An Angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew, it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!
And that, unknowing what he did,
He leapt amid a murd’rous Band,
And sav’d 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 craz’d his Brain
And that she nurs’d 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 falt’ring 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 maiden shame;
And, like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her Bosom heav’d — she stepp’d aside;
As conscious of my Look, she stepp’d —
Then suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half inclosed me with her arms,
She press’d me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head look’d up,
And gaz’d 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 Tears; and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin Pride.
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride!
THE MAD MOTHER.
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,
Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,
And she came far from over the main.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone;
And underneath the hay-stack warm,
And on the green-wood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among;
And it was in the English tongue.
”Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
And I am happy when I sing
Full many a sad and doleful thing:
Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
I pray thee have no fear of me,
But, safe as in a cradle, here
My lovely baby! thou shalt be,
To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe.”
A fire was once within my brain;
And in my head a dull, dull pain;
And fiendish faces one, two, three,
Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.
But then there came a sight of joy;
It came at once to do me good;
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood;
Oh joy for me that sight to see!
For he was here, and only he.
Suck, little babe, oh suck again!
It cools my blood; it cools my brain;
Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Oh! press me with thy little hand;
It loosens something at my chest;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers press’d.
The breeze I see is in the tree;
It comes to cool my babe and me.
Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
Thou art thy mother’s only joy;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o’er the sea-rock’s edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul;
Then happy lie, for blest am I;
Without me my sweet babe would die.
Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
Bold as a lion I will be;
And I will always be thy guide,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
I’ll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed:
And if from me thou wilt not go.
But still be true ‘till I am dead,
My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing,
As merry as the birds in spring.
Thy father cares not for my breast,
’Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest:
’Tis all thine own! and if its hue
Be changed, that was so fair to view,
’Tis fair enough for thee, my dove!
My beauty, little child, is flown;
But thou will live with me in love,
And what if my poor cheek be brown?
’Tis well for me, thou canst not see
How pale and wan it else would be.
Dread not their taunts, my little life!
I am thy father’s wedded wife;
And underneath the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.
If his sweet boy he could forsake,
With me he never would have stay’d:
From him no harm my babe can take,
But he, poor man! is wretched made,
And every day we two will pray
For him that’s gone and far away.
I’ll teach my boy the sweetest things;
I’ll teach him how the owlet sings.
My little babe! thy lips are still,
And thou hast almost suck’d thy fill.
— Where art thou gone my own dear child?
What wicked looks are those I see?
Alas! alas! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me:
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Then I must be for ever sad.
Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
For I thy own dear mother am.
My love for thee has well been tried:
I’ve sought thy father far and wide.
I know the poisons of the shade,
I know the earth-nuts fit for food;
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
We’ll find thy father in the wood.
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
And there, my babe; we’ll live for aye.
THE ANCIENT MARINER. (COLERIDGE)
A POET’S REVERIE.
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
ARGUMENT.
How a Ship, having first sailed to the Equator, was driven by Storms, to the cold Country towards the South Pole; how the Ancient Mariner cruelly, and in contempt of the laws of hospitality, killed a Sea-bird; and how he was followed by many and strange Judgements; and in what manner he came back to his own Country.
THE ANCIENT MARINER.
A POET’S REVERIE.
I.
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three:
”By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
Now wherefore stoppest me?”
”The Bridegroom’s doors are open’d wide
And I am next of kin;
The Guests are met, the Feast is set, —
May’st hear the merry din.”
But still he holds the wedding guest —
”There was a Ship,
quoth he — ”
”Nay, if thou’st got a laughsome tale,
Mariner! come with me.”
He holds him with his skinny hand,
Quoth he, there was a Ship —
”Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon
Or my Staff shall make thee skip.”
He holds him with his glittering eye —
The wedding guest stood still
And listens like a three year’s child;
The Mariner hath his will.
The wedding-guest sate on a stone,
He cannot chuse but hear:
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
The Ship was cheer’d, the Harbour clear’d —
Merrily did we drop
Below the Kirk, below the Hill,
Below the Light-house top.
The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the Sea came he:
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the Sea.
Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon —
The wedding-guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath pac’d into the Hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry Minstralsy.
The wedding-guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot chuse but hear:
And thus spake on that ancient Man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
But now the Northwind came more fierce,
There came a Tempest strong!
And Southward still for days and weeks
Like Chaff we drove along.
And now there came both Mist and Snow,
And it grew wond’rous cold;
And Ice mast-high came floating by
As green as Emerald.
And thro’ the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen;
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken —
The Ice was all between.
The Ice was here, the Ice was there,
The Ice was all around:
It crack’d and growl’d, and roar’d and howl’d —
A wild and ceaseless sound.
At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the Fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian Soul,
We hail’d it in God’s name.
The Mariners gave it biscuit-worms,
And round and round it flew:
The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit;
The Helmsman steer’d us thro’.
And a good south wind sprung up behind.
The Albatross did follow;
And every day for food or play
Came to the Mariner’s hollo!
In mist or cloud on mast or shroud
It perch’d for vespers nine,
Whiles all the night thro’ fog-smoke white
Glimmer’d the white moon-shine.
”God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends that plague thee thus — ”
”Why look’st thou so? — with my cross bow
I shot the Albatross.”
II:
The Sun now rose upon the right,
Out of the Sea came he;
Still hid in mist; and on the left
Went down into the Sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet Bird did follow
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the Mariner’s hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing
And it would work e’m woe:
For all averr’d, I had kill’d the Bird
That made the Breeze to blow.
Nor dim nor red, like an Angel’s head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averr’d, I had kill’d the Bird
That brought the fog and mist.
’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay
That bring the fog and mist.
The breezes blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow follow’d free:
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent Sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,
’Twas sad as sad could be
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the Sea.
All in a hot and copper sky
The bloody sun at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion,
As idle as a painted Ship
Upon a painted Ocean.
Water, water, every where
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deeps 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 danc’d at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils.
Burnt green and blue and white.
And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so:
Nine fathom deep he had follow’d us
From the Land of Mist and Snow.
And every tongue thro’ utter drouth
Was wither’d at the root;
We could not speak no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young;
Instead of the Cross the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
III.
So past a weary time; each throat
Was parch’d, and glaz’d each eye,
When, looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.
At first it seem’d a little speck
And then it seem’d a mist:
It mov’d and mov’d, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it near’d and near’d;
And, as if it dodg’d a water-sprite,
It plung’d and tack’d and veer’d.
With throat unslack’d, with black lips bak’d
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Thro’ utter drouth all dumb we stood
Till I bit my arm and suck’d the blood,
And cry’d, A sail! a sail!
With throat unslack’d, with black lips bak’d
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin
And all at once their breath drew in
As they were drinking all.
See! See! (I cry’d) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal
Without a breeze, without a tide
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 nears and nears!
Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun
Like restless gossameres?
Are those her Ribs, thro’ which the Sun
Did peer, as thro’ a grate?
And are those two all, all her crew.
That Woman, and her Mate?
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 were patch’d with purple and green.
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
And she was far liker Death than he;
Her flesh made 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 between 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, 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 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 ghastly 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,
Nor rot, nor reek did they;
The look with which they look’d on me,
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 30
