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How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. PART I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he. 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. 'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon—' The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.' 'God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS. PART II The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariner's hollo! And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. 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, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART III There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: 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! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel! The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres? 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, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out; At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark. We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 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, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. The souls did from their bodies fly— They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow! 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, And thy skinny hand, so brown.'— Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. 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 dead 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 Had never passed away. An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside— Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. PART V Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light—almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, 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, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; 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, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools— We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me. 'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!' Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest: For when it dawned—they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! 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 In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion— Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. 'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.' PART VI First Voice 'But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?' Second Voice Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast— If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.' First Voice 'But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?' Second Voice 'The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. 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, That in the Moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. 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, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring— It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze— On me alone it blew. Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray— O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway. The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turned my eyes upon the deck— Oh, Christ! what saw I there! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart— No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away And I saw a boat appear. The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third—I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood. PART VII This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve— He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 'Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?' 'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said— 'And they answered not our cheer! 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, That eats the she-wolf's young.' 'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look— (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared'—'Push on, push on!' Said the Hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. 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, And scarcely he could stand. 'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou?' Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer! O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!— To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay! Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. |
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. PART I It is an ancyent Marinere, And he stoppeth one of three: "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye "Now wherefore stoppest me? "The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide "And I am next of kin; "The Guests are met, the Feast is set— "May'st hear the merry din. But still he holds the wedding-guest— There was a Ship, quoth he— "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, "Marinere! come with me." He holds him with his skinny hand, Quoth he, there was a Ship— "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! "Or my Staff shall make thee skip. He holds him with his glittering eye— The wedding guest stood still And listens like a three year's child; The Marinere hath his will. The wedding-guest sate on a stone, He cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent man, The bright-eyed Marinere. The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd— Merrily did we drop Below the Kirk, below the Hill, Below the Light-house top. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the Sea came he: And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the Sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon— The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry Minstralsy. The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent Man, The bright-eyed Marinere. Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, A Wind and Tempest strong! For days and weeks it play'd us freaks— Like Chaff we drove along. Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow, And it grew wond'rous cauld: And Ice mast-high came floating by As green as Emerauld. And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen; Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken— The Ice was all between. The Ice was here, the Ice was there, The Ice was all around: It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd— Like noises of a swound. At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the Fog it came; And an it were a Christian Soul, We hail'd it in God's name. The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, And round and round it flew: The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit; The Helmsman steer'd us thro'. And a good south wind sprung up behind, The Albatross did follow; And every day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo! In mist or cloud on mast or shroud It perch'd for vespers nine, Whiles all the night thro' fog-smoke white Glimmer'd the white moon-shine. "God save thee, ancyent Marinere! "From the fiends that plague thee thus— "Why look'st thou so?"—with my cross bow I shot the Albatross. PART II The Sun came up upon the right, Out of the Sea came he; And broad as a weft upon the left Went down into the Sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet Bird did follow Ne any day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo! And I had done an hellish thing And it would work 'em woe; For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That made the Breeze to blow. Ne dim ne red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay That bring the fog and mist. The breezes blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free: We were the first that ever burst Into that silent Sea. 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, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, ne breath ne motion, As idle as a painted Ship Upon a painted Ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Ne any drop to drink. The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy Sea. About, about, in reel and rout The Death-fires danc'd at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green and blue and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so: Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us From the Land of Mist and Snow. And every tongue thro' utter drouth Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young; Instead of the Cross the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART III I saw a something in the Sky No bigger than my fist; At first it seem'd a little speck And then it seem'd a mist: It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it ner'd and ner'd; And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite, It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd. With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Ne could we laugh, ne wail: Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood I bit my arm and suck'd the blood And cry'd, A sail! A sail! With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Agape they hear'd me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin And all at once their breath drew in As they were drinking all. She doth not tack from side to side— Hither to work us weal Withouten wind, withouten tide She steddies with upright keel. The western wave was all a flame, The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars (Heaven's mother send us grace) As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she neres and neres! Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun Like restless gossameres? Are these her naked ribs, which fleck'd The sun that did behind them peer? And are these two all, all the crew, That woman and her fleshless Pheere? His bones were black with many a crack, All black and bare, I ween; Jet-black and bare, save where with rust Of mouldy damps and charnel crust They're patch'd with purple and green. Her lips are red, her looks are free, Her locks are yellow as gold: Her skin as is white as leprosy, And she is far liker Death than he; Her flesh makes the still air cold. The naked Hulk alongside came And the Twain were playing dice; "The Game is done! I've won, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistled thrice. A gust of wind sterte up behind And whistled thro' his bones; Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth Half-whistles and half-groans. With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship; While clombe above the Eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright Star Almost atween the tips. One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger! to me) Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang And curs'd me with his ee. Four times fifty living men, With never a sigh or groan, With heavy thump, a lifeless lump They dropp'd down one by one. Their souls did from their bodies fly— They fled to bliss or woe; And every soul it pass'd me by, Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. PART IV "I fear thee, ancyent Marinere! "I fear thy skinny hand; "And thou art long and lank and brown "As is the ribb'd Sea-sand. "I fear thee and thy glittering eye "And thy skinny hand so brown— Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all all alone Alone on the wide wide Sea; And Christ would take no pity on My soul in agony. The many men so beautiful, And they all dead did lie! And a million million slimy things Liv'd on—and so did I. I look'd upon the rotting Sea, And drew my eyes away; I look'd upon the eldritch deck And there the dead men lay. I look'd to Heaven, and try'd to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust. I clos'd my lids and kept them close, Till 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, Ne rot, ne reek did they; The look with which they look'd on me, Had never pass'd away. An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high: But O! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky And no where did abide: Softly she was going up And a star or two beside— Her beams bemock'd the sultry main Like morning frosts yspread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship I watch'd the water-snakes: They mov'd in tracks of shining white; And when they rear'd, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watch'd their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black They coil'd and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I bless'd them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. PART V O sleep, it is a gentle thing Belov'd from pole to pole! To Mary-queen the praise be yeven She sent the gentle sleep from heaven That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remain'd, I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew And when I awoke it rain'd. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams And still my body drank. I mov'd and could not feel my limbs, I was so light, almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed Ghost. The roaring wind! it roar'd far off, It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails That were so thin and sere. The upper air bursts into life, And a hundred fire-flags sheen To and fro are hurried about; And to and fro, and in and out The stars dance on between. The coming wind doth roar more loud; The sails do sigh like sedge: The rain pours down from one black cloud And the Moon is at its edge. Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft, And the Moon is at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning falls with never a jag A river steep and wide. The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd And dropp'd down, like a stone! Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan. They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes: It had been strange, even in a dream To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes Where they were wont to do: They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools— We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull'd at one rope, But he said nought to me— And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be! The day-light dawn'd—they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast: Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths And from their bodies pass'd. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun: Slowly the sounds came back again Now mix'd, now one by one. Sometimes a dropping from the sky I heard the Lavrock sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seem'd to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning, 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 ceas'd: yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! "Marinere! thou hast thy will: "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still." Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thou'lt rise to morrow morn. Never sadder tale was heard By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return'd to work As silent as beforne. The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old: Thought I, I am as thin as air— They cannot me behold. Till noon we silently sail'd on Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship Mov'd onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep From the land of mist and snow The spirit slid: and it was He That made the Ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune And the Ship stood still also. The sun right up above the mast Had fix'd her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir With a short uneasy motion— Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell into a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return'd, I heard and in my soul discern'd Two voices in the air, "Is it he? quoth one, "Is this the man? "By him who died on cross, "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low "The harmless Albatross. "The spirit who 'bideth by himself "In the land of mist and snow, "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man "Who shot him with his bow." The other was a softer voice As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, "the man hath penance done, And penance more will do." PART VI First Voice. "But tell me, tell me! speak again, "Thy soft response renewing— "What makes that ship drive on so fast? "What is the Ocean doing? Second Voice. "Still as a Slave before his Lord, "The Ocean hath no blast: "His great bright eye most silently "Up to the moon is cast— "If he may know which way to go, "For she guides him smooth or grim. "See, brother, see! how graciously "She looketh down on him. First Voice. "But why drives on that ship so fast "Withouten wave or wind? Second Voice. "The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. "Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high, "Or we shall be belated. "For slow and slow that ship will go, "When the Marinere'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 fix'd on me their stony eyes That in the moon did glitter. The pang, the curse with which they died, Had never pass'd away: I could not draw my een from theirs Ne turn them up to pray. And in its time the spell was snapt, And I could move my een: I look'd far-forth, but little saw Of what might else be seen. Like one, that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd round, walks on And turns no more his head: Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breath'd a wind on me, Ne sound ne motion made: Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade. It rais'd my hair, it fann'd my cheek, Like a meadow-gale of spring— It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sail'd softly too: Sweetly, sweetly, blew the breeze— On me alone it blew. O dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk? Is this mine own countree? We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray— "O let me be awake, my God! "Or let me sleep alway!" The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moon light lay, And the shadow of the moon. The moonlight bay was white all o'er, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, Like as of torches came. A little distance from the prow Those dark-red shadows were; But soon I saw that my own flesh Was red as in a glare. I turn'd my head in fear and dread, And by the holy rood, The bodies had advanc'd, and now Before the mast they stood. They lifted up their stiff right arms, They held them strait and tight; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, A torch that's borne upright. Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on In the red and smoky light. I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before. There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the shore. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock: The moonlight steep'd in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck— O Christ! what saw I there? Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; And by the Holy rood A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand: It was a heavenly sight: They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light: This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart— No voice; but O! the silence sank, Like music on my heart. Eftsones I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer: My head was turn'd perforce away And I saw a boat appear. Then vanish'd all the lovely lights; The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew. The wind, that shade nor motion made, On me alone it blew. The pilot, and the pilot's boy I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third—I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood. PART VII This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the Sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with Marineres That come from a far Contree. He kneels at morn and noon and eve— He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss, that wholly hides The rotted old Oak-stump. The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow! "Where are those lights so many and fair "That signal made but now? "Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said— "And they answer'd not our cheer. "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails "How thin they are and sere! "I never saw aught like to them "Unless perchance it were "The 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 "That eats the she-wolf's young. "Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look— (The Pilot made reply) "I am afear'd.—"Push on, push on! "Said the Hermit cheerily. The Boat came closer to the Ship, But I ne spake ne stirr'd! The Boat came close beneath the Ship, And strait a sound was heard! Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay; The Ship went down like lead. Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote: Like one that hath been seven days drown'd My body lay afloat: But, swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship, The boat spun round and round: And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit. The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes And pray'd where he did sit. I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laugh'd 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 mine own Countree I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man! The Hermit cross'd his brow— "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say "What manner of man art thou? Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free. Since then at an uncertain hour Now oftimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; The moment that his face I see I know the man that must hear me; To him my tale I teach. What loud uproar bursts from that door! The Wedding-guests are there; But in the Garden-bower the Bride And Bride-maids singing are: And hark the little Vesper-bell Which biddeth me to prayer. O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. O sweeter than the Marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me To walk together to the Kirk With a goodly company. To walk together to the Kirk And all together pray, While each to his great father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And Youths, and Maidens gay. Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best, All things both great and small: For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all. The Marinere, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door. He went, like one that hath been stunn'd And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. |