Water, water, every where 5,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be;

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout,
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were 6
Of the spirit that plagued so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;

We could not speak, no more than if

We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks 7

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the albatross
About my neck was hung.

PART III.

THERE past a weary time.

Each throat

Was parched, and glazed each eye,
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,

When looking westward, I beheld 1
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;

It moved, and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged, and tacked, and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked 2,
We could nor laugh nor wail;

Through utter drought all dumb we stood ;
I bit my arm, I sucked 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 3,

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,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all a-flame,
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun;

When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's mother send us grace!)

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!

Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
Like restless gossameres?

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?

6

Her lips were red, her looks were free 7,
Her locks were yellow as gold;

Her skin was as white as leprosy,

The Night-Mare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks men's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside cames, And the twain were casting dice; "The game is done! I've won, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out 9:
At one stride comes the dark;

With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,

My life blood seemed to sip!

The stars were dim, and thick the night 10, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed

white,

From the sails the dew did drip

Till clomb above the eastern bar

The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon 11,

Too quick for groan or sigh,

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,

And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men 12,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly 13,-
They fled to bliss or woe!

And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!"

PART IV.

"I FEAR thee, ancient Mariner1!

I fear thy skinny hand!

And thou art long, and lank, and brown *,
As is the ribbed sea-sand!

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown."—
Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest 2!
This body dropt not down.

Alone, alone, all, all, alone,

Alone on a wide wide sea!

And never a saint took pity on

My soul in agony.

*For the last two lines of this stauza, I am indebted to Mr. Wordsworth. It was on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to Dulverton, with him and his sister, in the autumn of 1797, that this poem was planned, and in part composed.