The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge including Poems and Versions of Poems now Published for the First Time: Edited with Textual and Bibliographical Notes by Ernest Hartley Coleridge |
![]() | I. |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() | THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
|
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() | II. |
![]() | The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge | ![]() |
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
IN SEVEN PARTS
Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera? Quid agunt? quae loca habitant? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabulâ, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contemplari: ne mens assuefacta hodiernae vitae minutiis se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus.
—T. Burnet, Archaeol. Phil. p. 68.ARGUMENT
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. [L. B. 1798.]
I. Part I
And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.’
‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.
‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.
Till over the mast at noon—’
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
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,
And southward aye we fled.
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.’
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look'st thou so?’—With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross.
II. Part II
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!
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!
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 furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
Upon a painted ocean.
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
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 without one or more.
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
III. Part III
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.
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.
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!
Agape they heard me call:
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
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.
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
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 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.
And the twain were casting dice;
‘The game is done! I've won! I've won!’
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.
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—
The hornéd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
IV. Part IV
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.
And thy skinny hand, so brown.’—
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropt not down.
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
And they all dead did lie:
Lived on; and so did I.
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.
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.
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.
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.
In his lone-liness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charméd water burnt alway
A still and awful red.
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.
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.
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
V. Part V
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blesséd ghost.
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.
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 sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.
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.
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
To have seen those dead men rise.
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.
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.
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:
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.
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!
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the heavens be mute.
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.
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.
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.
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.
She made a sudden bound:
And I fell down in a swound.
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’
VI. Part VI
FIRST VOICEThy soft response renewing—
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?’
SECOND VOICE
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast—
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.’
Without or wave or wind?’
SECOND VOICE
And closes from behind.
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.’
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen—
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.
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.
Like a meadow-gale of spring—
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—
On me alone it blew.
The light-house top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck—
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;
No voice did they impart—
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.
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.
VII. Part VII
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 hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
‘Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?’
‘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
My forest-brook along;
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.’
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared’—‘Push on, push on!’
Said the Hermit cheerily.
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.
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.
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.
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.’
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
The Hermit crossed his brow.
‘Say quick,’ quoth he, ‘I bid thee say—
What manner of man art thou?’
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.
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.
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!
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seeméd there to be.
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!—
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends
And youths and maidens gay!
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
![]() | The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge | ![]() |