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“The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.
The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies.
“And the bay was white with silent light
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colors came.
And appear in their own forms of light.
“A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were;
I turned my eyes upon the deck-
O Christ! what saw I there!
“Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
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;
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 2677
“This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart-
No voice; but O, the silence sank
Like music on my
"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.
“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?'
Approacheth the ship with wonder.
‘Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said,
“And they answered not our cheer!
The planks look 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.
The ship sud-
denly sinketh. “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.
sa ved in the
Pilot s boat.
“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,
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 2679
“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.
me, shrieve me, The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee sayWhat manner of man art thou?'
The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.
"Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.
And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;
"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 seemed there to be.
“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!
And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.
“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.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)