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"The souls did from their bodies fly,—

They fled to bliss or woe!

And every soul, it pass'd, me by,

Like the whiz of my cross-bow!"

PART IV.

"I FEAR thee, ancient mariner!

I fear thy skinny hand!

And thou art long, and lank, and brown,

As is the ribb'd sea-sand.

"I fear thee and thy glittering eye,

And thy skinny hand, so brown.""Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest! 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.

"The many men, so beautiful!

And they all dead did lie:

And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

"I look'd upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;

I look'd upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

"I look'd to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.

"I closed my lids, and kept them close,

And the balls like pulses beat;

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For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the
Lay, like a cloud, on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

"The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they :

The look with which they look'd on me
Had never pass'd away.

"An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high:

But oh! more horrible than that

Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

"The moving moon went up the sky,
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,

And a star or two beside

"Her beams bemock'd the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmed water burnt alway
A still and awful red.
"Beyond the shadow of the ship,

I watch'd the water snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they rear'd, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

"Within the shadow of the ship

I watch'd their rich attire ; Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coil'd and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.

"O happy living things! no tongue

Their beauty might declare;

A spring of love gusht from my heart,
And I bless'd them unaware!
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I bless'd them unaware.

"The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea."

PART V.

"O SLEEP! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!

To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
That slid into my soul.

"The silly buckets on the deck,

That had so long remain'd,

I dreamt that they were fill'd with dews;
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 moved, and could not feel
I was so light-almost

my

limbs :

I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

"And soon I heard a roaring wind:

It did not come anear;

But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

"The upper air burst into life!

And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about; And to and fro, and in and out,

The wan stars danced between.

"And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain pour'd down from one black cloud;
The moon was at its edge.

"The thick black cloud was cleft, and still

The moon was at its side;

Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

"The loud wind never reach'd the ship
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

"They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;

It had been strange, even in a dream,

To have seen those dead men rise.

"The helmsman steer'd, the ship moved on:
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do:

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They raised 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."

"I fear thee, ancient mariner!"

"Be calm thou, wedding-guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again,

But a troop of spirits blest:

"For when it dawn'd-they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast;

Sweet sounds rose slowly through 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 sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seem'd to fill the sea and air
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 ceased; 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
Singeth a quiet tune.

"Till noon we quietly sail'd on,

Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved 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 fixt her to the ocean;
But in a minute she 'gan stir,

With a short uneasy motion-
Backwards and forwards half her length,
With a short uneasy motion.

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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 round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

"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 fann'd my cheek,
Like a meadow-gale of spring-
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

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"The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock:

The moonlight steep'd in silentness
The steady weathercock.

"And the bay was white with silent light, Till, rising from the same,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

"A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

"Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

"This seraph-band, each waved his hand :
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light:

"This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart

No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

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"THIS hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres

That come from a far countree.

"He kneels at morn, and noon, and eveHe hath a cushion plump:

It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak stump.

"The skiff-boat near'd: I heard them talk, Why this is strange, I trow!

Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?'

"Strange, by my faith!' the hermit said

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And they answer'd not our cheer!

The planks look warp'd! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!

I never saw ought like to them,
Unless perchance it were

"The 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,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'

"Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look'-
(The pilot made reply)—

I am afeared'-Push on, push on!'
Said the hermit cheerily.

"The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirr'd;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

"Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reach'd the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

"Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,

Which sky and ocean smote,

Like one that hath been seven days drown'd,

My body lay afloat;

But swift as dreams, myself I found

Within the pilot's boat.

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Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill

Was telling of the sound.

“I moved my lips—the pilot shriek’d
And fell down in a fit;
The holy hermit raised his eyes,
And pray'd where he did sit.

"I took the oars: the pilot's boy,

Who now doth crazy go,

Laugh'd 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,

I stood on the firm land!
The hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'
The hermit cross'd his brow.
Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say-
What manner of man art thou?'

"Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd

With a woeful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale;

And then it left me free.

"Since then, at an uncertain hour,

That agony returns;

And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

"I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me :
To him my tale I teach.

"What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there;

But in the garden bower the bride

And bridemaids 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
Scarce seemed there to be.

"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,

And youths and maidens gay!
"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou wedding-guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man, and bird, and beast.

"He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."

The mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone; and now the wedding-guest
Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunn'd,
And is of sense forlorn :

A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

LOVE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,

The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listen'd to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own
My hope my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.
I play'd a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story-
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace, For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he woo'd
The lady of the land.

I told her how he pined; and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,

Interpreted my own.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace; And she forgave me, that I gazed

Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn

That crazed that bold and lovely knight, And that he cross'd the mountain woods, Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,

And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once

In green and sunny glade,

There came and look'd him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a fiend,
This miserable knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,

He leap'd amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage worse than death The lady of the land!

And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees; And how she tended him in vain

And ever strove to expiate

The scorn that crazed his brain; And that she nursed him in a cave; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest leaves

A dying man he lay;

His dying words-but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturb'd her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense

Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve; The music, and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherish'd long!

She wept with pity and delight,

She blush'd with love, and virgin shame; And, like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved-she stept aside,
As conscious of my look she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,

She fled to me and wept.

She half-enclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, look'd up,
And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.

I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;

And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous bride.

THE PAINS OF SLEEP.

ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees:
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to love compose,

In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,

No wish conceived, no thought express'd,
Only a sense of supplication;

A sense o'er all my soul impress'd
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, everywhere
Eternal strength and wisdom are.
But yesternight I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd

Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me ·
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,

And whom I scorn'd, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mix'd,
On wild or hateful objects fix'd.
Fantastic passions: maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deed to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know,
Whether I suffer'd, or I did:

For all seem'd guilt, remorse, or wo,
My own or others', still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights pass'd: the night's dismay
Sadden'd and stunn'd the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seem'd to me
Distemper's worst calamity.

The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;

And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due

To natures deepliest stain'd with sin,— For aye entempesting anew

The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,

And whom I love, I love indeed.

CONCEALMENT.

TIME, as he courses onward, still unrolls
The volume of Concealment. In the future,
As in the optician's glassy cylinder,
The indistinguishable blots and colours

Of the dim past collect and shape themselves,
Upstarting in their own completed image
To scare or to reward.

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