DLTK's Poems
The Rime of Ancient
Mariner
PART I
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy long grey
beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st
thou me?
"The Bridegroom's doors are opened
wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear
the merry din."
He holds him with his skinny
hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
Eftsoons
his hand dropt he.
He holds him with his
glittering eye-
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years child:
The Mariner
hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a
stone:
He cannot chuse but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The
bright-eyed Mariner.
The ship was cheered, the
harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the
light-house top.
The Sun came up upon the
left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down
into the sea.
Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon-
The Wedding-Guest
here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud
bassoon.
The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before
her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he
cannot chuse but hear;
And thus spake on that
ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous
and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased south along.
With sloping masts and
dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe
And forward
bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared
the blast,
And southward aye we fled.
And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew
wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating
by,
As green as emerald.
And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a
dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we
ken-
The ice was all between.
The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was
all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and
howled,
Like noises in a swound!
At length did cross an Albatross:
Thorough the fog
it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.
It ate the food it
ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman
steered us through!
And a good south wind
sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the
mariners' hollo!
In mist or cloud, on mast or
shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.
"God save
thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that
plague thee thus!-
Why look'st thou so?"-With
my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross.
PART
II
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.
And the good south wind still blew behind
But no
sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or
play
Came to the mariners' hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work
'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said
they, the bird to slay
That made the breeze to
blow!
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had
killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That
bring the fog and mist.
The fair breeze blew,
the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free:
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent
sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt
down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the
sea!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast
did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath
nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every
where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did
crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires
danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
And some in
dreams assured were
Of the spirit that plagued us
so:
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
And every
tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the
root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well a-day!
what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck
was hung.
PART III
There passed a
weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed
each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward,
I beheld
A something in the sky.
At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it
seemed a mist:
It moved and moved, and took at
last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it
neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.
With throats
unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could not
laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we
stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!
With throats
unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard
me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were
drinking all.
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no
more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies
with upright keel!
The western wave was all
a-flame
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad
bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
And straight the Sun
was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us
grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,
With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I,
and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and
nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres!
Are those her ribs
through which the Sun
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 lips were red, her looks
were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare
Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with
cold.
The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
"The game is
done! I've won! I've won!"
Quoth she, and whistles
thrice.
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush
out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea.
Off shot the
spectre-bark.
We listened and looked sideways
up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were
dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by
his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did
drip-
Till clombe above the eastern bar
The horned Moon, with one bright star
Within the
nether tip.
One after one, by the star-dogged
Moon
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And
cursed me with his eye.
Four times fifty
living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped
down one by one.
The souls did from their
bodies fly,-
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of
my cross-bow!
PART IV
"I fear thee,
ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the
ribbed sea-sand.
"I fear thee and thy
glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown."-
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body
dropt not down.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took
pity on
My soul in agony.
The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did
lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
I looked upon the
rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead
men lay.
I looked to Heaven, and tried to
pray:
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
my heart as dry as
dust.
I closed my lids, and kept them close,
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,
And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which
they looked on me
Had never passed away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
A spirit from
on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is a curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven
nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside.
Her beams bemocked
the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmed
water burnt alway
A still and awful red.
Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the
water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining
white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of
the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled
and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden
fire.
O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love
gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed
them unaware.
The self same moment I could
pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into
the sea.
PART V
Oh 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 slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were
filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in
my dreams,
And still my body drank.
I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so
light-almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.
And soon I heard a
roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were
so thin and sere.
The upper air burst into
life!
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 coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain
poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at
its edge.
The thick black cloud was cleft, and
still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The
lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and
wide.
The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning
and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.
They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor
spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange,
even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
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.
The body of my brother's
son,
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said
nought to me.
"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!"
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:
For when it dawned-they dropped their arms,
And
clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly
through their mouths,
And from their bodies
passed.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came
back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.
Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the
sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that
are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!
And now 'twas like
all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the
Heavens be mute.
It ceased; yet still the
sails made on
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.
Till
noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did
breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.
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,
Had fixed 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.
Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into
my head,
And I fell down in a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to
declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two VOICES in the
air.
"Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he
laid full low,
The harmless Albatross.
"The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of
mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the
man
Who shot him with his bow."
The other was a softer voice,
As soft as
honey-dew:
Quoth he, "The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do."
PART VI
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?
SECOND VOICE.
Still as a slave before his lord,
The OCEAN hath
no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast-
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
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 high;
The
dead men stood together.
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.
Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see?
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 turned 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 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:
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 trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That
signal made but now?"
"Strange, by my faith!"
the Hermit said-
"And they answered not our
cheer!
The planks looked 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?"
Forthwith this
frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful 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;
That 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!
O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a
wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.
O sweeter than the
marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly
company!-
To walk together to the kirk,
And all together 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 tell
To thee, thou
Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
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,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the
Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
