Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
Poems of Fancy: III. Mythical: Mystical: LegendaryRime of the Ancient Mariner
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (17721834)And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May’st hear the merry din.’
‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.
‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years’ child:
The Mariner hath his will.
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.
Till over the mast at noon——’
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roar’d the blast,
The southward aye we fled.
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.
The ice was all around:
It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d,
Like noises in a swound!
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hail’d it in God’s name.
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steer’d us through!
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners’ hollo!
It perch’d for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look’st thou so?’—‘With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross.
‘The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
And it would work ’em woe:
For all averr’d, I had kill’d the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averr’d, I had kill’d the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
The furrow follow’d free;
We were the first that ever burst
’Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
Was wither’d at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
‘There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parch’d, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
A something in the sky.
And then it seem’d a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
And still it near’d and near’d:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged, and tack’d, and veer’d.
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I suck’d the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!
And all at once their breath drew in,
Hither to work us weal—
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
The day was wellnigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad, bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!),
As if through a dungeon-grate he peer’d
With broad and burning face.
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman’s mate?
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
And the twain were casting dice;
“The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!”
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seem’d to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleam’d white;
The hornéd Moon, with one bright star
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan),
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it pass’d me by
Like the whizz of my crossbow!’
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribb’d sea-sand.
This body dropt not down.
Alone on a wide, wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
And drew my eyes away;
I look’d upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they look’d on me
Had never pass’d away.
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charméd water burnt alway
I watch’d the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they rear’d, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
I watch’d their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coil’d and swam; and every track
Their beauty might declare:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
‘O sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That had so long remain’d,
I dreamt that they were fill’d with dew;
And when I awoke, it rain’d.
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.
And a hundred fire-flags sheen;
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain pour’d down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.
The Moon was at its side;
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all ’gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pull’d at one rope,
But he said naught to me.’
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest:
’Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:
And cluster’d round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies pass’d.
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mix’d, now one by one.
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seem’d to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the Heavens be mute.
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.
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.
Had fix’d her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ’gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life return’d,
I heard, and in my soul discern’d
Two voices in the air.
By Him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.”
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, “The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.”
First Voice: “But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing—
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the Ocean doing?”
The Ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast—
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.”
Without or wave or wind?”
And closes from behind.
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
As in a gentle weather:
’Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;
The dead men stood together.
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fix’d on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.
Had never pass’d away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
I viewed the ocean green,
And look’d far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen—
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.
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.
Like a meadow-gale of spring—
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.
Yet she sail’d softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steep’d in silentness
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
Those crimson shadows were:
I turn’d my eyes upon the deck—
O Christ! what saw I there!
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;
No voice did they impart—
No voice; but O, the silence sank
Like music on my heart.
I heard the Pilot’s cheer;
My head was turn’d perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.
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.
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 hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
“Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
“And they answer’d not our cheer!
The planks looked warp’d! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
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.”
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-fear’d”—“Push on, push on!”
Said the Hermit cheerily.
But I nor spake nor stirr’d;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
Still louder and more dread:
It reach’d the ship, it split the bay;
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.
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And pray’d where he did sit.
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.”
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepp’d forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
The Hermit cross’d his brow.
“Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say—
What manner of man art thou?”
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.
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!
Alone on a wide, wide sea:
So lonely ’twas, that God Himself
Scarce seeméd there to be.
’Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!—
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.’
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turn’d from the bridegroom’s door.
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.