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, 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 turn'd round, walks on, 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, It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, O let me be awake, my God! The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn ! And the shadow of the Moon. The supernatural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew. The curse is final ly expiated. And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country. The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies, And appear in their own forms of light. The Hermit of the The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, The moon light, 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, 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, The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy That 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. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. PART THE SEVENTH. THIS Hermit good lives in that wood He kneels at morn, and noon and eve- It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The Skiff-boat near'd: I heard them talk, Where are those lights, so many and fair, "Strange, by my faith!" the hermit said- The planks look warped! and see those sails, I never saw ought like to them, Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along: When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the tod below, Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared-Push on, push on ! The boat came closer to the ship, The boat came close beneath the ship, Under the water it rumbled on, It reach'd the ship, it split the bay ; Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Like one that hath been seven days drown'd, But swift as dreams, myself I found Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; I moved my lips-the Pilot shrieked The holy Hermit raised his eyes, The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him. And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land, 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!" "I bid thee say What manner of man art thou ?" Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, And till my ghastly tale is told, I pass, like night, from land to land; I know the man that must hear me : 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, 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 altogether 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'll tell He prayeth best, who loveth best 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, And to teach by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth. STANZAS ON PAINTING. By Thomas Campbell. O THOU! by whose expressive art, Stol'n from yon orient rainbow shine : I bless thee, Promethean Muse; And hail the brightest of the NINE ! Possessing more than mortal power; From Love, the lord of Nature sprung: But hush, thou pulse of pleasure dear, |