Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! And now 'twas like all instruments, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased: yet still the sails made on A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, Till noon we silently sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, The sun right up above the mast K Backwards and forwards half her length, With a short uneasy motion. Then, like a pawing horse let go, How long in that same fit I lay, Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey dew: Quoth he,The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'" PART VI. FIRST VOICE. "But tell me, tell me! speak again, If he may know which way to go, FIRST VOICE. 'But why drives on that ship so fast Without or wave or wind?' SECOND VOICE. 'The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high, Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trace is abated.' I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away; I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snap'd: once more And look'd far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd roud, walks on But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek, Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, O dream of joy! is this indeed Is this the hill? Is this the kirk ? We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, The harbour-bay was clear as glass, And the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less The moonlight steeped in silentness And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. |