FOOTNOTES:

O sleep, it is a gentle thing,Belov'd from pole to pole!285To Mary-queen the praise be yevenShe sent the gentle sleep from heavenThat slid into my soul.The silly buckets on the deckThat had so long remain'd,290I dreamt that they were fill'd with dewAnd 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 dreams295And still my body drank.I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,I was so light, almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blessed Ghost.300The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sailsThat were so thin and sere.The upper air bursts into life,305And a hundred fire-flags sheenTo and fro they are hurried about;And to and fro, and in and outThe stars dance on between.[1039]The coming wind doth roar more loud;310The sails do sigh, like sedge:The rain pours down from one black cloudAnd the Moon is at its edge.Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,And the Moon is at its side:315Like waters shot from some high crag,The lightning falls with never a jagA river steep and wide.The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'dAnd dropp'd down, like a stone!320Beneath the lightning and the moonThe 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 dream325To 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:330They rais'd 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,335But he said nought to me—And I quak'd to think of my own voiceHow frightful it would be!The day-light dawn'd—they dropp'd their arms,And cluster'd round the mast:340Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouthsAnd from their bodies pass'd.Around, around, flew each sweet sound,Then darted to the sun:Slowly the sounds came back again345Now mix'd, now one by one.[1040]Sometimes a dropping from the skyI heard the Lavrock sing;Sometimes all little birds that areHow they seem'd to fill the sea and air350With their sweet jargoning.And now 'twas like all instruments,Now like a lonely flute;And now it is an angel's songThat makes the heavens be mute.355It ceas'd: 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 night360Singeth a quiet tune.Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!"Marinere! thou hast thy will:"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make"My body and soul to be still."365Never sadder tale was toldTo a man of woman born:Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn.Never sadder tale was heard370By a man of woman born:The Marineres all return'd to workAs silent as beforne.The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,But look at me they n'old:375Thought I, I am as thin as air—They cannot me behold.Till noon we silently sail'd onYet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship380Mov'd onward from beneath.Under the keel nine fathom deepFrom the land of mist and snowThe spirit slid: and it was HeThat made the Ship to go.385The sails at noon left off their tuneAnd the Ship stood still also.[1041]The sun right up above the mastHad fix'd her to the ocean:But in a minute she 'gan stir390With 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:395It 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 return'd,400I heard and in my soul discern'dTwo 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 low405"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.410The other was a softer voice,As soft as honey-dew:Quoth he the man hath penance done,And penance more will do.

O sleep, it is a gentle thing,Belov'd from pole to pole!285To Mary-queen the praise be yevenShe sent the gentle sleep from heavenThat slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deckThat had so long remain'd,290I dreamt that they were fill'd with dewAnd 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 dreams295And still my body drank.

I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,I was so light, almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blessed Ghost.300

The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sailsThat were so thin and sere.

The upper air bursts into life,305And a hundred fire-flags sheenTo and fro they are hurried about;And to and fro, and in and outThe stars dance on between.

[1039]The coming wind doth roar more loud;310The sails do sigh, like sedge:The rain pours down from one black cloudAnd the Moon is at its edge.

Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,And the Moon is at its side:315Like waters shot from some high crag,The lightning falls with never a jagA river steep and wide.

The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'dAnd dropp'd down, like a stone!320Beneath the lightning and the moonThe 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 dream325To 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:330They rais'd 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,335But he said nought to me—And I quak'd to think of my own voiceHow frightful it would be!

The day-light dawn'd—they dropp'd their arms,And cluster'd round the mast:340Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouthsAnd from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,Then darted to the sun:Slowly the sounds came back again345Now mix'd, now one by one.

[1040]Sometimes a dropping from the skyI heard the Lavrock sing;Sometimes all little birds that areHow they seem'd to fill the sea and air350With their sweet jargoning.

And now 'twas like all instruments,Now like a lonely flute;And now it is an angel's songThat makes the heavens be mute.355

It ceas'd: 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 night360Singeth a quiet tune.

Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!"Marinere! thou hast thy will:"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make"My body and soul to be still."365

Never sadder tale was toldTo a man of woman born:Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!Thou'lt rise to-morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard370By a man of woman born:The Marineres all return'd to workAs silent as beforne.

The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,But look at me they n'old:375Thought I, I am as thin as air—They cannot me behold.

Till noon we silently sail'd onYet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship380Mov'd onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deepFrom the land of mist and snowThe spirit slid: and it was HeThat made the Ship to go.385The sails at noon left off their tuneAnd the Ship stood still also.

[1041]The sun right up above the mastHad fix'd her to the ocean:But in a minute she 'gan stir390With 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:395It 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 return'd,400I heard and in my soul discern'dTwo 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 low405"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.410

The other was a softer voice,As soft as honey-dew:Quoth he the man hath penance done,And penance more will do.

First Voice.

"But tell me, tell me! speak again,415"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:420"His great bright eye most silently"Up to the moon is cast—[1042]"If he may know which way to go,"For she guides him smooth or grim."See, brother, see! how graciously425"She looketh down on him.

"Still as a Slave before his Lord,"The Ocean hath no blast:420"His great bright eye most silently"Up to the moon is cast—

[1042]"If he may know which way to go,"For she guides him smooth or grim."See, brother, see! how graciously425"She looketh down on him.

First Voice.

"But why drives on that ship so fast"Withouten wave or wind?

Second Voice.

"The air is cut away before,"And closes from behind.430"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high,"Or we shall be belated:"For slow and slow that ship will go,"When the Marinere's trance is abated."I woke, and we were sailing on435As 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:440All fix'd on me their stony eyesThat in the moon did glitter.The pang, the curse, with which they died,Had never pass'd away:I could not draw my een from theirs445Ne turn them up to pray.And in its time the spell was snapt,And I could move my een:I look'd far-forth, but little sawOf what might else be seen.450Like one, that on a lonely roadDoth walk in fear and dread,And having once turn'd round, walks onAnd turns no more his head:Because he knows, a frightful fiend455Doth close behind him tread.But soon there breath'd a wind on me,Ne sound ne motion made:Its path was not upon the seaIn ripple or in shade.460[1043]It rais'd 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 ship,465Yet she sail'd softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—On me alone it blew.O dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house top I see?470Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?Is this mine own countrée?We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar,And I with sobs did pray—"O let me be awake, my God!475"Or let me sleep alway!"The harbour-bay was clear as glass,So smoothly it was strewn!And on the bay the moon light lay,And the shadow of the moon.480The moonlight bay was white all o'er,Till rising from the same,Full many shapes, that shadows were,Like as of torches came.A little distance from the prow485Those dark-red shadows were;But soon I saw that my own fleshWas red as in a glare.I turn'd my head in fear and dread,And by the holy rood,490The bodies had advanc'd, and nowBefore the mast they stood.They lifted up their stiff right arms,They held them strait and tight;And each right-arm burnt like a torch,495A torch that's borne upright.Their stony eye-balls glitter'd onIn the red and smoky light.[1044]I pray'd and turn'd my head awayForth looking as before.500There was no breeze upon the bay,No wave against the shore.The rock shone bright, the kirk no lessThat stands above the rock:The moonlight steep'd in silentness505The steady weathercock.And the bay was white with silent light,Till rising from the sameFull many shapes, that shadows were,In crimson colours came.510A little distance from the prowThose crimson shadows were:I turn'd my eyes upon the deck—O Christ! what saw I there?Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat;515And by the Holy roodA man all light, a seraph-man,On every corse there stood.This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand:It was a heavenly sight:520They stood as signals to the land,Each one a lovely light:This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand,No voice did they impart—No voice; but O! the silence sank,525Like music on my heart.Eftsones I heard the dash of oars,I heard the pilot's cheer:My head was turn'd perforce awayAnd I saw a boat appear.530Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;The bodies rose anew:With silent pace, each to his place,Came back the ghastly crew.The wind, that shade nor motion made,535On me alone it blew.[1045]The pilot, and the pilot's boyI heard them coming fast:Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,The dead men could not blast.540I 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 away545The Albatross's blood.

"The air is cut away before,"And closes from behind.430

"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high,"Or we shall be belated:"For slow and slow that ship will go,"When the Marinere's trance is abated."

I woke, and we were sailing on435As 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:440All fix'd on me their stony eyesThat in the moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,Had never pass'd away:I could not draw my een from theirs445Ne turn them up to pray.

And in its time the spell was snapt,And I could move my een:I look'd far-forth, but little sawOf what might else be seen.450

Like one, that on a lonely roadDoth walk in fear and dread,And having once turn'd round, walks onAnd turns no more his head:Because he knows, a frightful fiend455Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breath'd a wind on me,Ne sound ne motion made:Its path was not upon the seaIn ripple or in shade.460

[1043]It rais'd 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 ship,465Yet she sail'd softly too:Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—On me alone it blew.

O dream of joy! is this indeedThe light-house top I see?470Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?Is this mine own countrée?

We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar,And I with sobs did pray—"O let me be awake, my God!475"Or let me sleep alway!"

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,So smoothly it was strewn!And on the bay the moon light lay,And the shadow of the moon.480

The moonlight bay was white all o'er,Till rising from the same,Full many shapes, that shadows were,Like as of torches came.

A little distance from the prow485Those dark-red shadows were;But soon I saw that my own fleshWas red as in a glare.

I turn'd my head in fear and dread,And by the holy rood,490The bodies had advanc'd, and nowBefore the mast they stood.

They lifted up their stiff right arms,They held them strait and tight;And each right-arm burnt like a torch,495A torch that's borne upright.Their stony eye-balls glitter'd onIn the red and smoky light.

[1044]I pray'd and turn'd my head awayForth looking as before.500There was no breeze upon the bay,No wave against the shore.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no lessThat stands above the rock:The moonlight steep'd in silentness505The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,Till rising from the sameFull many shapes, that shadows were,In crimson colours came.510

A little distance from the prowThose crimson shadows were:I turn'd my eyes upon the deck—O Christ! what saw I there?

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat;515And by the Holy roodA man all light, a seraph-man,On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand:It was a heavenly sight:520They stood as signals to the land,Each one a lovely light:

This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand,No voice did they impart—No voice; but O! the silence sank,525Like music on my heart.

Eftsones I heard the dash of oars,I heard the pilot's cheer:My head was turn'd perforce awayAnd I saw a boat appear.530

Then vanish'd all the lovely lights;The bodies rose anew:With silent pace, each to his place,Came back the ghastly crew.The wind, that shade nor motion made,535On me alone it blew.

[1045]The pilot, and the pilot's boyI heard them coming fast:Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,The dead men could not blast.540

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 away545The Albatross's blood.

This Hermit good lives in that woodWhich slopes down to the Sea.How loudly his sweet voice he rears!He loves to talk with Marineres550That come from a far Contrée.He kneels at morn and noon and eve—He hath a cushion plump:It is the moss, that wholly hidesThe rotted old Oak-stump.555The Skiff-boat ne'rd: 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—560"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 were565"The skeletons of leaves that lag"My forest-brook along:"When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,"And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below"That eats the she-wolfs young.570"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look—(The Pilot made reply)"I am afear'd—"Push on, push on!"Said the Hermit cheerily.[1046]The Boat came closer to the Ship,575But I ne spake ne stirr'd!The Boat came close beneath the Ship,And strait a sound was heard!Under the water it rumbled on,Still louder and more dread:580It 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 had been seven days drown'd585My 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:590And all was still, save that the hillWas telling of the sound.I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'dAnd fell down in a fit.The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes595And pray'd 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,600"Ha! ha!" quoth he—"full plain I see,"The devil knows how to row."And now all in mine own CountréeI stood on the firm land!The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,605And scarcely he could stand."O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!The Hermit cross'd his brow—"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say"What manner man art thou?"610Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'dWith a woeful agony,Which forc'd me to begin my taleAnd then it left me free.[1047]Since then at an uncertain hour,615Now oftimes and now fewer,That anguish comes and makes me tellMy ghastly aventure.I pass, like night, from land to land;I have strange power of speech;620The moment that his face I seeI know the man that must hear me;To him my tale I teach.What loud uproar bursts from that door!The Wedding-guests are there;625But in the Garden-bower the BrideAnd Bride-maids singing are:And hark the little Vesper-bellWhich biddeth me to prayer.O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been630Alone on a wide wide sea:So lonely 'twas, that God himselfScarce seemed there to be.O sweeter than the Marriage-feast,'Tis sweeter far to me635To walk together to the KirkWith a goodly company.To walk together to the KirkAnd all together pray,While each to his great Father bends,640Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And Youths, and Maidens gay.Farewell, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou wedding-guest!He prayeth well who loveth well,645Both man and bird and beast.He prayeth best who loveth best,All things both great and small:For the dear God, who loveth us,He made and loveth all.650The Marinere, whose eye is bright,Whose beard with age is hoar,Is gone; and now the wedding-guestTurn'd from the bridegroom's door.[1048]He went, like one that hath been stunn'd655And is of sense forlorn:A sadder and a wiser manHe rose the morrow morn.

This Hermit good lives in that woodWhich slopes down to the Sea.How loudly his sweet voice he rears!He loves to talk with Marineres550That come from a far Contrée.

He kneels at morn and noon and eve—He hath a cushion plump:It is the moss, that wholly hidesThe rotted old Oak-stump.555

The Skiff-boat ne'rd: 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—560"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 were565

"The skeletons of leaves that lag"My forest-brook along:"When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,"And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below"That eats the she-wolfs young.570

"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look—(The Pilot made reply)"I am afear'd—"Push on, push on!"Said the Hermit cheerily.

[1046]The Boat came closer to the Ship,575But I ne spake ne stirr'd!The Boat came close beneath the Ship,And strait a sound was heard!

Under the water it rumbled on,Still louder and more dread:580It 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 had been seven days drown'd585My 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:590And all was still, save that the hillWas telling of the sound.

I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'dAnd fell down in a fit.The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes595And pray'd 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,600"Ha! ha!" quoth he—"full plain I see,"The devil knows how to row."

And now all in mine own CountréeI stood on the firm land!The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,605And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!The Hermit cross'd his brow—"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say"What manner man art thou?"610

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'dWith a woeful agony,Which forc'd me to begin my taleAnd then it left me free.

[1047]Since then at an uncertain hour,615Now oftimes and now fewer,That anguish comes and makes me tellMy ghastly aventure.

I pass, like night, from land to land;I have strange power of speech;620The moment that his face I seeI know the man that must hear me;To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!The Wedding-guests are there;625But in the Garden-bower the BrideAnd Bride-maids singing are:And hark the little Vesper-bellWhich biddeth me to prayer.

O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been630Alone on a wide wide sea:So lonely 'twas, that God himselfScarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the Marriage-feast,'Tis sweeter far to me635To walk together to the KirkWith a goodly company.

To walk together to the KirkAnd all together pray,While each to his great Father bends,640Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And Youths, and Maidens gay.

Farewell, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou wedding-guest!He prayeth well who loveth well,645Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best,All things both great and small:For the dear God, who loveth us,He made and loveth all.650

The Marinere, whose eye is bright,Whose beard with age is hoar,Is gone; and now the wedding-guestTurn'd from the bridegroom's door.

[1048]He went, like one that hath been stunn'd655And is of sense forlorn:A sadder and a wiser manHe rose the morrow morn.

[1030:1]First published inLyrical Ballads, 1798, pp. [1]-27; republished inLyrical Ballads, 1800, vol. i;Lyrical Ballads, 1802, vol. i;Lyrical Ballads, 1805, vol. i; reprinted inThe Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Appendix, pp. 404-29, London: E. Moxon, Son, and Company, [1870]; reprinted inLyrical Balladsedition of 1798, edited by Edward Dowden, LL D., 1890, inP. W., 1893, Appendix E, pp. 512-20, and inLyrical Ballads. . . 1798, edited by Thomas Hutchinson, 1898. The text of the present issue has been collated with that of an early copy ofLyrical Ballads, 1798 (containingLewti, pp. 63-7), presented by Coleridge to his sister-in-law, Miss Martha Fricker. The lines were not numbered inL. B., 1798.

[63]And an] As ifMS. corr. by S. T. C.

And an] As ifMS. corr. by S. T. C.

[75]Corrected in the Errata tofog-smoke white.

Corrected in the Errata tofog-smoke white.

[83]weft[S. T. C.]

weft[S. T. C.]

[179]For "those" read "these"Errata, p. [221], L. B. 1798.

For "those" read "these"Errata, p. [221], L. B. 1798.

After338* * * * * *MS.,L. B. 1798.

[As printed in theMorning Post, March 10, 1798.]

[Videante, p. 169.]

Under the arms of a goodly oak-tree,There was of Swine a large company.They were making a rude repast,Grunting as they crunch'd the mast.Then they trotted away: for the wind blew high—5One acorn they left, ne more mote you spy.Next came a Raven, who lik'd not such folly;He belong'd, I believe, to the witchMelancholy!Blacker was he than the blackest jet;Flew low in the rain; his feathers were wet.10He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait,By the side of a river both deep and great.Where then did the Raven go?He went high and low—O'er hill, o'er dale did the black Raven go!15Many Autumns, many Springs;Travell'd he with wand'ring wings;Many Summers, many Winters—I can't tell half his adventures.At length he return'd, and with him a she;20And the acorn was grown a large oak-tree.They built them a nest in the topmost bough,And young ones they had, and were jolly enow.But soon came a Woodman in leathern guise:His brow like a pent-house hung over his eyes.25He'd an axe in his hand, and he nothing spoke,But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,At last he brought down the poor Raven's own oak.His young ones were kill'd, for they could not depart,And his wife she did die of a broken heart!30[1049]The branches from off it the Woodman did sever!And they floated it down on the course of the River:They saw'd it to planks, and it's rind they did strip,And with this tree and others they built up a ship.The ship, it was launch'd; but in sight of the land,35A tempest arose which no ship could withstand.It bulg'd on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast—The auld Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to the blast.He heard the sea-shriek of their perishing souls—They be sunk! O'er the top-mast the mad water rolls.40The Raven was glad that such fate they did meet,They had taken his all, andRevenge was Sweet!

[Videante, p. 253.]

[Add. MSS. 27,902.]

High o'er the silver rocks I rovedTo forget the form I lovedIn hopes fond fancy would be kindAnd steal my Mary from my mindT'was twilight and the lunar beam5Sailed slowly o'er Tamaha's streamAs down its sides the water strayedBright on a rock the moonbeam playe[d]It shone, half-sheltered from the viewBy pendent boughs of tressy yew10True, true to love but false to rest,So fancy whispered to my breast,So shines her forehead smooth and fairGleaming through her sable hairI turned to heaven—but viewed on high15The languid lustre of her eye[1050]The moons mild radiant edge I sawPeeping a black-arched cloud belowNor yet its faint and paly beamCould tinge its skirt with yellow gleam20I saw the white waves o'er and o'erBreak against a curved shoreNow disappearing from the sightNow twinkling regular and whiteHer mouth, her smiling mouth can shew25As white and regular a rowHaste Haste, some God indulgent proveAnd bear me, bear me to my loveThen might—for yet the sultry hourGlows from the sun's oppressive power30Then might her bosom soft and whiteHeave upon my swimming sightAs yon two swans together heaveUpon the gently-swelling waveHaste—haste some God indulgent prove35And bear—oh bear me to my love.

[Add. MSS. 35,343.]

THECIRCASSIAN'SLOVE-CHAUNTWild Indians

High o'er the rocks at night I rov'dsilverTo forget the form I lov'd.Image ofLewti! from my mindCoraDepart! forLewtiis not kind!CoraBright was the Moon: the Moon's bright beam5Speckled with many a moving shade,Danc'd upon Tamaha's stream;But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,The Rock, half-shelter'd from my viewBy pendent boughs of tressy Yew!10True to Love, but false to Rest,My fancy whisper'd in my breast—So shines my Lewti's forehead fairGleaming thro' her sable hair,[1051]Image ofLewti! from my mind15CoraDepart! forLewtiis not kind.CoraI saw a cloud of whitest hue;Onward to the Moon it pass'd!Still brighter and more bright it grewWith floating colours not a few,20Till it reach'd the Moon at last.

I saw a cloud of whitest hue;Onward to the Moon it pass'd!Still brighter and more bright it grewWith floating colours not a few,20Till it reach'd the Moon at last.

[Add. MSS. 35,343, f. 3 recto.]

High o'er the rocks at night I rov'dTo forget the form I lov'd.Image ofLewti! from my mindDepart: forLewtiis not kind.25Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m]Speckled with many a moving shade,Danc'd uponTamaha'sstream;But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view30By pendent boughs of tressy Yew!True to Love, but false to Rest,My fancy whisper'd in my breast—So shines myLewti'sforehead fairGleaming thro' her sable hair!35Image ofLewti! from my mindDepart—forLewtiis not kind.I saw a Cloud of whitest hue—Onward to the Moon it pass'd.Still brighter and more bright it grew40With floating colours not a few,Till it reach'd the Moon at last:Then the Cloud was wholly brightWith a rich and amber light!deepAnd so with many a hope I seek,45And so with joy I find myLewti:And even so my pale wan cheekDrinks in as deep a flush of Beauty[1052]Image ofLewti! leave my mindIf Lewti never will be kind!50Away the little Cloud, away.Away it goes—away so soonaloneAlas! it has no power to stay:It's hues are dim, it's hues are greyAway it passes from the Moon.55And now tis whiter than before—As white as my poor cheek will be,When,Lewti! on my couch I lieA dying Man for Love of thee!Thou living ImageImage ofLewtiin my mind,60Methinks thou lookest notkinunkind!

High o'er the rocks at night I rov'dTo forget the form I lov'd.Image ofLewti! from my mindDepart: forLewtiis not kind.25

Bright was the Moon: the Moon's bright bea[m]Speckled with many a moving shade,Danc'd uponTamaha'sstream;But brightlier on the Rock it play'd,The Rock, half-shelter'd from my view30By pendent boughs of tressy Yew!True to Love, but false to Rest,My fancy whisper'd in my breast—So shines myLewti'sforehead fairGleaming thro' her sable hair!35Image ofLewti! from my mindDepart—forLewtiis not kind.

I saw a Cloud of whitest hue—Onward to the Moon it pass'd.Still brighter and more bright it grew40With floating colours not a few,Till it reach'd the Moon at last:Then the Cloud was wholly brightWith a rich and amber light!deepAnd so with many a hope I seek,45And so with joy I find myLewti:And even so my pale wan cheekDrinks in as deep a flush of Beauty[1052]Image ofLewti! leave my mindIf Lewti never will be kind!50

Away the little Cloud, away.Away it goes—away so soonaloneAlas! it has no power to stay:It's hues are dim, it's hues are greyAway it passes from the Moon.55And now tis whiter than before—As white as my poor cheek will be,When,Lewti! on my couch I lieA dying Man for Love of thee!Thou living ImageImage ofLewtiin my mind,60Methinks thou lookest notkinunkind!

[1049:1]The first ten lines of MS. version (1) were first published inNote 44ofP. W., 1893, p. 518, and the MS. as a whole is included inColeridge's Poems, A Facsimile Reproduction of The Proofs and MSS., &c., 1899, pp. 132-4. MSS. (2) and (3) are now printed for the first time.

[Videante, p. 330.]

To the Editor of The Morning Post.

Sir,

The following Poem is the Introduction to a somewhat longer one, for which I shall solicit insertion on your next open day. The use of the Old Ballad word,Ladie, for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust, that 'the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity' (as Camden says) will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the Author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when noveltiesexplodearound us in all directions, he should presumeto offer to the public a silly tale of old fashioned love; and, five years ago, I own, I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But, alas! explosion has succeeded explosion so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story, wholly unspired [? inspired] with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of Revolutions, as to those who have resided a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.

S. T. Coleridge.

O leave the Lily on its stem;O leave the Rose upon the spray;O leave the Elder-bloom, fair Maids!And listen to my lay.

A Cypress and a Myrtle bough,5This morn around my harp you twin'd,Because it fashion'd mournfullyIts murmurs in the wind.

And now a Tale of Love and Woe,A woeful Tale of Love I sing:10Hark, gentle Maidens, hark! it sighsAnd trembles on the string.

But most, my own dear Genevieve!It sighs and trembles most for thee!O come and hear the cruel wrongs15Befel the dark Ladie!

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