Part IV

His shipmates drop down dead.

FOUR times fifty living men(And I heard nor sigh nor groan),With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropp’d down one by one.

But Life-in-Death begins her work on the ancient Mariner.

THE souls did from their bodies fly—They fled to bliss or woe!And every soul, it pass’d me byLike the whizz of my crossbow!’

The Wedding-Guest feareth that a spirit is talking to him.

‘IFEAR thee, ancient Mariner!I fear thy skinny hand!And thou art long, and lank, and brown,As is the ribb’d sea-sand.

But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance.

IFEAR 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.

IFEAR 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.

He despiseth the creatures of the calm.

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

And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead.

ILOOK’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;But 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.

ILOOK’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;But 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.

But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men.

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 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.

In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and everywhere 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.

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.

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.

By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God’s creatures of the great calm.

BEYOND the shadow of the ship,I watch’d 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 watch’d their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coil’d and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.

BEYOND the shadow of the ship,I watch’d 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 watch’d their rich attire:Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coil’d and swam; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.

Their beauty and their happiness.

He blesseth them in his heart.

OHAPPY 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 spell begins to break.

THE selfsame moment I could pray;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike lead into the sea.

‘OSLEEP! 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.

By grace of the holy Mother, the ancient Mariner is refreshed with rain.

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.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 blessèd ghost.

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.

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 blessèd ghost.

He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in the sky and the element.

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 stillThe Moon was at its side;Like waters shot from some high crag,The lightning fell with never a jag,A river steep and wide.

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 stillThe 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 bodies of the ship’s crew are inspired, and the ship moves on;

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 stirr’d, 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 steer’d, 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 naught to me.’

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 stirr’d, 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 steer’d, 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 naught to me.’

But not by the souls of the men, nor by demons of earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of angelic spirits, sent down by the invocation of the guardian saint.

‘IFEAR 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 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.Sometimes a-dropping from the skyI heard the skylark 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 sail’d on,Yet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship,Moved onward from beneath.

‘IFEAR 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 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.

Sometimes a-dropping from the skyI heard the skylark 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 sail’d on,Yet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the ship,Moved onward from beneath.

The lonesome Spirit from the South Pole carries on the ship as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth vengeance.

UNDER the keel nine fathom deep,From the land, of mist and snow,The Spirit slid: and it was heThat 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 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.

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 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 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.

The Polar Spirit’s fellow-demons, the invisible inhabitants of the element, take part in his wrong; and two of them relate, one to the other, that penance long and heavy for the ancient Mariner hath been accorded to the Polar Spirit, who returneth southward.

HOW long in that same fit I lay,I have not to declare;But ere my living life return’d,I 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 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.”

HOW long in that same fit I lay,I have not to declare;But ere my living life return’d,I 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 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.”

First 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 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.”

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

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 belated:For slow and slow that ship will go,When the Mariner’s trance is abated.’

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 belated:For slow and slow that ship will go,When the Mariner’s trance is abated.’

The super-natural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew.

IWOKE, 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 fix’d on me their stony eyes,That in the Moon did glitter.The pang, the curse, with which they died.Had never pass’d away:I could not draw my eyes from theirs,Nor turn them up to pray.

IWOKE, 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 fix’d on me their stony eyes,That in the Moon did glitter.

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

The curse is finally expiated.

AND now this spell was snapt: once moreI viewed 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 me,Nor 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.

AND now this spell was snapt: once moreI viewed 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 me,Nor 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.

And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.

ODREAM of joy! is this indeedThe lighthouse 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 lessThat stands above the rock:The moonlight steep’d in silentnessThe steady weathercock.

ODREAM of joy! is this indeedThe lighthouse 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 lessThat stands above the rock:The moonlight steep’d in silentnessThe steady weathercock.

The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,

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

And appear in their own forms of light.

ALITTLE 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,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 O, 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.

ALITTLE 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,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 O, 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.

The Hermit of the Wood.

‘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?”

‘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?”

Approacheth the ship with wonder.

“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 wereBrown 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 stirr’d;The boat came close beneath the ship,And straight a sound was heard.

“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 stirr’d;The boat came close beneath the ship,And straight a sound was heard.

The ship suddenly sinketh.

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.

The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot’s boat.

STUNN’d by that loud and dreadful sound,Which sky and ocean smote,Like one that hath been seven days drown’dMy 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 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.“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I seeThe Devil knows how to row.”And now, all in my own countree,I stood on the firm land!The Hermit stepp’d forth from the boat,And scarcely he could stand.

STUNN’d by that loud and dreadful sound,Which sky and ocean smote,Like one that hath been seven days drown’dMy 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 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.“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I seeThe Devil knows how to row.”

And now, all in my own countree,I stood on the firm land!The Hermit stepp’d forth from the boat,And scarcely he could stand.

The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.

“O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!”The Hermit cross’d his brow.“Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say—What manner of man art thou?”Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench’dWith a woful agony,Which forced me to begin my tale;And then it left me free.

“O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!”The Hermit cross’d his brow.“Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say—What manner of man art thou?”

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench’dWith a woful agony,Which forced me to begin my tale;And then it left me free.

And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;

SINCE then, at an uncertain hour,That agony returns:And till my ghastly tale is told,This heart within me burns.I pass, like night, from land to land;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.What loud uproar bursts from that door!The wedding-guests are there:But in the garden-bower the brideAnd bride-maids singing are:And hark, the little vesper bell,Which biddeth me to prayer!O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath beenAlone on a wide, wide sea:So lonely ’twas, that God HimselfScarce seemèd there to be.O sweeter than the marriage-feast,’Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith a goodly company!—To walk together to the kirk,And all together pray,While each to his great Father bends,Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And youths and maidens gay!

SINCE then, at an uncertain hour,That agony returns:And till my ghastly tale is told,This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;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.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!The wedding-guests are there:But in the garden-bower the brideAnd bride-maids singing are:And hark, the little vesper bell,Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath beenAlone on a wide, wide sea:So lonely ’twas, that God HimselfScarce seemèd there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,’Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith a goodly company!—

To walk together to the kirk,And all together pray,While each to his great Father bends,Old men, and babes, and loving friends,And youths and maidens gay!

And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.

FAREWELL, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest!He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast.He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all.’The Mariner, whose eye is bright,Whose beard with age is hoar,Is gone: and now the Wedding-GuestTurn’d from the bridegroom’s door,He went like one that hath been stunn’d,And is of sense forlorn:A sadder and a wiser manHe rose the morrow morn.

FAREWELL, farewell! but this I tellTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest!He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll things both great and small;For the dear God who loveth us,He made and loveth all.’

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,Whose beard with age is hoar,Is gone: and now the Wedding-GuestTurn’d from the bridegroom’s door,

He went like one that hath been stunn’d,And is of sense forlorn:A sadder and a wiser manHe rose the morrow morn.

550.

IN Xanadu did Kubla KhanA stately pleasure-dome decree:Where Alph, the sacred river, ranThrough caverns measureless to manDown to a sunless sea.So twice five miles of fertile groundWith walls and towers were girdled round:And there were gardens bright with sinuous rillsWhere blossom’d many an incense-bearing tree;And here were forests ancient as the hills,Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.But O, that deep romantic chasm which slantedDown the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!A savage place! as holy and enchantedAs e’er beneath a waning moon was hauntedBy woman wailing for her demon-lover!And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,A mighty fountain momently was forced;Amid whose swift half-intermitted burstHuge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and everIt flung up momently the sacred river.Five miles meandering with a mazy motionThrough wood and dale the sacred river ran,Then reach’d the caverns measureless to man,And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from farAncestral voices prophesying war!The shadow of the dome of pleasureFloated midway on the waves;Where was heard the mingled measureFrom the fountain and the caves.It was a miracle of rare device,A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!A damsel with a dulcimerIn a vision once I saw:It was an Abyssinian maid,And on her dulcimer she play’d,Singing of Mount Abora.Could I revive within me,Her symphony and song,To such a deep delight ’twould win me,That with music loud and long,I would build that dome in air,That sunny dome! those caves of ice!And all who heard should see them there,And all should cry, Beware! Beware!His flashing eyes, his floating hair!Weave a circle round him thrice,And close your eyes with holy dread,For he on honey-dew hath fed,And drunk the milk of Paradise.

But O, that deep romantic chasm which slantedDown the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!A savage place! as holy and enchantedAs e’er beneath a waning moon was hauntedBy woman wailing for her demon-lover!And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,A mighty fountain momently was forced;Amid whose swift half-intermitted burstHuge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and everIt flung up momently the sacred river.Five miles meandering with a mazy motionThrough wood and dale the sacred river ran,Then reach’d the caverns measureless to man,And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from farAncestral voices prophesying war!The shadow of the dome of pleasureFloated midway on the waves;Where was heard the mingled measureFrom the fountain and the caves.It was a miracle of rare device,A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimerIn a vision once I saw:It was an Abyssinian maid,And on her dulcimer she play’d,Singing of Mount Abora.Could I revive within me,Her symphony and song,To such a deep delight ’twould win me,That with music loud and long,I would build that dome in air,That sunny dome! those caves of ice!And all who heard should see them there,And all should cry, Beware! Beware!His flashing eyes, his floating hair!Weave a circle round him thrice,And close your eyes with holy dread,For he on honey-dew hath fed,And drunk the milk of Paradise.

551.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,Whatever stirs this mortal frame,All are but ministers of Love,And feed his sacred flame.Oft in my waking dreams do ILive o’er again that happy hour,When midway on the mount I lay,Beside the ruin’d tower.The moonshine, stealing o’er the scene,Had blended with the lights of eve;And she was there, my hope, my joy,My own dear Genevieve!She lean’d against the armèd man,The statue of the armèd Knight;She stood and listen’d to my lay,Amid the lingering light.Few sorrows hath she of her own,My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!She loves me best whene’er I singThe songs that make her grieve.I play’d a soft and doleful air;I sang an old and moving story—An old rude song, that suited wellThat ruin wild and hoary.She listen’d with a flitting blush,With downcast eyes and modest grace;For well she knew I could not chooseBut gaze upon her face.I told her of the Knight that woreUpon his shield a burning brand;And that for ten long years he woo’dThe Lady of the Land.I told her how he pined: and ah!The deep, the low, the pleading toneWith which I sang another’s love,Interpreted my own.She listened with a flitting blush,With downcast eyes, and modest grace;And she forgave me, that I gazedToo fondly on her face!But when I told the cruel scornThat crazed that bold and lovely Knight,And that he cross’d the mountain-woods,Nor rested day nor night;That sometimes from the savage den,And sometimes from the darksome shade,And sometimes starting up at onceIn green and sunny glade—There came and look’d him in the faceAn angel beautiful and bright;And that he knew it was a Fiend,This miserable Knight!And that, unknowing what he did,He leap’d amid a murderous band,And saved from outrage worse than deathThe Lady of the Land;—And how she wept and clasp’d his knees;And how she tended him in vain—And ever strove to expiateThe scorn that crazed his brain;—And that she nursed him in a cave;And how his madness went away,When on the yellow forest leavesA dying man he lay;—His dying words—but when I reach’dThat tenderest strain of all the ditty,My faltering voice and pausing harpDisturb’d her soul with pity!All impulses of soul and senseHad thrill’d my guileless Genevieve;The music and the doleful tale,The rich and balmy eve;And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,An undistinguishable throng,And gentle wishes long subdued,Subdued and cherish’d long!She wept with pity and delight,She blush’d with love and virgin shame;And like the murmur of a dream,I heard her breathe my name.Her bosom heaved—she stepp’d aside,As conscious of my look she stept—Then suddenly, with timorous eyeShe fled to me and wept.She half enclosed me with her arms,She press’d me with a meek embrace;And bending back her head, look’d up,And gazed upon my face.’Twas partly love, and partly fear,And partly ’twas a bashful art,That I might rather feel, than see.The swelling of her heart.I calm’d her fears, and she was calm,And told her love with virgin pride;And so I won my Genevieve,My bright and beauteous Bride.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,Whatever stirs this mortal frame,All are but ministers of Love,And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do ILive o’er again that happy hour,When midway on the mount I lay,Beside the ruin’d tower.

The moonshine, stealing o’er the scene,Had blended with the lights of eve;And she was there, my hope, my joy,My own dear Genevieve!

She lean’d against the armèd man,The statue of the armèd Knight;She stood and listen’d to my lay,Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!She loves me best whene’er I singThe songs that make her grieve.

I play’d a soft and doleful air;I sang an old and moving story—An old rude song, that suited wellThat ruin wild and hoary.

She listen’d with a flitting blush,With downcast eyes and modest grace;For well she knew I could not chooseBut gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that woreUpon his shield a burning brand;And that for ten long years he woo’dThe Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!The deep, the low, the pleading toneWith which I sang another’s love,Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,With downcast eyes, and modest grace;And she forgave me, that I gazedToo fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scornThat crazed that bold and lovely Knight,And that he cross’d the mountain-woods,Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,And sometimes from the darksome shade,And sometimes starting up at onceIn green and sunny glade—

There came and look’d him in the faceAn angel beautiful and bright;And that he knew it was a Fiend,This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,He leap’d amid a murderous band,And saved from outrage worse than deathThe Lady of the Land;—

And how she wept and clasp’d his knees;And how she tended him in vain—And ever strove to expiateThe scorn that crazed his brain;—

And that she nursed him in a cave;And how his madness went away,When on the yellow forest leavesA dying man he lay;—

His dying words—but when I reach’dThat tenderest strain of all the ditty,My faltering voice and pausing harpDisturb’d her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and senseHad thrill’d my guileless Genevieve;The music and the doleful tale,The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,An undistinguishable throng,And gentle wishes long subdued,Subdued and cherish’d long!

She wept with pity and delight,She blush’d with love and virgin shame;And like the murmur of a dream,I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved—she stepp’d aside,As conscious of my look she stept—Then suddenly, with timorous eyeShe fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,She press’d me with a meek embrace;And bending back her head, look’d up,And gazed upon my face.

’Twas partly love, and partly fear,And partly ’twas a bashful art,That I might rather feel, than see.The swelling of her heart.

I calm’d her fears, and she was calm,And told her love with virgin pride;And so I won my Genevieve,My bright and beauteous Bride.

552.

VERSE, a breeze ’mid blossoms straying,Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—Both were mine! Life went a-mayingWith Nature, Hope, and Poesy,When I was young:When I was young?—Ah, woful When:Ah! for the change ’twixt Now and Then!This breathing house not built with hands,This body that does me grievous wrong,O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands,How lightly then it flash’d along—Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,On winding lakes and rivers wide,That ask no aid of sail or oar,That fear no spite of wind or tide!Naught cared this body for wind or weatherWhen Youth and I lived in ’t together.Flowers are lovely! Love is flower-like;Friendship is a sheltering tree;O the joys, that came down shower-like,Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,Ere I was old!Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere,Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!O Youth! for years so many and sweet,’Tis known that thou and I were one;I’ll think it but a fond conceit—It cannot be that thou art gone!Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d—And thou wert aye a masker bold!What strange disguise hast now put on,To make believe that thou art gone?I see these locks in silvery slips,This drooping gait, this alter’d size:But springtide blossoms on thy lips,And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!Life is but thought: so think I willThat Youth and I are housemates still.Dewdrops are the gems of morning,But the tears of mournful eve!Where no hope is, life’s a warningThat only serves to make us grieve,When we are old!That only serves to make us grieveWith oft and tedious taking-leave,Like some poor nigh-related guestThat may not rudely be dismist.Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while,And tells the jest without the smile.

Flowers are lovely! Love is flower-like;Friendship is a sheltering tree;O the joys, that came down shower-like,Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,Ere I was old!Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere,Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!O Youth! for years so many and sweet,’Tis known that thou and I were one;I’ll think it but a fond conceit—It cannot be that thou art gone!Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d—And thou wert aye a masker bold!What strange disguise hast now put on,To make believe that thou art gone?I see these locks in silvery slips,This drooping gait, this alter’d size:But springtide blossoms on thy lips,And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!Life is but thought: so think I willThat Youth and I are housemates still.

Dewdrops are the gems of morning,But the tears of mournful eve!Where no hope is, life’s a warningThat only serves to make us grieve,When we are old!That only serves to make us grieveWith oft and tedious taking-leave,Like some poor nigh-related guestThat may not rudely be dismist.Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while,And tells the jest without the smile.

553.

AN ALLEGORY

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