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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 fix'd 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.

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.

How long in that same fit I lay,

The Polar I have not to declare ;

Spirit's fel

low-demons, But ere my living life return'd,

the invisible

inhabitants I heard, and in my soul discern'd

of the eleTwo voices in the air.

ment, 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.

'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.'


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. The Mariner But why drives on that ship so fast, hath been

Without or wave or wind ? trance; for the angelic power causeth the vessel to drive northward faster than human life could endure.

cast into a

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.

The super

his penance

I woke, and we were sailing on

natural As in a gentle weather :

motion is 'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was


the Mariner The dead men stood together. [high ; awakes, and

begins anew. 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 pass'd away : I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapt : once more The curse is

finally I view'd the ocean green,

expiated. And look'd 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 turn'd 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 fann'd 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 sail'd softly too :
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-

On me alone it blew.
And the an- Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
cient Mariner
beholdeth his The light-house top I see?

Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? country.

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. The angelic And the bay was white with silent light, spirits leave the dead

Till rising from the same, bodies,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

In crimson colours came.
And appear A little distance from the prow
forms of Those crimson shadows were :

I turn’d 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.

in their own

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 turn'd 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.


The Hermit of the wood.

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.

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