The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Thrill to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's chilling tale of betrayal, redemption and the albatross, illustrated with Gustave Doré's astonishing engravings.

  • By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  • Smithsonian magazine, September 2001, Subscribe
 

 

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    PART I

    An ancient Mariner meeteth three
    Gallants bidden to a wedding-
    feast, and detaineth one.

     

     

     

     

     


    The Wedding-Guest is spellbound
    by the eye of the old seafaring
    man, and constrained to hear his
    tale.


    PART I

    An ancient Mariner meeteth three
    Gallants bidden to a wedding-
    feast, and detaineth one.

     

     

     

     

     


    The Wedding-Guest is spellbound
    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.

     

     

     

     

     

     


    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 snow-
    fog, 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.

    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 choose 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 lighthouse 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 choose but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.

    'And now the storm-blastcame, and he
    Was tyrannous and strong:
    He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
    And chased us 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,
    The 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 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

     

     

     

     

     

    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 be-
    calmed.

     

     

     

     

     


    And the Albatross begins to be
    avenged.

     

     

     

     

     

    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
    one or more.

    The shipmates, in their sore dis-
    tress, would fain throw the whole
    guilt on the ancient Mariner: in
    sign whereof they hang the dead
    sea-bird round his neck.

    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 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, everywhere,
    And all the boards did shrink;
    Water, water, everywhere,
    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


    The ancient Mariner beholdeth a
    sign in the element afar off.

     

     

     

     

     



    At its nearer approach, it seemeth
    him to be a ship; and at a dear
    ransom he freeth his speech from
    the bonds of thirst.

    A flash of joy;

     


    And horror follows. For can it be
    a ship that comes onward with-
    out wind or tide?

     

     

     


    It seemeth him but the skeleton
    of a ship.


    And its ribs are seen as bars on
    the face of the setting Sun.


    The Spectre-Woman and her
    Death-mate, and no other on
    board the skeleton ship.


    Like vessel, like crew!
    Death and Life-in-Death have
    diced for the ship's crew, and she
    (the latter) winneth the ancient
    Mariner.

     

     


    No twilight within the courts of
    the Sun.


    At the rising of the Moon,

     

     

     


    One after another,

     

    His shipmates drop down dead.

     

    But Life-in-Death begins her work
    on the ancient Mariner.

    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 hornéd 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

    The Wedding-Guest feareth that a
    Spirit is talking to him;


    But the ancient Mariner assureth
    him of his bodily life, and pro-
    ceedeth to relate his horrible
    penance.

     

     

    He despiseth the creatures of the
    calm,


    And envieth that they should live,
    and so many lie dead.

     

     

     

     

     

     


    But the curse liveth for him in the
    eye of the dead men.

     

     

     


    In his loneliness and fixedness he
    yearneth towards the journeying
    Moon, and the stars that still
    sojourn, yet still move onward;
    and everywhere the blue sky be-
    longs to them, and is their
    appointed rest, and their native
    country and their own natural
    homes, which they enter un-
    announced, as lords that are cer-
    tainly expected and yet there is a
    silent joy at their arrival.

     


    By the light of the Moon he be-
    holdeth God's creatures of the
    great calm.

     

    Their beauty and their happiness

    He blesseth them in his heart. The
    spell begins to break.

    '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 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 charméd 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

     

     

     

    By grace of the holy Mother, the
    ancient Mariner is refreshed with
    rain.

     

     

     

     

     

    He heareth sounds and seeth
    strange sights and commotions in
    the sky and the element.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    The bodies of the ship's crew are
    inspired [inspirited] and the ship
    moves on;

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    But not by the souls of the men,
    nor by dæmons of earth or middle
    air, but by a blessed troop of an-
    gelic spirits, sent down by the
    invocation of the guardian saint.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The lonesome Spirit from the
    south-pole carries on the ship as
    far as the Line, in obedience to the
    angelic troop, but still requireth
    vengeance.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The PolarSpirit's fellow-dæmons,
    the invisible inhabitants of the
    element, take part in his wrong;
    and two of them relate, one to the
    other, that penance long and heavy
    for the ancient Mariner hath been
    accorded to the Polar Spirit, who
    returneth southward.

     

    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 blesséd 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 naught 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

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The Mariner hath been cast into
    a trance; for the angelic power
    causeth the vessel to drive north-
    ward faster than human life could
    endure.

     

     


    The supernatural motion is re-
    tarded; the Mariner awakes, and
    his penance begins anew.

     

     

     

     

     

    The curse is finally expiated.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    And the ancient Mariner behold-
    eth his native country.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The angelic spirits leave the dead
    bodies,

     

    And appear in their own forms of
    light.

    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

    The Hermit of the Wood

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Approacheth the ship with
    wonder.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    The ship suddenly sinketh.

     

    The ancient Mariner is saved in
    the Pilot's boat.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    The ancient Mariner earnestly en-
    treateth the Hermit to shrieve
    him; and the penance of life falls
    on him.

     

     

    And ever and anon throughout
    his future life an agony constrain-
    eth him to travel from land to
    land;

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    And to teach, by his own example,
    love and reverence to all things
    that God made and loveth.

    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 seeméd 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.

    		  
       

     

     

     

     


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