 | Lyrical Ballads |  |
5.
—
V.
—
O sleep, it is a gentle thing
Belov'd from pole to pole!
To Mary-queen the praise be yeven
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven
That slid into my soul.
Belov'd from pole to pole!
To Mary-queen the praise be yeven
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven
That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck
That had so long remain'd
I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
And when I awoke it rain'd.
That had so long remain'd
I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
And when I awoke it rain'd.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams
And still my body drank.
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams
And still my body drank.
27
I was so light, almost
I thought that I had died in sleep
And was a blessed Ghost.
The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.
The upper air bursts into life,
And a hundred fire-flags sheen
To and fro are hurried about;
And to and fro, and in and out
The stars dance on between.
And a hundred fire-flags sheen
To and fro are hurried about;
And to and fro, and in and out
The stars dance on between.
The coming wind doth roar more loud;
The sails do sigh like sedge:
The rain pours down from one black cloud
And the Moon is at its edge.
The sails do sigh like sedge:
The rain pours down from one black cloud
And the Moon is at its edge.
28
And the Moon is at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning falls with never a jag
A river steep and wide.
The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd
And dropp'd down, like a stone!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
And dropp'd down, like a stone!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,
Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:
It had been strange, even in a dream
To have seen those dead men rise.
Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:
It had been strange, even in a dream
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes
Where they were wont to do:
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools —
We were a ghastly crew.
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes
Where they were wont to do:
29
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 nought to me —
And I quak'd to think of my own voice
How frightful it would be!
Stood by me knee to knee:
The body and I pull'd at one rope,
But he said nought to me —
And I quak'd to think of my own voice
How frightful it would be!
The day-light dawn'd — they dropp'd their arms,
And cluster'd round the mast:
Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths
And from their bodies pass'd.
And cluster'd round the mast:
Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths
And from their bodies pass'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.
Then darted to the sun:
Slowly the sounds came back again
Now mix'd, now one by one.
30
I heard the Lavrock 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 like an angel's song
That makes the heavens be mute.
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is like an angel's song
That makes the heavens be mute.
It ceas'd: 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.
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.
31
"Marinere! thou hast thy will:
"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make
"My body and soul to be still."
Never sadder tale was told
To a man of woman born:
Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.
To a man of woman born:
Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.
Never sadder tale was heard
By a man of woman born:
The Marineres all return'd to work
As silent as beforne.
By a man of woman born:
The Marineres all return'd to work
As silent as beforne.
The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,
But look at me they n'old:
Thought I, I am as thin as air —
They cannot me behold.
But look at me they n'old:
Thought I, I am as thin as air —
They cannot me behold.
32
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship
Mov'd 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.
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 to stir
With a short uneasy motion —
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
Had fix'd her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan to stir
With a short uneasy motion —
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
33
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell into a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life retun'd,
I heard and in my soul discern'd
Two voices in the air,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life retun'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 lay'd full low
"The harmless Albatross.
"By him who died on cross,
"With his cruel bow he lay'd full low
"The harmless Albatross.
"The spirit who 'bideth by himself
"In the land of mist and snow,
"He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man
"Who shot him with his bow."
"In the land of mist and snow,
"He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man
"Who shot him with his bow."
34
As soft as honey-dew.
Quoth he, The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.
| Lyrical Ballads | |