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"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 the curse in a dead man's eye.

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die!"

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In his loneliness and wretchedness and perpetual wakefulness, the ancient mariner's heart, touched by a skyey influence, yearneth towards the tranquil motions of the heavenly bodies:

"The moving moon went up the sky,

And nowhere did abide

Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside."

He looks beyond the enchanted shadow of the ship, and beholds the bright creatures of the deep; and, as the wanton murder of the bird had brought the mysterious affliction upon himself and his companions, the spell begins to break when there springs in his heart a

sudden sympathy with the happiness of the animals floating in his sight; and when from his lips breaks a blessing upon them,

"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 selfsame moment I could pray!"

The utterance of prayer brings to the mariner's wasted spirit the blessing of sleep, rain upon the parched planks of the ship, and the help of a troop of angelic spirits, which, incarnated in the dead bodies of the crew, man the ship. Wild commotions and strange sights fill the sky and the elements, and soft spiritual music and voices soothe the lone human being into a trance. When that When that is abated, the abated, the penance is renewed for a brief space; but the curse is at last expiated:

"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;
Ail 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.

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The wild voyage, haunted by fiends and blessed by good angels, is drawing to a close. There dawns upon the mariner's eye the light-house top, the hill, and the At the church, happy visions of his native land! same time he looks to the lifeless bodies which had risen up to do the service of the ship, and, lo! the angelic spirits are leaving them, and the last guardian act is the waving of their seraph-hands across the waters of the calm harbour-bay, as signals to the pilot and to the hermit

who dwells in the wood on the seashore, thus giving the mariner over to the care of his fellow human beings

"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."

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The poem of "Christabel" is a more pleasing production than the "Ancient Mariner." There is less wildness of imagination, though quite as high an effect of it. It has more of human interest, presenting, however, the same remarkable combination of the natural and supernatural. It is a story of witchcraft, but not the witchcraft of ugly hags like the weird-sisters in Macbeth, but the magic power of a beautiful sorceress. It is a story of the alliance of the strength of goodness and prayer with the guardianship of the sainted dead, potent against the demoniac power of evil. The heroine, Christabel, is as lovely a creation as ever poet's ima gination formed. Orphaned of her mother, the pride. and sole prop of her aged father, the betrothed of a knightly lover,-gentle, innocent, pious, and beautiful, -she is the fairest victim witchcraft ever struck at. It must also be noticed that the poem is one of the most remarkable specimens of versification in the lan

guage, and shows Coleridge's great powers in that important branch of his art. To the eye it has the appearance of very irregular verse; to the ear and to the feelings no such effect is produced, for the variations it presents. accord with some transitions of the imagery or the passion, and the rhythm throughout may be said to be faultless. The poem was recognised as a perfect. specimen of musical versification by Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron, and imitated by them both. It was the acknowledged model of metre of the "Lay of the Last Minstrel."

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The scene of "Christabel" is laid in an ancient baronial castle, at midnight, when the only sounds are the hoot

ings of the owls and the howling of the old mastiff, answering the striking of the clock :

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"Is the night chilly and dark?

The night is chilly, but not dark;

The thin gray cloud is spread on high;

It covers but not hides the sky.

The moon is behind, and at the full,
And yet she looks both small and dull;
The night is chill, the cloud is gray;
'Tis a month before the month of May,
And the spring comes slowly up this way.

"The lovely lady, Christabel,

Whom her father loves so well,

What makes her in the wood so late,

A furlong from the castle-gate?

She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothéd knight,
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that's far away.

"She stole along; she nothing spoke;
The sighs she heaved were soft and low,

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