And a good south wind sprung up behind ;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's 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
mariner's hollo!
And I had done a
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 assurèd 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 nor
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 clomb above
the eastern bar
The hornèd 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 dead 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.
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 charmèd
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 woful
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 seemèd
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.
The Art:
Illustrations by Gustave Dore
