. His farewell speech concluding with an abrupt address to the promised redeemer, and he abandons the idea on which the being had accompanied him, and turning round to declare this to the being he sees him dancing from rock to rock in his former shape down those interminable precipices.
'Child affeared by his father's ravings, goes out to pluck the fruits in the moonlight wildness. Cain's soliloquy. Child returns with a pitcher of water and a cake. Cain wonders what kind of beings dwell in that place—whether any created since man or whether this world had any beings rescued from the Chaos, wandering like shipwrecked beings from another world etc.
'Midnight on the Euphrates. Cedars, palms, pines. Cain discovered sitting on the upper part of the ragged rock, where is cavern overlooking the Euphrates, the moon rising on the horizon. His soliloquy. The Beasts are out on the ramp—he hears the screams of a woman and children surrounded by tigers. Cain makes a soliloquy debating whether he shall save the woman. Cain advances, wishing death, and the tigers rush off. It proves to be Cain's wife with her two children, determined to follow her husband. She prevails upon him at last to tell his story. Cain's wife tells him that her son Enoch was placed suddenly by her side. Cain addresses all the elements to cease for a while to persecute him, while he tells his story. He begins with telling her that he had first after his leaving her found out a dwelling in the desart under a juniper tree etc., etc., how he meets in the desart a young man whom upon a nearer approach he perceives to be Abel, on whose countenance appears marks of the greatest misery . . . of another being who had power after this life, greater than Jehovah. He is going to offer sacrifices to this being, and persuades Cain to follow him—he comes to an immense gulph filled with water, whither they descend followed by alligators etc. They go till they come to an immense meadow so surrounded as to be inaccessible, and from its depth so vast that you could not see it from above. Abel offers sacrifice from the blood of his arm. A gleam of light illumines the meadow—the countenance of Abel becomes more beautiful, and his arms glistering—he then persuades Cain to offer sacrifice, for himself and his son Enoch by cutting his child's arm and letting the blood fall from it. Cain is about to do it when Abel himself in his angelic appearance, attended by Michael, is seen in the heavens, whence they sail slowly down. Abel addresses Cain with terror, warning him not to offer up his innocent child. The evil spirit throws off the countenance of Abel, assumes its own shape, flies off pursuing a flying battle with Michael. Abel carries off the child.'
moonlight. Ah, why dost thou groan so deeply? MS. Bijou, 1828.
with me? Is it because we are not so happy, as they? Is it because I groan sometimes even as thou groanest? Then Cain stopped, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
by fire: his hair was black, and matted into loathly curls, and his countenance was dark and wild, and told, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
by the terrible groan the Earth gave when, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
But ere they arrived there they beheld, MS. Bijou, 1828.
advancing] coming up MS. Bijou, 1828.
The face of Cain turned pale, but Enos said, 'Ere yet, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
Enos crept softly round the base of the rock and stood before MS. Bijou, 1828.
of a dream; and ere he had recovered himself from the tumult of his agitation, the Shape, &c. MS. Bijou, 1828.
and walked Bijou, 1828. rocks] rock MS.
but] and MS.
the] their MS.
? 1798.
[292:1] First published without title in Literary Remains, 1836, i. 280 (among other short pieces and fragments 'communicated by Mr. Gutch'). First collected, again without title, in P. and D. W., 1877-80.
Title] To —— 1893. The heading Ubi Thesaurus Ibi Cor was prefixed to the illustrated edition of The Poems of Coleridge, 1907.
1798.