CALORWAY. [The wild and imaginative tale of The Ancient Mariner,' which, in the words of Sir Walter Scott, displays so much beauty with much eccentricity, was written, the reader needs scarcely be told, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and is the poem by which he is chiefly, if not, indeed, to many readers, exclusively, known. It is here taken from a volume entitled Sibylline Leaves, a Collection of Poems. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq London, 1817;' though that was not its first appearance in print. No information was afforded by the poet as to the existence of any matter-of-fact foundation for the story of the ballad; which, indeed, he in all probability wished the reader to consider cs a' trick' of strong imagination, bodying forth the forms of things unknown, and giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name.' And thus it has probably, with most readers, passed for 'more strange than true For the principal incident, how. ever, an origin has been found in a passage of Shelvocke's Voyage Round the World,' which the reader may see by referring to the note on page 140. Be this as it may, however, the ballad is not the less' wild and imaginative;' there is, as has been observed by an eminent writer, 'nothing else like it; it is a poem by itself; between it and other compositions en pari materia there is a chasm which you cannot overpass. The sensitive reader feels himself insulated, and a sea of wonder and mystery flows round him, as round the spell-stricken ship itself.' T is an ancient Mariner And he stoppeth one of three: Now wherefore stopst thou me? An ancient eth three gal- a wedding feast, and detaineth one. 685 The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: Mayst hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand; He holds him with his glittering eye- The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: 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 Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, The bride hath paced into the hall, Nodding their heads before her goes The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, And now the storm-blast came, and he He struck with his o'ertaking wings, The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale. The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line. The Wedding - Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner continueth his tale. The ship driven by a storm toward the South Pole. With sloping masts, and dipping prow, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold; And ice mast-high came floating by, And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken- The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around; It crackt and growled, and roared and howled, At length did cross an Albatross, As if it had been a Christian soul, It ate the food it ne'er had ate, And a good south wind sprung up behind; And every day, for food or play, Came to the Mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud It percht for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 'God save thee, ancient Mariner, From the fiends that plague thee thus! Why lookst thou so?' With my cross-bow The land of ice and of fearful sounds, where no living thing was to be seen. Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snowfog, and was received with great joy and hospitality. And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice. The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen. 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, And I had done a hellish thing, For all averred, I had killed the bird Ah, wretch! said they, the bird to slay Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, Then all averred, I had killed the bird "Twas right, said they, such birds to slay The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 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 His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck. But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime. The fair breeze continues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward even till it reaches the Line. The ship hath been suddenly becalmed. 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; Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And the Albatross bogins to be avenged. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs About, about, in reel and rout And some in dreams assured were And every tongue, through utter drought, We could not speak, no more than if Ah, well-a-day! what evil looks Instead of the cross, the Albatross PART III. eye. There passed a weary time. Each throat At first it seemed a little speck, It moved, and moved, and took at last A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: It plunged and tacked, and veered. A Spirit had followed them, one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more. The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient Mariner; in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck. The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar off. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, At its nearer approach. We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood; I bit my arm, I suckt the blood, it seemeth him to be a ship; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst. |