SPRING

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,Which is enduring, so be deep!Heaven have her in its sacred keep!This chamber changed for one more holy,This bed for one more melancholy,I pray to God that she may lieFor ever with unopened eye,While the dim sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! O, may her sleep,As it is lasting, so be deep!Soft may the worms about her creep!Far in the forest, dim and old,For her may some tall vault unfold—Some vault that oft hath flung its blackAnd wingèd panels fluttering backTriumphant o’er the crested pallsOf her grand family funerals;Some sepulchre remote, alone,Against whose portal she had thrown,In childhood many an idle stone;Some tomb from out whose sounding doorShe ne’er shall force an echo more,Thrilling to think, poor child of sin,It was the dead who groaned within.E. A. Poe.

E. A. Poe.

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye, birds tune this merry lay,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,In every street, these tunes our ears do greet,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring! the sweet Spring!T. Nashe.

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye, birds tune this merry lay,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,In every street, these tunes our ears do greet,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring! the sweet Spring!

T. Nashe.

(BY OBADIAH BIND-THEIR-KINGS-IN-CHAINS-AND-THEIR-NOBLES-WITHLINKS-OF-IRON, SERGEANT IN IRETON’S REGIMENT)

Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red?And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout?And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread?Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod;For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong,Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God.

Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod;For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong,Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God.

It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses shine,And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair,And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine.Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,The General rode along us to form us to the fight,When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell’d into a shoutAmong the godless horsemen upon the tyrant’s right.And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,The cry of battle rises along their charging line!For God! for the Cause! for the Church, for the Laws!For Charles King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine!The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums,His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall;They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks,For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone!Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast.O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right!Stand back to back, in God’s name, and fight it to the last.Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground:Hark! hark!—What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear?Whose banner do I see, boys? ’Tis he, thank God, ’tis he, boys.Bear up another minute: brave Oliver is here.Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes,Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hideTheir coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar:And he—he turns, he flies:—shame on those cruel eyesThat bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain,First give another stab to make your search secure,Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and lockets,The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor.Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold,When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day;And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks,Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey.Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate,And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades,Your perfum’d satin clothes, your catches and your oaths,Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades?Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the crown,With the Belial of the Court, and the Mammon of the Pope;There is woe in Oxford Halls; there is wail in Durham’s Stalls:The Jesuit smites his bosom: the Bishop rends his cope.And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children’s ills,And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England’s sword;And the Kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hearWhat the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word.Lord Macaulay.

Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,The General rode along us to form us to the fight,When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell’d into a shoutAmong the godless horsemen upon the tyrant’s right.

And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,The cry of battle rises along their charging line!For God! for the Cause! for the Church, for the Laws!For Charles King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine!

The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums,His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall;They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks,For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.

They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone!Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast.O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right!Stand back to back, in God’s name, and fight it to the last.

Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground:Hark! hark!—What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear?Whose banner do I see, boys? ’Tis he, thank God, ’tis he, boys.Bear up another minute: brave Oliver is here.

Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes,Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hideTheir coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar:And he—he turns, he flies:—shame on those cruel eyesThat bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.

Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain,First give another stab to make your search secure,Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and lockets,The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor.

Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold,When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day;And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks,Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey.

Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate,And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades,Your perfum’d satin clothes, your catches and your oaths,Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades?

Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the crown,With the Belial of the Court, and the Mammon of the Pope;There is woe in Oxford Halls; there is wail in Durham’s Stalls:The Jesuit smites his bosom: the Bishop rends his cope.

And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children’s ills,And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England’s sword;And the Kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hearWhat the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word.

Lord Macaulay.

O listen, listen, ladies gay!No haughty feat of arms I tell;Soft is the note, and sad the lay,That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.‘Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!And, gentle ladye, deign to stay!Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.‘The blackening wave is edged with white;To inch[3]and rock the sea-mews fly;The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.‘Last night the gifted Seer did viewA wet shroud swathed round ladye gay;Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?’—‘’Tis not because Lord Lindesay’s heirTo-night at Roslin leads the ball,But that my ladye-mother thereSits lonely in her castle-hall.‘’Tis not because the ring they ride,And Lindesay at the ring rides well,But that my sire the wine will chide,If ’tis not fill’d by Rosabelle.’—O’er Roslin all that dreary night,A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;’Twas broader than the watch-fire’s light,And redder than the bright moonbeam.It glared on Roslin’s castled rock,It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;’Twas seen from Dryden’s groves of oak,And seen from cavern’d Hawthornden.Seem’d all on fire that chapel proud,Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffin’d lie,Each Baron, for a sable shroud,Sheathed in his iron panoply.Seem’d all on fire within, around,Deep sacristy and altar’s pale;Shone every pillar foliage-bound,And glimmer’d all the dead men’s mail.Blazed battlement and pinnet high,Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—So still they blaze, when fate is nighThe lordly line of high St. Clair.There are twenty of Roslin’s barons boldLie buried within that proud chapelle;Each one the holy vault doth hold—But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!And each St. Clair was buried there,With candle, with book, and with knell;But the sea-caves rung, and the wild wings sung,The dirge of lovely Rosabelle!Sir W. Scott.

O listen, listen, ladies gay!No haughty feat of arms I tell;Soft is the note, and sad the lay,That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

‘Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!And, gentle ladye, deign to stay!Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

‘The blackening wave is edged with white;To inch[3]and rock the sea-mews fly;The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.

‘Last night the gifted Seer did viewA wet shroud swathed round ladye gay;Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?’—

‘’Tis not because Lord Lindesay’s heirTo-night at Roslin leads the ball,But that my ladye-mother thereSits lonely in her castle-hall.

‘’Tis not because the ring they ride,And Lindesay at the ring rides well,But that my sire the wine will chide,If ’tis not fill’d by Rosabelle.’—

O’er Roslin all that dreary night,A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;’Twas broader than the watch-fire’s light,And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin’s castled rock,It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;’Twas seen from Dryden’s groves of oak,And seen from cavern’d Hawthornden.

Seem’d all on fire that chapel proud,Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffin’d lie,Each Baron, for a sable shroud,Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seem’d all on fire within, around,Deep sacristy and altar’s pale;Shone every pillar foliage-bound,And glimmer’d all the dead men’s mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—So still they blaze, when fate is nighThe lordly line of high St. Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin’s barons boldLie buried within that proud chapelle;Each one the holy vault doth hold—But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

And each St. Clair was buried there,With candle, with book, and with knell;But the sea-caves rung, and the wild wings sung,The dirge of lovely Rosabelle!

Sir W. Scott.

IN SEVEN PARTSPART IIt is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three.’By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?The Bridegroom’s doors are open’d wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May’st hear the merry din.’He holds him with his skinny hand,‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’Eftsoons his hand dropt he.He holds him with his glittering eye—The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years’ child:The Mariner hath his will.The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:‘The ship was cheer’d, the harbour clear’d,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the light-house top.‘The Sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he!And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea.‘Higher and higher every dayTill over the mast at noon—’The Wedding-Guest here beat his breastFor he heard the loud bassoon.The Bride hath paced into the hall,Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:‘And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o’ertaking wings,And chased us south along.‘With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roar’d the blast,And southward aye we fled.‘And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast high, came floating by,As green as emerald.‘And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—The ice was all between.‘The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d,Like noises in a swound!‘At length did cross an Albatross,Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soulWe hail’d it in God’s name.‘It ate the food it ne’er had eat,And round and round it flew.The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steer’d us through.‘And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariners’ hollo!‘In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perch’d for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,Glimmer’d the white moon-shine.’‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—Why look’st thou so?’—‘With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross!’

IN SEVEN PARTSPART IIt is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three.’By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

The Bridegroom’s doors are open’d wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May’st hear the merry din.’

He holds him with his skinny hand,‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years’ child:The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:

‘The ship was cheer’d, the harbour clear’d,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the light-house top.

‘The Sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he!And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea.

‘Higher and higher every dayTill over the mast at noon—’The Wedding-Guest here beat his breastFor he heard the loud bassoon.

The Bride hath paced into the hall,Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:

‘And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o’ertaking wings,And chased us south along.

‘With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roar’d the blast,And southward aye we fled.

‘And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast high, came floating by,As green as emerald.

‘And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—The ice was all between.

‘The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d,Like noises in a swound!

‘At length did cross an Albatross,Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soulWe hail’d it in God’s name.

‘It ate the food it ne’er had eat,And round and round it flew.The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steer’d us through.

‘And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariners’ hollo!

‘In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perch’d for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,Glimmer’d the white moon-shine.’

‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—Why look’st thou so?’—‘With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross!’

PART II‘The Sun now rose upon the right:Out of the sea came he,Still hid in mist, and on the leftWent down into the sea.‘And the good south wind still blew behind,But no sweet bird did follow,Nor any day for food or playCame to the mariners’ hollo!‘And I had done a hellish thing,And it would work ’em woe:For all averr’d, I had kill’d the birdThat made the breeze to blow.Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,That made the breeze to blow!‘Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,The glorious Sun uprist:Then all averr’d, I had kill’d the birdThat brought the fog and mist.‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,That bring the fog and mist.‘The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,The furrow stream’d off free;We were the first that ever burstInto that silent sea.‘Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down‘Twas sad as sad could be;And we did speak only to breakThe silence of the sea!‘All in a hot and copper sky,The bloody Sun, at noon,Right up above the mast did stand,No bigger than the Moon.‘Day after day, day after day,We struck, nor breath nor motion;As idle as a painted shipUpon a painted ocean.‘Water, water, everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water, everywhere,Nor any drop to drink.‘The very deep did rot: O Christ!That ever this should be!Yea, slimy things did crawl with legsUpon the slimy sea.‘About, about, in reel and routThe death-fires danced at night;The water, like a witch’s oils,Burnt green and blue, and white.‘And some in dreams assured wereOf the spirit that plagued us so;Nine fathom deep he had followed usFrom the land of mist and snow.‘And every tongue, through utter drought,Was wither’d at the root;We could not speak, no more than ifWe had been choked with soot.‘Ah! well a-day! what evil looksHad I from old and young!Instead of the Cross, the AlbatrossAbout my neck was hung.’

PART II‘The Sun now rose upon the right:Out of the sea came he,Still hid in mist, and on the leftWent down into the sea.

‘And the good south wind still blew behind,But no sweet bird did follow,Nor any day for food or playCame to the mariners’ hollo!

‘And I had done a hellish thing,And it would work ’em woe:For all averr’d, I had kill’d the birdThat made the breeze to blow.Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,That made the breeze to blow!

‘Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,The glorious Sun uprist:Then all averr’d, I had kill’d the birdThat brought the fog and mist.‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,That bring the fog and mist.

‘The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,The furrow stream’d off free;We were the first that ever burstInto that silent sea.

‘Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down‘Twas sad as sad could be;And we did speak only to breakThe silence of the sea!

‘All in a hot and copper sky,The bloody Sun, at noon,Right up above the mast did stand,No bigger than the Moon.

‘Day after day, day after day,We struck, nor breath nor motion;As idle as a painted shipUpon a painted ocean.

‘Water, water, everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water, everywhere,Nor any drop to drink.

‘The very deep did rot: O Christ!That ever this should be!Yea, slimy things did crawl with legsUpon the slimy sea.

‘About, about, in reel and routThe death-fires danced at night;The water, like a witch’s oils,Burnt green and blue, and white.

‘And some in dreams assured wereOf the spirit that plagued us so;Nine fathom deep he had followed usFrom the land of mist and snow.

‘And every tongue, through utter drought,Was wither’d at the root;We could not speak, no more than ifWe had been choked with soot.

‘Ah! well a-day! what evil looksHad I from old and young!Instead of the Cross, the AlbatrossAbout my neck was hung.’

PART III‘There pass’d a weary time. Each throatWas parch’d, and glazed each eye.A weary time! A weary time!How glazed each weary eye!When looking westward, I beheldA something in the sky.‘At first it seem’d a little speck,And then it seem’d a mist;It moved and moved, and took at lastA certain shape, I wist.‘A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!And still it near’d and near’d:As if it dodged a water-sprite,It plunged and tack’d and veered.

PART III‘There pass’d a weary time. Each throatWas parch’d, and glazed each eye.A weary time! A weary time!How glazed each weary eye!When looking westward, I beheldA something in the sky.

‘At first it seem’d a little speck,And then it seem’d a mist;It moved and moved, and took at lastA certain shape, I wist.

‘A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!And still it near’d and near’d:As if it dodged a water-sprite,It plunged and tack’d and veered.

THE DEATH-FIRES DANCED AT NIGHT.

‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,We could nor laugh nor wail;Through utter drought all dumb we stood!I bit my arm, I suck’d the blood,And cried, “A sail! a sail!”

‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,Agape they heard me call:Gramercy! they for joy did grin,And all at once their breath drew in,As they were drinking all.‘See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!Hither to work us weal;Without a breeze, without a tide,She steadies with upright keel!‘The western wave was all a-flame,The day was well-nigh done!Almost upon the western waveRested the broad bright Sun;When that strange shape drove suddenlyBetwixt us and the Sun.‘And straight the Sun was fleck’d with bars,(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,With broad and burning face.‘Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)How fast she nears and nears!Are thosehersails that glance in the Sun,Like restless gossameres?‘Are thoseherribs through which the SunDid 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 lips were red, her looks were free,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.‘The naked hulk alongside came,And the twain were casting dice;“The game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!”Quoth she, and whistles thrice.‘The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out;At one stride comes the dark;With far-heard whisper, o’er the seaOff shot the spectre-bark.‘We listen’d and look’d sideways up!Fear at my heart, as at a cup,My life-blood seem’d to sip!The stars were dim, and thick the night,The steersman’s face by his lamp gleam’d white;

‘With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,Agape they heard me call:Gramercy! they for joy did grin,And all at once their breath drew in,As they were drinking all.

‘See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!Hither to work us weal;Without a breeze, without a tide,She steadies with upright keel!

‘The western wave was all a-flame,The day was well-nigh done!Almost upon the western waveRested the broad bright Sun;When that strange shape drove suddenlyBetwixt us and the Sun.

‘And straight the Sun was fleck’d with bars,(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,With broad and burning face.

‘Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)How fast she nears and nears!Are thosehersails that glance in the Sun,Like restless gossameres?

‘Are thoseherribs through which the SunDid 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 lips were red, her looks were free,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.

‘The naked hulk alongside came,And the twain were casting dice;“The game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!”Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

‘The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out;At one stride comes the dark;With far-heard whisper, o’er the seaOff shot the spectre-bark.

‘We listen’d and look’d sideways up!Fear at my heart, as at a cup,My life-blood seem’d to sip!The stars were dim, and thick the night,The steersman’s face by his lamp gleam’d white;

From the sails the dew did drip—Till clomb above the eastern barThe horned Moon, with one bright starWithin the nether tip.‘One after one, by the star-dogg’d Moon,Too quick for groan or sigh,Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang,And cursed me with his eye.‘Four times fifty living men,(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropped down one by one.‘The souls did from their bodies fly,—They fled to bliss or woe!And every soul, it pass’d me by,Like the whizz of my cross-bow!’

From the sails the dew did drip—Till clomb above the eastern barThe horned Moon, with one bright starWithin the nether tip.

‘One after one, by the star-dogg’d Moon,Too quick for groan or sigh,Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang,And cursed me with his eye.

‘Four times fifty living men,(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropped down one by one.

‘The souls did from their bodies fly,—They fled to bliss or woe!And every soul, it pass’d me by,Like the whizz of my cross-bow!’

PART IV‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!I fear thy skinny hand!And thou art long, and lank, and brownAs is the ribbed sea-sand.‘I fear thee and thy glittering eye,And thy skinny hand, so brown.’—‘Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!This body dropt not down.‘Alone, alone, all all alone,Alone on a wide, wide sea!And never a saint took pity onMy soul in agony.‘The many men, so beautiful!And they all dead did lie:And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on; and so did I.‘I look’d upon the rotting sea,And drew my eyes away;I look’d upon the rotting deck,And there the dead men lay.‘I look’d to Heaven, and tried to pray;But or ever a prayer had gusht,A wicked whisper came, and madeMy heart as dry as dust.

PART IV‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!I fear thy skinny hand!And thou art long, and lank, and brownAs is the ribbed sea-sand.

‘I fear thee and thy glittering eye,And thy skinny hand, so brown.’—‘Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!This body dropt not down.

‘Alone, alone, all all alone,Alone on a wide, wide sea!And never a saint took pity onMy soul in agony.

‘The many men, so beautiful!And they all dead did lie:And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on; and so did I.

‘I look’d upon the rotting sea,And drew my eyes away;I look’d upon the rotting deck,And there the dead men lay.

‘I look’d to Heaven, and tried to pray;But or ever a prayer had gusht,A wicked whisper came, and madeMy heart as dry as dust.

‘I closed my lids, and kept them close,And the balls like pulses beat;For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the skyLay like a load on my weary eye,And the dead were at my feet.‘The cold sweat melted from their limbs,Nor rot nor reek did they:The look with which they look’d on meHad never pass’d away.‘An orphan’s curse would drag to HellA spirit from on high;But oh! more horrible than thatIs the curse in a dead man’s eye!Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,And yet I could not die.

‘I closed my lids, and kept them close,And the balls like pulses beat;For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the skyLay like a load on my weary eye,And the dead were at my feet.

‘The cold sweat melted from their limbs,Nor rot nor reek did they:The look with which they look’d on meHad never pass’d away.

‘An orphan’s curse would drag to HellA spirit from on high;But oh! more horrible than thatIs the curse in a dead man’s eye!Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,And yet I could not die.

‘The moving Moon went up the sky,And nowhere did abide:Softly she was going up,And a star or two beside—Her beams bemock’d the sultry main,Like April hoar-frost spread;But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,The charmèd water burnt alwayA still and awful red.‘Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes:They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they rear’d, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes.‘Within the shadow of the shipI watched their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coil’d and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.‘O happy living things! no tongueTheir beauty might declare:A spring of love gush’d from my heart,And I bless’d them unaware!Sure my kind saint took pity on me,And I bless’d them unaware!‘The self-same moment I could pray;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike lead into the sea.’

‘Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes:They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they rear’d, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes.

‘Within the shadow of the shipI watched their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coil’d and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.

‘O happy living things! no tongueTheir beauty might declare:A spring of love gush’d from my heart,And I bless’d them unaware!Sure my kind saint took pity on me,And I bless’d them unaware!

‘The self-same moment I could pray;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike lead into the sea.’

PART V‘Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,Beloved from pole to pole!To Mary Queen the praise be given!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 rained.‘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.‘I moved, and could not feel my limbs:I was so light—almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blessed ghost.‘And soon I heard a roaring wind:It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sails,That were so thin and sere.‘The upper air burst into life!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 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 loud wind never reached the ship,Yet now the ship moved on!Beneath the lightning and the moonThe dead men gave a groan.‘They groan’d, they stirred, 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 steered, the ship 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 sonStood by me, knee to knee:The body and I pull’d at one rope,But he said nought to me.’

PART V‘Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,Beloved from pole to pole!To Mary Queen the praise be given!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 rained.

‘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.

‘I moved, and could not feel my limbs:I was so light—almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blessed ghost.

‘And soon I heard a roaring wind:It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sails,That were so thin and sere.

‘The upper air burst into life!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 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 loud wind never reached the ship,Yet now the ship moved on!Beneath the lightning and the moonThe dead men gave a groan.

‘They groan’d, they stirred, 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 steered, the ship 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 sonStood by me, knee to knee:The body and I pull’d at one rope,But he said nought to me.’

‘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 cluster’d round the mast;Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,And from their bodies passed.‘Around, around, flew each sweet sound,Then darted to the Sun;Slowly the sounds came back again,Now mixed, now one by one.‘Sometimes a-dropping from the skyI heard the sky-lark sing;Sometimes all little birds that are,How they seem’d to fill the sea and airWith 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 onA pleasant noise till noon,A noise like of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune.‘Till noon we quietly sailed on,Yet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship,Moved onward from beneath.Under the keel nine fathom deep,From the land of mist and snow,The spirit slid: and it was heThat made the ship to go.The sails at noon left off their tuneAnd the ship stood still also.

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

‘Sometimes a-dropping from the skyI heard the sky-lark sing;Sometimes all little birds that are,How they seem’d to fill the sea and airWith 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 onA pleasant noise till noon,A noise like of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune.

‘Till noon we quietly sailed on,Yet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship,Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,From the land of mist and snow,The spirit slid: and it was heThat made the ship to go.The sails at noon left off their tuneAnd the ship stood still also.

‘The Sun, right up above the mast,Had fixed her to the ocean;But in a minute she ’gan stir,With a short uneasy motion—Backwards and forwards half her lengthWith 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.‘How long in that same fit I lay,I have not to declare;But ere my living life returned,I heard, and in my soul discernedTwo 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 lowThe harmless Albatross.

‘The Sun, right up above the mast,Had fixed her to the ocean;But in a minute she ’gan stir,With a short uneasy motion—Backwards and forwards half her lengthWith 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.

‘How long in that same fit I lay,I have not to declare;But ere my living life returned,I heard, and in my soul discernedTwo 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 lowThe harmless Albatross.

’“The spirit who bideth by himselfIn the land of mist and snow,He loved the bird that loved the manWho 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.”

’“The spirit who bideth by himselfIn the land of mist and snow,He loved the bird that loved the manWho 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 VIFirst Voice‘“But tell me, tell me! speak again,Thy soft response renewing—What makes that ship 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 silentlyUp to the Moon is cast—‘“If he may know which way to go;For she guides him smooth or grim.See, brother, see! how graciouslyShe looketh down on him.”First Voice‘“But why drives on that ship 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 belatedFor slow and slow that ship will go,When the Mariner’s trance is abated.”‘I woke, and we were sailing onAs 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 fixed on me their stony eyes,That in the Moon did glitter.‘The pang, the curse, with which they died,Had never passed away:I could not draw my eyes from theirs,Nor turn them up to pray.‘And now this spell was snapt: once moreI view’d the ocean green,And look’d far forth, yet little sawOf what had else been seen—‘Like one that on a lonesome roadDoth walk in fear and dread,And having once turned round walks on,And turns no more his head;Because he knows, a frightful fiendDoth close behind him tread.‘But soon there breathed a wind on meNor sound nor motion made:Its path was not upon the sea,In ripple or in shade.‘It raised my hair, it fann’d my cheekLike a meadow-gale of spring—It mingled strangely with my fears,Yet it felt like a welcoming.‘Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,Yet she sail’d softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—On me alone it blew.‘Oh! dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house 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 God!Or let me sleep alway.”‘The harbour bay was clear as glass,So smoothly it was strewn!And on the bay the moonlight lay,And the shadow of the moon.‘The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,That stands above the rock:The moonlight steeped in silentness,The steady weathercock.‘And the bay was white with silent lightTill, rising from the same,Full many shapes, that shadows were,In crimson colours came.‘A little distance from the prowThose crimson shadows were:I turned my eyes upon the deck—Oh, Christ! what saw I there!‘Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,And by the holy rood!A man all light, a seraph-man,On 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;‘This seraph-band, each waved his hand,No voice did they impart—No voice; but oh! the silence sankLike music on my heart.‘But soon I heard the dash of oars,I heard the Pilot’s cheer;My head was turn’d 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 joyThe dead men could not blast.‘I saw a third—I heard his voice:It is the Hermit good!He singeth loud his godly hymnsThat he makes in the wood.He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash awayThe Albatross’s blood.’

Second Voice‘“Still as a slave before his lord,The Ocean hath no blast;His great bright eye most silentlyUp to the Moon is cast—

‘“If he may know which way to go;For she guides him smooth or grim.See, brother, see! how graciouslyShe looketh down on him.”

First Voice‘“But why drives on that ship 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 belatedFor slow and slow that ship will go,When the Mariner’s trance is abated.”

‘I woke, and we were sailing onAs 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 fixed on me their stony eyes,That in the Moon did glitter.

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

‘And now this spell was snapt: once moreI view’d the ocean green,And look’d far forth, yet little sawOf what had else been seen—

‘Like one that on a lonesome roadDoth walk in fear and dread,And having once turned round walks on,And turns no more his head;Because he knows, a frightful fiendDoth close behind him tread.

‘But soon there breathed a wind on meNor sound nor motion made:Its path was not upon the sea,In ripple or in shade.

‘It raised my hair, it fann’d my cheekLike a meadow-gale of spring—It mingled strangely with my fears,Yet it felt like a welcoming.

‘Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,Yet she sail’d softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—On me alone it blew.

‘Oh! dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house 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 God!Or let me sleep alway.”

‘The harbour bay was clear as glass,So smoothly it was strewn!And on the bay the moonlight lay,And the shadow of the moon.

‘The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,That stands above the rock:The moonlight steeped in silentness,The steady weathercock.

‘And the bay was white with silent lightTill, rising from the same,Full many shapes, that shadows were,In crimson colours came.

‘A little distance from the prowThose crimson shadows were:I turned my eyes upon the deck—Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

‘Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,And by the holy rood!A man all light, a seraph-man,On 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;

‘This seraph-band, each waved his hand,No voice did they impart—No voice; but oh! the silence sankLike music on my heart.

‘But soon I heard the dash of oars,I heard the Pilot’s cheer;My head was turn’d 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 joyThe dead men could not blast.

‘I saw a third—I heard his voice:It is the Hermit good!He singeth loud his godly hymnsThat he makes in the wood.He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash awayThe Albatross’s blood.’

PART VII‘This Hermit good lives in that woodWhich slopes down to the sea.How loudly his sweet voice he rears!He loves to talk with marineresThat come from a far countree.‘He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve—He hath a cushion plump:It is the moss that wholly hidesThe rotted old oak stump.‘The skiff-boat near’d: I heard them talk,“Why, this is strange, I trow!Where are those lights so many and fair,That signal made but now?”‘“Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said—“And they answer’d not our cheer!The planks look warp’d! 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 lagMy 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-fear’d”—“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.‘Under the water it rumbled on,Still louder and more dread:It reach’d the ship, it split the bay:The ship went down like lead.‘Stunn’d by that loud and dreadful sound,Which sky and ocean smote,Like one that hath been seven days drownedMy body lay afloat;But swift as dreams, myself I foundWithin the Pilot’s boat.‘Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,The boat spun round and round;And all was still, save that the hillWas telling of the sound.‘I moved my lips—the Pilot shriek’dAnd 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,Laugh’d loud and long, and all the whileHis eyes went to and fro.“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I seeThe Devil knows how to row.’

PART VII‘This Hermit good lives in that woodWhich slopes down to the sea.How loudly his sweet voice he rears!He loves to talk with marineresThat come from a far countree.

‘He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve—He hath a cushion plump:It is the moss that wholly hidesThe rotted old oak stump.

‘The skiff-boat near’d: I heard them talk,“Why, this is strange, I trow!Where are those lights so many and fair,That signal made but now?”

‘“Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said—“And they answer’d not our cheer!The planks look warp’d! 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 lagMy 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-fear’d”—“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.

‘Under the water it rumbled on,Still louder and more dread:It reach’d the ship, it split the bay:The ship went down like lead.

‘Stunn’d by that loud and dreadful sound,Which sky and ocean smote,Like one that hath been seven days drownedMy body lay afloat;But swift as dreams, myself I foundWithin the Pilot’s boat.

‘Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,The boat spun round and round;And all was still, save that the hillWas telling of the sound.

‘I moved my lips—the Pilot shriek’dAnd 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,Laugh’d loud and long, and all the whileHis eyes went to and fro.“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I seeThe Devil knows how to row.’

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