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| They raised their limbs like lifeless “ O SLEEP ! it is a gentle thing,

We were a ghastly crew. [tools, Beloved from pole to pole!

The body of my brother's son To Mary Queen the praise be given!

Stood by me, knee to knee: She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,

The body and I pull'd at one rope, That slid into my soul.

But he said nought to me.” — The silly buckets on the deck

"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!" That had so long remain'd,

“ Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew;

'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, And when I awoke, it rain'd.

Whích to their corses came again,
My lips were wet, my throat was cold, But a troop of spirits blest:
My garments all were dank;

For, when it dawn'd, they dropp'ıl their Sure I had drunken in my dreains,

And cluster'd round the mast; (arms, And still my body drank.

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their I moved, and could not feel

And from their bodies pass'd. (mouths, limbs:

my I was so light, - almost I thought that I had died in sleep,

Around, around flew each sweet sound,

Then darted to the Sun;
And was a blessed ghost.

Slowly the sounds came back again,
And soon I heard a roaring wind: Now mix'd, now one by one.
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails, Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
That were so thin and sere.

I heard the sky.lark sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are, The upper air burst into life!

How they seem'd to fill the sea and air And a hundred fire-dags sheen,

With their sweet jargoning!
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,

And now 'twas like all instruments,
The wan stars danced between.

Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song,
And the coming wind did roar more loud, That makes the Heavens be mute.
And the sails did sigh like sedge; (cloud;
And the rain pour'd down from one black It ceased; yet still the sails made on
The Moon was at its edge.

A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook
The thick black cloud was cleft, and still in the leafy month of June,
The Moon was at its side:

That to the sleeping woods all night
Like waters shot from some high crag, Singeth a quiet tupe.
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

Till noon we quietly sail'd on,

Yet never a breeze did breathe:
The loud wind never reach'd the ship, Slowly and smoothly went the ship
Yet now the ship moved on!

Moved onward from beneath.
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,

From the land of mist and snow,
They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, The spirit slid; and it was he
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; That made the ship to go,
It had been strange, even in a dream, The sails at noon left off their tune,
To have seen those dead men rise. And the ship stood still alsó.

The helmsman steer'd, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;

5 The lonesome spirit from the south

pole carries on the ship as far as the Line, The mariners all’gan work the ropes,

in obedience to the angelic troop, but still Where they were wont to do:

requireth vengeance.

I'he Sun, right up above the mast,

FIRST VOICE. Had fix'd her to the ocean:

But why drives on that ship so fast,
But in a minute she'gan stir,

Without or wave or wind?'
With a short uneasy motiou,-
Backwards and forwards half her length,

With a short uneasy motion.

"The air is cut away before,

And closes from behind.7
Then, like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more bigh! It flung the blood into my head,

Or we shall be belated: And I fell down in a swound.

For slow and slow that ship will go,

When the Mariner's trance is abated.' How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to delcare;

I woke, and we were sailing on But, ere my living life return'd,

As in a gentle weather: I heard and in my soul discern'd

'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was Two Voices in the air.6

The dead men stood together.8 [high; 'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man?

All stood together on the deck, By Him who died on cross,

For a charnel-dungeon fitter: With his cruel bow he laid full low

All fix'd on me their stony eyes, The harmless Albatross.

That in the Moon did glitter. The spirit who bideth by himself

The pang, the curse, with which they died, In the land of mist and snow,

Had never pass'd away: IIe loved the bird that loved the man

I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Who shot him with his bow.'

Nor turn them up to pray. The other was a softer voice,

And now this spell was snapt: once more As soft as honey-dew:

I view'd the ocean green, Quoth he, "The man hath penance done,

And look'd far forth, yet little saw And penance more will do.""

Of what had else been seen,

Like one, that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turn'd round walks on,

And turns no more his head; W‘BUT tell me, tell me! speak again,

Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Thy soft response renewing,

Doth close behind him tread.
What makes that ship drive on so fast ?
What is the Ocean doing?'

But soon there breathed a wind on me,

Nor sound nor motion made:

Its path was not upon the sea, 'Still as a slave before his lord,

In ripple or in shade.
The Ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek,
Up to the Moon is cast, –

Like a meadow.gale of Spring,

It mingled strangely with my fears,
If he may know which way to go;

Yet it felt like a welcoming.
For she guides him smooth or grim.
Sec, brother, see! how graciously Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
She looketh down on him.'

Yet she sail'd softly too:

6 The Polar Spirit's fellow-demons, the 7 The Mariner hath been cast into a invisible inhabitants of the element, take trance; for the angelic power causeth the part in his wrong; and two of them re- vessel to drive north ward faster than hu. late, one to the other, that penance long man life could endure. anit heavy for the ancient Mariner hath 8 The supernatural motion is retarded; been, accorded to the Polar Spirit, who and the Mariner awakes, and his penance returneth southward.

begins anew.

He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrive 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 near'd: 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'd warp'd! and see those How thin they are and sere! (sails, 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 I it hath a fiendish look,' The Pilot made reply, • I am afeard,'-Push on, push on!' Said the Hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirr'd; 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 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 seren days My body lay afloat;

[drown'd But, swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat.

Sweetly, sweetly blew the brecze,-
On me alone it blew.

0, 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, -
0, let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alwáy.
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 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 scraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
This scraph-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, O! the silence sauk
Like music on my heart.

ut soon 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.
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!

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round;

And all was still, save that the hill To walk together to the kirk,
Was telling of the sound.

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,
I moved my lips, the Pilot shriek'd Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And fell down in a fit;

And youths and maidens gay!
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And pray'd where he did sit.

Farewell, farewell!but this I tell

To thee, thou Wedding-Guest, I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,

He prayeth well, who loveth well
Who now doth crazy go,

Both man and bird and beast.
Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.

He prayeth best, who loveth best 'Ha, ha!' quoth he ‘full plain l see,

All things both great and small; The Devil knows how to row.'

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all." And now, all in my own countree,

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, I stood on the firm land !

Whose beard with age is hoar, The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,

Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest And scarcely he could stand.

Turn'd from the bridegroom's door. "O, shrive me, shrive me, holy man!'

He went like one that hath been stunn'd, The Hermit cross'd his brow.

And is of sense forlorn: “Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say,

A sadder and a wiser man, What manner of man art thou?'

He rose the morrow morn..

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd
With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale; [From the PREFACE prefixed to the edition
And then it left me free.

of 1816.) Since then, at an uncertain hour,

THE first part of the following poem was

written in the year 1797, at Stowey in the That agony returns;

county of Somerset; the second part, afAnd, till my ghastly tale is told,

ter my return from Germany, in the year This heart within me burps.

1800, at Keswick, Cumberland. Since the latter date, my poetic powers have been,

till very lately, in a state of suspended I pass, like night, from land to land; animation. But as, in my very first conI have strange power of speech;

ception of the tale, I had the whole presThat moment that his face I see,

ent to my mind, with the wholeness, no

less than with the loveliness of a vision; I know the man that must hear me: I trust that I shall yet be able to embody To him my tale I teach.

in verse the three parts yet to come

The metre of the Christabel is not, propWhat loud uproar bursts from that door! erly speaking, irregular, though it may

seem so from its being founded on a new The Wedding-Guests are there:

principle; namely, that of counting in But in the garden-bower the bride

each line the accents, not the syllables. And bride-maids singing are:

Though the latter may vary from seven

to twelve, yet in each linė the accents And, hark! the little vesper bell,

will be found to be only four. Neverthe. Which biddeth me to prayer!

less this occasional variation in number

of syllables is not introduced wantonly, O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been

or for the mere ends of convenience, but

in correspondence with some transition in Alone on a wide wide sea:

the nature of the imagery or passion. So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.

9 The author accompanied the text of

this poem with a running comment in O, sweeter than the marriage-feast, prose, and printed in the margin, intend. 'Tis sweeter far to me,

ed to explain the course of the story. So

much of the comment as seems at all To walk together to the kirk

needful for that purpose is here thrown With a goodly company!

into the preceding notes.

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Hanging so light, and hanging high, (sky.
"Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, On the topmost twig that looks up at the
And the owls have awaken'd the crowing
Tu-whit!-Tu-whoo! (cock;

Hush, beating heart of Christabel!
And hark, again! the crowing cock,

Jesu, Maria, shield her well! How drowsily it crew.

She folded her arms beneath her cloak,

And stole to the other side of the oak.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,

What sees she there?
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock There she sees a damsel bright,
She maketh answer to the clock, [hour; Drest in a silken robe of white,
Four for the quarters, and twelve for the That shadowy in the moonlight shone:
Ever and aye, by shine and shower, The neck that made that white robe wan,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud: Her stately neck, and arms were bare;
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. Her blue-vein'd feet unsandall'd were,

And wildly glitter'd here and there
Is the night chilly and dark?

The gems entangled in her hair.
The night is chilly, but not dark:
The thin grey cloud is spread on high,

I guess 'twas frightful there to see

A lady so richly clad as she, -
It covers but not hides the sky:

Beautiful exceedingly!
The Moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull. “Mary mother, save me now!”
The night is chill, the cloud is grey: Said Christabel," and who art thou?"
'Tis a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up

The lady strange made answer meet,

And her voice was faint and sweet:
The lovely lady, Christabel,

“ Have pity on my sore distress, Whom her father loves so well,

I scarce can speak for weariness.
What makes her in the wood so late, Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear!”
A furlong from the castle gate?

Said Christabel, “ How cam'st thou
She had dreams all yesternight


(sweet, Of her own betrothed knight;

And the lady, whose voice was faint and
And she in the midnight wood will pray Did thus pursue her answer meet:
For the weal of her lover that's far away.

“My sire is of a noble line, She stole along, she nothing spoke,

And my name is Geraldine:
The sighs she heaved were soft and low, Five warriors seized me yestermorn,
And nought was green upon the oak

Me, even me, a maid forlorn:
But moss and rarest misletou:

They choked my cries with force and She kneels beneath the huge oak tree,

And lied me on a palfrey white: [fright, And in silence prayeth she.

The palfrey was as fleet as wind, The lady sprang up suddenly,

And they rode furiously behind. (white; The lovely lady, Christabel!

They spurr'd amain, their steeds were It moan'd as near as near can be,

And once we cross'd the shade of night. But what it is, she cannot tell. –

As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, On the other side it seems to

I have no thought what men they be;
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. Nor do I know how long it is

(For I have lain entranced I wis)
The night is chill; the forest bare: Since one, the tallest of the fire,
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? Took me from the palfrey's back,
There is not wind enough in the air A weary woman, scarce alive.
To move away the ringlet curl

Some mutter'd words his comrades spoke:
From the lovely lady's cheek;-

He placed me underneath this oak;
There is not wind enough to twirl He swore they would return with haste;
The one red leaf, the last of its clan, Whither they went I cannot tell, -
That dances as often as dance it can, I thought I heard, some minutes past,

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