Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 100

And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain pour'd 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 bodies of the s.h.i.+p's crew are inspired, and the s.h.i.+p moves on;

The loud wind never reach'd the s.h.i.+p, Yet now the s.h.i.+p moved on!

Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan.

They groan'd, they stirr'd, 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 steer'd, the s.h.i.+p 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 pull'd at one rope, But he said naught to me.'

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

'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 dawn'd--they dropp'd their arms, And cl.u.s.ter'd round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies pa.s.s'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the skylark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seem'd 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 sail'd on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the s.h.i.+p, Moved onward from beneath.

The lonesome Spirit from the South Pole carries on the s.h.i.+p as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth vengeance.

Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The Spirit slid: and it was he That made the s.h.i.+p to go.

The sails at noon left off their tune, And the s.h.i.+p 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 Polar Spirit's fellow-demons, 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.

How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return'd, I heard, and in my soul discern'd 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 s.h.i.+p 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."

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

First Voice: "But why drives on that s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated.'

The supernatural motion is r.e.t.a.r.ded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew.

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 fix'd on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never pa.s.s'd away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray.

The curse is finally expiated.

And now this spell was snapt: once more I viewed the ocean green, 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 s.h.i.+p, Yet she sail'd softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew.

And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.

O dream of joy! is this indeed The lighthouse 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 G.o.d!

Or let me sleep alway.