| O sleep, it is a gentle thing | |
| Belov'd from pole to pole! | |
| To Mary-queen the praise be yeven | |
| She sent the gentle sleep from heaven | |
That slid into my soul.
| |
| The silly buckets on the deck | |
| That had so long remain'd, | 290 |
| 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 mov'd and could not feel my limbs, | |
| I was so light, almost | |
| I thought that I had died in sleep, | |
And was a blessed Ghost.
| 300 |
| The roaring wind! it roar'd far off, | |
| It did not come anear; | |
| But with its sound it shook the sails | |
That were so thin and sere.
| |
| The upper air bursts into life, | |
| And a hundred fire-flags sheen | |
| To and fro they are hurried about; | |
| And to and fro, and in and out | |
The stars dance on between.
| |
| The coming wind doth roar more loud; | 310 |
| The sails do sigh, like sedge: | |
| The rain pours down from one black cloud | |
And the Moon is at its edge.
| |
| Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft, | |
| And the Moon is at its side: | |
| Like waters shot from some high crag, | |
| The lightning falls with never a jag | |
A river steep and wide.
| |
| The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd | |
| And dropp'd down, like a stone! | 320 |
| Beneath the lightning and the moon | |
The dead men gave a groan.
| |
| They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, | |
| Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes: | |
| It had been strange, even in a dream | |
To have seen those dead men rise.
| |
| The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on; | |
| Yet never a breeze up-blew; | |
| The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes, | |
| Where they were wont to do: | 330 |
| They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools— | |
We were a ghastly crew.
| |
| The body of my brother's son | |
| Stood by me knee to knee: | |
| The body and I pull'd at one rope, | |
| But he said nought to me— | |
| And I quak'd to think of my own voice | |
How frightful it would be!
| |
| The day-light dawn'd—they dropp'd their arms, | |
| And cluster'd round the mast: | 340 |
| Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' 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 sky | |
| I heard the Lavrock sing; | |
| Sometimes all little birds that are | |
| How they seem'd to fill the sea and air | 350 |
With 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 ceas'd: yet still the sails made on | |
| A pleasant noise till noon, | |
| A noise like of a hidden brook | |
| In the leafy month of June, | |
| That to the sleeping woods all night | 360 |
Singeth a quiet tune.
| |
| Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! | |
| "Marinere! thou hast thy will: | |
| "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make | |
"My body and soul to be still."
| |
| Never sadder tale was told | |
| To a man of woman born: | |
| Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! | |
Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.
| |
| Never sadder tale was heard | 370 |
| By a man of woman born: | |
| The Marineres all return'd to work | |
As silent as beforne.
| |
| The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, | |
| But look at me they n'old: | |
| Thought I, I am as thin as air— | |
They cannot me behold.
| |
| Till noon we silently sail'd on | |
| Yet never a breeze did breathe: | |
| Slowly and smoothly went the ship | 380 |
Mov'd onward from beneath.
| |
| Under the keel nine fathom deep | |
| From the land of mist and snow | |
| The spirit slid: and it was He | |
| That 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 | 390 |
| With a short uneasy motion— | |
| Backwards and forwards half her length | |
With 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 into a swound.
| |
| How long in that same fit I lay, | |
| I have not to declare; | |
| But ere my living life return'd, | 400 |
| I heard and in my soul discern'd | |
Two voices in the air,
| |
| "Is it he? quoth one, "Is this the man? | |
| "By him who died on cross, | |
| "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low | |
"The harmless Albatross.
| |
| "The spirit who bideth by himself | |
| "In the land of mist and snow, | |
| "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man | |
"Who 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. | |