And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe; For all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird Ah, wretch! said they, the bird to slay Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird That 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 follow'd free; 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, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon 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! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs And some in dreams assured were Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us And every tongue, through utter drought, Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Instead of the cross, the albatross PART III. There past a weary time. Each throat How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A 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 last A certain shape I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape I wist! 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, The western wave was all a-flame, Rested the broad bright sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly And straight the sun was fleck'd with bars, As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the sun, Are those her ribs through which the sun Did 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? |