Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition)

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 een from theirs

Ne 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 saw

Of what might else be seen.

Like one, that on a lonely road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turn’d round, walks on

And turns no more his head:

Because he knows, a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breath’d a wind on me,

Ne sound ne motion made:

Its path was not upon the sea

In ripple or in shade.

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,

Yet she sail’d softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze —

On me alone it blew.

O dream of joy! is this indeed

The 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 moon light lay,

And the shadow of the moon.

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 prow

Those dark-red shadows were;

But soon I saw that my own flesh

Was red as in a glare.

I turn’d my head in fear and dread,

And by the holy rood,

The bodies had advanc’d, and now

Before 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,

A torch that’s borne upright.

Their stony eyeballs glitter’d on

In the red and smoky light.

I pray’d and turn’d my head away

Forth looking as before.

There was no breeze upon the bay,

No wave against the shore.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less

That stands above the rock:

The moonlight steep’d in silentness

The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,

Till rising from the same

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow

Those 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 wav’d his hand:

It was a heavenly sight:

They 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,

Like music on my heart.

Eftsones 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.

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,

On me alone it blew.

The pilot, and the pilot’s boy

I heard them coming fast:

Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,

The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third — I heard his voice:

It is the Hermit good!

He singeth loud his godly hymns

That he makes in the wood.

He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away

The Albatross’s blood.

VII.

This Hermit good lives in that wood

Which slopes down to the Sea.

How loudly his sweet voice he rears!

He loves to talk with Marineres

That come from a far Contrée.

He kneels at morn and noon and eve —

He hath a cushion plump:

It is the moss, that wholly hides

The rotted old Oak-stump.

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 —

”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

“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-wolf’s young.

“Dear Lord! it has 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 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:

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 drown’d

My body lay afloat:

But, swift as dreams, myself I found

Within the Pilot’s boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship,

The boat spun round and round:

And all was still, save that the hill

Was telling of the sound.

I mov’d my lips: the Pilot shriek’d

And fell down in a fit.

The Holy Hermit rais’d 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 while

His eyes went to and fro,

“Ha! ha!” quoth he—”full plain I see,

”The devil knows how to row.”

And now all in mine own Countrée

I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepp’d forth from the boat,

And 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?”

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench’d

With a woeful agony,

Which forc’d me to begin my tale

And then it left me free.

Since then at an uncertain hour,

Now oftimes and now fewer,

That anguish comes and makes me tell

My ghastly aventure.

I pass, like night, from land to land;

I have strange power of speech;

The 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 Bride

And Bride-maids singing are:

And hark the little Vesper-bell

Which biddeth me to prayer.

O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been

Alone on a wide wide sea:

So lonely ‘twas, that God himself

Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the Marriage-feast,

’Tis sweeter far to me

To walk together to the Kirk

With 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.

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell

To thee, thou wedding-guest!

He prayeth well who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best,