And the good south wind still blew And every tongue, through utter drought, behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day, for food or play, And I had done a hellish thing, For all averred, I had killed the bird 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, 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 PART III. There passed a weary time. Each throat "Twas right, said they, such birds to When looking westward, I beheld 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. A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, It moved and moved, and took at last A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt And still it neared and neared; 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, Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; Water, water, everywhere, The very deep did rot: O Christ! Yea, shiny things did crawl with legs About, about, in reel and rout, As if it dodged a water sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Grammercy! they for joy did grin, See! see! (I cried,) she tacks no more! Without a breeze, without a tide, When that strange shape drove suddenly And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud,) I fear thee and thy glittering eye, Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest! This body dropt not down. Like restless gossamers? Are those her ribs through which the Sun Alone, alone, all, all alone, Did peer, as through a grate? Is that a Death? and are there two? Her lips were red, her looks were free, The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out; We listened and looked sideways up! From the sails the dew did drip- One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Four times fifty living men, PART IV. "I fear thee, ancient mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! Alone on a wide, wide sea! The many men so beautiful! I looked upon the rotting sea, I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; I closed my lids, and kept them close, Lay like a load on my weary eye, The look with which they looked on me An orphan's curse would drag to hell Is the curse in a dead man's eye! But oh more terrible than that The moving Moon went up the sky, And a star or two beside- Beyond the shadow of the ship I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white; And thou art long, and lank, and brown, And when they reared, the elfish light As is the ribbed sea-sand. Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, O happy living things! no tongue A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: 200. THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER, § 2. PART V. OH sleep! it is a gentle thing, To Mary Queen the praise be given! The silly buckets on the deck, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; My lips were wet, my throat was cold, I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I was so light-almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And soon I heard a roaring wind: But with its sound it shook the sails, The upper air burst into life! And the coming wind did roar more loud, The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still Like waters shot from some high crag, COLERIDGE. The loud wind never reached the ship, They groaned, they stirred, they all up rose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes : The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools- The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, "I fear thee, ancient mariner! For when it dawned-they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodics passed. Around, around, flew cach sweet sound, Slowly the sounds came back again, Sometimes all little birds that are, 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 Till noon we quietly sailed on, : The sails at noon left off their tune, The Sun, right up above the mast, Then like a pawing horse let go, But ere my living life returned, Two voices in the air. PART VI. First Voice. But tell me, tell me! speak again, What makes that ship drive on so fast! Second Voice. Still as a slave before his lord, If he may know which way to go; First Voice. But why drives on that ship so fast, Second Voice. The air is cut away before, Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! For slow and slow that ship will go, 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was The dead men stood together. "Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the The pang, the curse, with which they died, 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: Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, And now this spell was snapt: once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far north, 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, Quoth he, "The man hath penance And turns no more his head; done, And penance more will do." Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Its path was not upon the sea, It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The harbour-bay was clear as glass, And on the bay the moonlight lay, But soon I heard the dash of oars, The pilot and the pilot's boy, I saw a third-I heard his voice: He singeth loud his godly hymns PART VII This hermit good lives in that wood He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve— It is the moss that wholly hides The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. "Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, And the bay was white with silent light, "Strange, by my faith!" the hermit said— Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, A little distance from the prow A man all light, a seraph-man, This seraph-band, each waved his haad: They stood as signals to the land, "And they answered not our cheer! sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Brown skeletons of leaves that lay "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look- I am a-feared"—"Push on, push on !" This seraph-band, each waved his hand: The boat came closer to the ship, No voice did they impart― No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, |