Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  She steddies 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 strait the Sun was fleck’d with bars

  (Heaven’s mother send us grace)

  As if thro’ a dungeon grate he peer’d

  With broad and burning face.

  Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)

  How fast she neres and neres!

  Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun

  Like restless gossameres?

  Are these her naked ribs, which fleck’d

  The sun that did behind them peer?

  And are these two all, all the crew,

  That woman and her fleshless Pheere?

  His bones were black with many a crack,

  All black and bare, I ween;

  Jet-black and bare, save where with rust

  Of mouldy damps and charnel crust

  They’re patch’d with purple and green.

  Her lips are red, her looks are free,

  Her locks are yellow as gold:

  Her skin is as white as leprosy,

  And she is far liker Death than he;

  Her flesh makes the still air cold.

  The naked Hulk alongside came

  And the Twain were playing dice;

  “The Game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!”

  Quoth she, and whistled thrice.

  A gust of wind sterte up behind

  And whistled thro’ his bones;

  Thro’ the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth

  Half-whistles and half-groans.

  With never a whisper in the Sea

  Off darts the Spectre-ship;

  While clombe above the Eastern bar

  The horned Moon, with one bright Star

  Almost atween the tips.

  One after one by the horned Moon

  (Listen, O Stranger! to me)

  Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang

  And curs’d me with his ee.

  Four times fifty living men,

  With never a sigh or groan,

  With heavy thump, a lifeless lump

  They dropp’d down one by one.

  Their 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.

  IV.

  “I fear thee, ancyent Marinere!

  ”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 the wide wide Sea;

  And Christ would take no pity on

  My soul in agony.

  The many men so beautiful,

  And they all dead did lie!

  And a million million slimy things

  Liv’d on — and so did I.

  I look’d upon the rotting Sea,

  And drew my eyes away;

  I look’d upon the eldritch deck,

  And there the dead men lay.

  I look’d to Heaven, and try’d to pray;

  But or ever a prayer had gusht,

  A wicked whisper came and made

  My heart as dry as dust.

  I clos’d my lids and kept them close,

  Till the balls like pulses beat;

  For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky

  Lay like a load on my weary eye,

  And the dead were at my feet.

  The cold sweat melted from their limbs,

  Ne rot, ne 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 O! 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 no where did abide:

  Softly she was going up

  And a star or two beside —

  Her beams bemock’d the sultry main

  Like morning frosts yspread;

  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 mov’d 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.

  V.

  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,

  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.

  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;

  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!

  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 steerd, the ship mov’d on;

  Yet never a breeze up-blew;

  The Marineres all ‘gan work the ropes,

  Where they were wont to do:

  They rais’d their limbs like lifeless tools —

  We were a ghastly crew.

  The body of my b
rother’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:

  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

  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

  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

  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 moon we silently sail’d on

  Yet never a breeze did breathe:

  Slowly and smoothly went the ship

  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

  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,

  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.

  VI.

  FIRST VOICE.

  “But tell me, tell me! speak again,

  ”Thy soft response renewing —

  “What makes that ship drive on so fast?

  ”What is the Ocean doing?”

  SECOND VOICE.

  “Still as a Slave before his Lord,

  ”The Ocean hath no blast:

  “His great bright eye most silently

  ”Up to the moon is cast —

  “If he may know which way to go,

  ”For she guides him smooth or grim.

  “See, brother, see! how graciously

  ”She looketh down on him.”

  FIRST VOICE.

  “But why drives on that ship so fast

  ”Withouten 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 Marinere’s trance 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,

  For a charnel-dungeon fitter:

  All fix’d on me their stony eyes

  That in the moon did glitter.

  The pang, the curse, with which they died,

  Had never pass’d away:

  I could not draw my een from theirs

  Ne turn them up to pray.

  And in its time the spell was snapt,

  And I could move my een:

  I look’d far-forth, but little saw

  Of what might else be seen.

  Like one, that on a lonely 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 breath’d a wind on me,

  Ne sound ne motion made:

  Its path was not upon the sea

  In ripple or in shade.

  It rais’d 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.

  Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

  Yet she sail’d softly too:

  Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze —

  On me alone it blew.

  O dream of joy! is this indeed

  The light-house top I see?

  Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?

  Is this mine own countree?

  We drifted o’er the Harbour-bar,

  And I with sobs did pray —

  “O let me be awake, my God!

  ”Or let me sleep alway!”

  The harbour-bay was clear as glass,

  So smoothly it was strewn!

  And on the bay the moon light lay,

  And the shadow of the moon.

  The moonlight bay was white all o’er,

  Till rising from the same,

  Full many shapes, that shadows were,

  Like as of torches came.

  A little distance from the prow

  Those dark-red shadows were;

  But soon I saw that my own flesh

  Was red as in a glare.

  I turn’d my head in fear and dread,

  And by the holy rood,

  The bodies had advanc’d, and now

  Before the mast they stood.

  They lifted up their stiff right arms,

  They held them strait and tight;

  And each right-arm burnt like a torch,

  A torch that’s borne upright.

  Their stony eye-balls glitter’d on

  In the red and smoky light.

  I pray’d and turn’d my head away

  Forth looking as before.

  There was no breeze upon the bay,

  No wave against the shore.

  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 —

  O 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 wav’d his hand:

  It was a heavenly sight:

  They stood as signals to the land,

  Each one a lovely light:

  This seraph-band, each wav’d his hand,

  No voice did they impart —

  No voice; but O! the silence sank,

  Like music on my heart.

  Eftsones I heard the dash of oars,

  I heard the pilot’s cheer:

  My head was turn’d perforce away

  And I saw a boat appear.

  Then vanish’d all the lovely lights;

  The bodies rose anew:

  With silent pace, each to his place,

  Came back the ghastly crew.

  The wind, that shade nor motion made,

  On me alone it blew.

  The pilot, and the pilot’s boy

  I heard them coming fast:

  Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy,

  The dead men could not blast.

  I saw a third — I heard his voice:

  It is the Hermit good!

  He singeth loud his godly hymns

  That he makes in the wood.

  He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away

  The Albatross’s blood.

  VII.

  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 Contrée.

  He kneels at morn and noon and eve —

  He hath a cushion plump:

  It is the moss, that wholly hides

  The rotted old Oak-stump.

  The Skiff-boat ne’rd: 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 —

  ”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 aught 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 has a fiendish look” —

  (The Pilot made reply)

  “I am a-fear’d. — ”Push on, push on!”

  Said the Hermit cheerily.

  The Boat came closer to the Ship,