Coleridge's Ancient Mariner and Select Poems Part 6

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, 350 How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning!

And now 't was like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, 365 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, 370 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 s.h.i.+p, 375 Moved onward from beneath.

[Sidenote: 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. 380 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 fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, 385 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: 390 It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound.

[Sidenote: The Polar Spirit's fellow-daemons, 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 returned, 395 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 400 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?' 405

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, 410 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; 415 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 420 She looketh down on him.'

FIRST VOICE

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

'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. 425

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.

[Sidenote: 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 430 As in a gentle weather: 'T was night, calm night, the moon was high, The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 435 All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never pa.s.sed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 440 Nor turn them up to pray.

[Sidenote: The curse is finally expiated.]

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-- 445

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 450 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. 455

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 s.h.i.+p, 460 Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew.

[Sidenote: And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.]

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? 465 Is this the hill? is this the kirk?

Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- O let me be awake, my G.o.d! 470 Or let me sleep alway.

The harbor-bay was clear as gla.s.s, So smoothly it was strewn!

And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. 475

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weatherc.o.c.k.

And the bay was white with silent light 480 Till rising from the same,

[Sidenote: The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,]

Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colors came.

[Sidenote: And appear in their own forms of light.]

A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: 485 I turned my eyes upon the deck-- Oh, Christ! what saw I there!