A flash of joy. And horror follows: for can it be a ship, that comes onward without wind or tide? With throats unslaked, with black lips One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh Four times fifty living men (And I heard nor sigh nor groan), With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropp'd down one by one. The souls did from their bodies fly,- PART IV. One after another, His shipmates drop down dead; But LIFE-INDEATH begins her work on the aucient Mariner. It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship. And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun. The spectre-woman and her death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton-ship. Like vessel, like crew! The weddingguest feareth that a spirit is talking And straight the Sun was fleck'd with And thou art long, and lank, and brown, to him; bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd With broad and burning face. As is the ribb'd sea-sand.' I fear thee and thy glittering eye, Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-guest! Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat This body dropt not down. Her lips were red, her looks were free, And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I look'd upon the rotting sea, The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, I look'd to Heaven, and tried to pray ; No twilight with The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: Lay like a load on my weary eye, in the courts of the sun. the moon, At one stride comes the Dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea Off shot the spectre-bark. At the rising of We listen'd and look'd sideways up! The stars were dim, and thick the night, From the sails the dew did drip- And the dead were at my feet. But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance. He despiseth the creatures of the calm, And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead. In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still soJourn, yet still But oh more horrible than that Is a curse in a dead man's eye! And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; Seven days, seven nights, I saw that But with its sound it shook the sails, curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky, Softly she was going up, The lonesome spirit from the south-pole carries on the ship as far as the line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth vengeance. The Polar Spirit's fellow demons, the invisible inhabitants of the element, take part in his wrong; and two of them relate, one to the other, that penance long and heavy for the ancient Mariner hath been accord. ed to the Polar Spirit, who returneth southward. Sometimes, a-dropping from the sky, How they seem'd to fill the sea and air, And now 't was like all instruments, And now it is an angel's song, It ceased; yet still the sails made on Till noon we quietly sailed on, 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, PART VI. FIRST VOICE. BUT tell me, tell me! 'speak again, SECOND VOICE. Still as a slave before his lord, The OCEAN hath no blast; 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! For slow and slow that ship will go, I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: Backwards and forwards half her length 'T was night, calm night, the Moon was Is it he?»> quoth one, « Is this the And now this spell was snapt: once The Mariner hath been cast into trance; for the angelic power causeth the ves sel to drive northward faster than human life could endure. The supernatural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew. The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him. And ever and I moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd, The holy Hermit raised his eyes, I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while Ha ha! quoth he, full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row." And now, all in my own countree, The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, «O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!. The Hermit cross'd his brow. " But in the garden-bower the bride O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been So lonely 't was, that God himself O sweeter than the marriage-feast, To walk together to the kirk, While each to his great Father bends, Say quick, quoth he, «I bid thee say Old men, and babes, and loving friends, --What manner of man art thou?" Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Since then, at an uncertain hour, anon throughout That agony returns: his future life au agony constraineth him to travel from land to land, And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I like night, from land to land; I know the man that must hear me: And youths and maidens gay! Farewell, farewell! but this I tell 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, He went like one that hath been stunn'd, What loud uproar bursts from that And is of sense forlorn": And to teach, by bis own example, love and roverence to all things that God made and loveth. Christabel. PREFACE.' THE first part of the following poem was written in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety seven, at Stowey in the county of Somerset, The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year one thousand eight hundred, at Keswick, Cumberland. Since the latter date, my poetic powers have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended animation. But as, in my very first conception of the tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the wholeness, no less than with the loveliness of a vision, I trust that I shall yet be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come. It is probable, that if the poem had been finished at either of the former periods, or if even the first and To the edition of 1816. second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been much greater than I dare at present expect. But for this, I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imitation from myself. For there is amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and image is traditional; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other man's tank. I am confident, however, that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated poets whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate me |