With sloping masts and dipping prow, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And now there came both mist and snow, And ice, mast-high, came floating by, And through the drifts the snowy clifts Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken- The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled; At length did cross an albatross, As if it had been a Christian soul, It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And a good south wind sprung up behind; And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, The land of ice, and of fearful sounds, where no living thing was to be seen, Till a great sea-bird called the albatross came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality. And lo! the albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice. "God save thee, ancient mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus !— The ancient mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen. PART II. The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, Nor any day, for food or play, And I had done a hellish thing, For all averred, I had killed the bird Nor dim nor red, like God's own head Then all averred, I had killed the bird 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, His shipmates cry out against the ancient mariner, for killing the bird of good luck. But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime. The fair breeze continues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the line. The ship hath been suddenly becalmed; Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; Upon a painted ocean. And all the boards did shrink; Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! Yea, shiny things did crawl with legs About, about, in reel and rout, And every tongue, through utter drought, We could not speak, no more than if Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Instead of the cross, the albatross PART III. There passed a weary time. Each throat And the albatross begins to be avenged. A spirit had followed them; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls or angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more. The ship-mates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient mariner: in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck. The ancient mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar off. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared; As if it dodged a water sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Through utter drought all dumb we stood! And cried, A sail! a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Grammercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, See! see! (I cried,) she tacks no more! Without a breeze, without a tide, The western wave was all aflame. When that strange shape drove suddenly And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, As if through a dungeon-grate he peered Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud,) Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst. A flash of joy; And horror follows. For can it be a ship that comes onward without wind or tide? It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship. Are those her ribs through which the Sun 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, The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out; And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting sun. The spectre woman and her death-mate, and no other, on board the skeleton-ship. Like vessel, like crew! Death and Life-in-death have diced for the ships' crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient mariner. No twilight within the courts of the Sun. We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, At the rising of the Moon, My life-blood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white; Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright star One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, Four times fifty living men, One after another, His ship-mates drop down dead; |