In vain their sighs, in vain their tears, May blow and flow for many years! No mortal man may cross the cord That crosses Thames at Hungerford. Its wondrous span to me doth seem The bridge described in Mirza’s dream, On which the good alone might tread, Whilst others fell and perished. Alas, in modern Babylon, There’s not a soul that can pass over; No, not a single holy one, Endowed with virtue to discover The step by which to tread the ridge Of Hungerford’s aërial Bridge! _Punch._ July 6, 1844. ――――:o:―――― CHRISTABEL. This most exquisite fragment of a poem, Coleridge’s masterpiece, was commenced in 1797, the second part was written in 1800, leaving the mystery of the plot still unsolved. For this Coleridge blamed his indolence, but possibly he gave up the task in despair, he must have felt how inferior the second part was in interest, in _diablerie_, and in poetical fancy to the first, and that no ending was preferable to a tame ending of a work which had aroused such intense admiration and curiosity. Others have attempted to complete the poem, in sober earnest, but their efforts have been unsuccessful, and not one sequel has achieved even a temporary popularity. In the first edition of the poem Coleridge, after describing _Geraldine_ added: “A sight to dream of, not to tell:―― And she is to sleep with Christabel!” He afterwards omitted these lines possibly because he heard it reported that _Geraldine_ was to prove to be a man, and not as _Christabel_ supposes, a forlorn maiden in distress. Be this as it may some of the parodies dwell particularly upon the equivocal situation of _Christabel_ with her stranger guest. Principal amongst these parodies is one written by Dr. Maginn which appeared in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ as far back as June 1819. In order to appreciate this, a few extracts from the narrative portion of Part I. of the original must be given. Want of space alone is the reason for mutilating the poem, enough is left to trace the story to where Dr. Maginn takes up the thread. PART I. ’Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock; Tu――whit!――Tu――whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew. Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. The night is chill, the cloud is gray: ’Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way. The lovely lady, Christabel, Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that’s far away.