Approacheth "The skiff-boat neared-I heard them talk: Where are those lights, so many and fair, the ship with "Strange, by my faith!' the hermit said— 'And they answered not our cheer ! wonder. The planks look warped! and see those sails, I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were "Brown 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, "Dear Lord! It hath a fiendish look,' 'I am a-feared'—'Push on, push on !' "The boat came closer to the ship, The boat came close beneath the ship, The ship sud-Under the water it rumbled on, It reached the ship, it split the bay— The Ancient "Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Mariner is saved in the Which sky and ocean smote, pilot's boat. Like one that hath been seven days drowned 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 span round and round; And all was still, save that the hill "I moved my lips-the pilot shrieked The holy hermit raised his eyes, "I took the oars; the pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed 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 my own countree, The hermit stepped forth from the boat, "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'The hermit crossed his brow: 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou?" "Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale And then it left me free.. The Ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him and the penance of life falls on him. "Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns ; And till my ghastly tale is told This heart within me burns. And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land tu land. And to teach by his own ex "I pass, like night, from land to land; I know the man that must hear me "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 't was, that God himself “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, Farewell! farewell! but this I tell ample, love To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! and reverence to all things He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. that God made and loveth. "He prayeth best who loveth best The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Is gone. And now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn ; A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERidge. Dejection: AN ODE. Late, late yestreen, I saw the new Moon, And I fear, I fear, my master dear, We shall have a deadly storm. Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence. I. LL! if the bard was weather-wise, who made WELL The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draught, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this Æolian lute, Which better far were mute. For lo! the new moon winter-bright ! And overspread with phantom light, (With swimming phantom light o'erspread, But rimmed and circled by a silver thread), I see the old moon in her lap, foretelling The coming on of rain and squally blast. And O! that even now the gust were swelling, And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! II. A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, O lady! in this wan and heartless mood, Those stars, that glide behind them or between, In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair,— I see, not feel, how beautiful they are! My genial spirits fail, III. And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavor, Though I should gaze forever On that green light that lingers in the west : The passion and the life, whose fountains are within. |