The sun now rose upon the right, Still hid in mist, and on the left And the good south-wind still blew behind, And I had done a hellish thing, For all averred I had killed the bird Ah wretch, said they, the bird to slay Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, Then all averred I had killed the bird 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, We were the first that ever burst Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun at noon Right up above the mast did stand, Day after day, day after day We stuck, nor breath nor motion; Water, water everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot; O Christ! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs About, about, in reel and rout And some in dreams assured were And every tongue, through utter drought, We could not speak, no more than if Ah, well-a-day! what evil looks PART III. There passed a weary time. Each throat At first it seemed a little speck, It moved and moved, and took at last A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged, and tacked, and veered. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood; I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call; Gramercy they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. See! see! I cried, she tacks no more, Without a breeze, without a tide, When that strange shape drove suddenly And straight the sun was flecked with bars, As if through a dungeon-grate he peered Alas! thought I, and my heart beat loud, Are those her sails that glance in the sun Are those her ribs through which the sun Did peer, as through a grate; And is that woman all her crew? Is that a death, and are there two? Is death that woman's mate? Her lips were red, her looks were free, The naked hulk alongside came, 'The game is done! I've won, I've won!' Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out, With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea We listened and looked sideways up; My life-blood seemed to sip. The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dew did drip Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. One after one, by the star-dogged moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, Four times fifty living men The souls did from their bodies fly- Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, O happy living things! no tongue A spring of love gushed from my heart, Sure my kind saint took pity on me, The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The albatross fell off, and sank PART IV. 'I fear thee, ancient mariner, I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest, Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on The many men so beautiful! And a thousand thousand slimy things I looked upon the rotting sea, I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gushed, A wicked whisper came, and made I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky, Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they; The look with which they looked on me An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is a curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide: And a star or two beside. Her beams bemocked the sultry main, But where the ship's huge shadow lay Beyond the shadow of the ship They moved in tracks of shining white, PART V. O sleep! it is a gentle thing, To Mary Queen the praise be given ! The silly buckets on the deck, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; My lips were wet, my throat was cold, Sure I had drunken in my dreams, I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I was so light-almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, The upper air burst into life! To and fro they were hurried about! The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain poured down from one black cloud; The moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. The loud wind never reached the ship, They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on, Yet never a breeze up blew; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes They raised their limbs like lifeless tools- But he said nought to me. 'I fear thee, ancient mariner!' Be calm thou wedding-guest! "Twas not those souls that fled in pain, For when it dawned, they dropped their arms, Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Slowly the sounds came back again, Sometimes, a-dropping from the sky, How they seemed to fill the sea and air, And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook That to the sleeping woods all night Till noon we quietly sailed on, Under the keel nine fathom deep, The sails at noon left off their tune, The sun, right up above the mast, Backwards and forwards half her length Then, like a pawing horse let go, But ere my living life returned, Is it he?' quoth one 'Is this the man? With his cruel bow he laid full low The spirit who bideth by himself He loved the bird that loved the man The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew; Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, PART VI. First Voice. But tell me! tell me! speak again, What makes that ship drive on so fast? Second Voice. Still as a slave before his lord, His great bright eye most silently If he may know which way to go; First Voice. But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind? Second Voice. The air is cut away before, Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated; For slow and slow that ship will go, When the mariner's trance is abated. I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather; "Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter; All fixed on me their stony eyes, The pang, the curse, with which they died, I could not draw my eyes from theirs, And now this spell was snapt; once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round, walks on, But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made; Its path was not upon the sea, It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree? 340 The harbour-bay was clear as glass, The rock shone bright, the kirk no less The moonlight steeped in silentness And the bay was white with silent light, Full many shapes, that shadows were, A little distance from the prow Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; A man all light, a seraph-man, This seraph-band, each waved his hand: They stood as signals to the land, This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice; but oh! the silence sank But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, The pilot and the pilot's boy, Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy I saw a third-I heard his voice: He singeth loud his godly hymns He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away PART VII. This hermit good lives in that wood He kneels at morn, and noon and eve- It is the moss that wholly hides The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, Where are those lights so many and fair 'Strange, by my faith!' the hermit said— The planks looked warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look- I am a-feared'-'push on, push on!' The boat came closer to the ship, It reached the ship, it split the bay; Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Like one that hath been seven days drowned But swift as dreams, myself I found Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, I moved my lips-the pilot shrieked, The holy hermit raised his eyes, I took the oars; the pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The devil knows how to row.' And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The hermit stepped forth from the boat, 'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say What manner of man art thou?' Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched Which forced me to begin my tale; Since then, at an uncertain hour And till my ghastly tale is told, I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; I know the man that must hear me: What loud uproar bursts from that door! O wedding-guest! this soul hath been So lonely 'twas, that God himself O sweeter than the marriage-feast, To walk together to the kirk To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, The mariner, whose eye is bright, Is gone: and now the wedding-guest He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. Ode to the Departing Year [1795.] I. Spirit who sweepest the wild harp of time! With inward stillness, and submitted mind; I saw the train of the departing year! Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight, I raised the impetuous song, and solemnised his flight. II. Hither, from the recent tomb, From the prison's direr gloom, From Distemper's midnight anguish ; And thence, where Poverty doth waste and languish ; Or where, o'er cradled infants bending, Ye Woes! ye young-eyed Joys! advance! I bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band! And each domestic hearth, And with a loud and yet a louder voice, Still echoes the dread name that o'er the earth Justice and Truth! They, too, have heard thy spell, III. I marked Ambition in his war-array! I heard the mailed monarch's troublous cry— Stunned by Death's twice mortal mace, The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye! Manes of the unnumbered slain! Fell in conquest's glutted hour, 'Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams! Spirits of the uncoffined slain, Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, Rush around her narrow dwelling! Dance like death-fires round her tomb! IV. Departing year! 'twas on no earthly shore Thou storied'st thy sad hours! Silence ensued, Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, The Spirit of the earth made reverence meet, V. Throughout the blissful throng Till wheeling round the throne the Lampads seven The fervent Spirit bowed, then spread his wings and spake: "Thou in stormy blackness throning Masked Hate and envying Scorn! And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bared! Strange, horrible, and foul! By what deep guilt belongs To the deaf Synod, "full of gifts and lies!" By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl! Avenger, rise! For ever shall the thankless island scowl, Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud! VI. The voice had ceased, the vision fled; |