Slike strani

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

The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,

For a charnel-dungeon fitter:

All fixed on me their stony eyes,


The supernatural motion is retarded; the Mariner

awakes, and his penance begins anew.

That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,

Had never pass'd away:

I could not draw my eyes from theirs,

Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapt: once more The curse is

I view'd the ocean green,

And look'd 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 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 breathed a wind on me

Nor sound nor motion made:

Its path was not upon the sea,

In ripple or in shade.



And the an

cient Mariner

It raised 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.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed beholdeth his The light-house top I see?

native country.

The angelic

spirits leave the dead bodies,

And appear in their own forms of light.

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 turn'd 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 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!

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.


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 Hermit

of the wood.


the ship with wonder.

The ship sud

denly sinketh.

The ancient

Mariner is

saved in the

Pilot's boat.

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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 warp'd! and see those
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-fear'd'-'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 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 moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd
And fell down in a fit;

The holy Hermit raised 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 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 wrench'd
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;
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!

The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the pe

nance of life

falls on him.

And ever and anon throughout his future life and agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;

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