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.

The curse ie finally expi ated i

406

And the an

cient mari

THE ANCIENT MARINER.

O dream of joy! is this, indeed,

ner behold- The lighthouse top I see?

eth his na

tive coun

try.

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.

The angelic And the bay was white with silent light, Till, rising from the same,

spirits leave the dead bodies,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colors came.

And appear A little distance from the prow forms of Those crimson shadows were ;

in their own

light.

I turned 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 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, Ô, 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;

The hermit

of the wood,

408

Approach

eth the ship with won

der.

The ship suddenly sinketh.

THE ANCIENT MARINER.

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 row!

Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now ?”

66

Strange, by my faith!" the hermit said,
"And they answered not our cheer!

The planks look 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 ?

ร

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,

The ancient mariner is saved in the

pilot' boat,

The ancient mariner earnestly entreateth the hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls

on him: