Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 98

PART 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 mariners' hollo!

His s.h.i.+pmates cry out against the ancient Mariner for killing the bird of good luck.

And I had done an h.e.l.lish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird That made the breeze to blow.

Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow!

But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime.

Nor dim nor red, like G.o.d's own 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 fair breeze continues; the s.h.i.+p enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea.

The s.h.i.+p hath been suddenly becalmed.

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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 s.h.i.+p Upon a painted ocean.

And the Albatross begins to be avenged.

Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, 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.

A Spirit had followed them; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.

And some in dreams a.s.sured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought, Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot.

The s.h.i.+pmates in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient Mariner: in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young!

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

PART III

'There pa.s.sed a weary time. Each throat Was parch'd, and glazed each eye.

A weary time! a weary time!

How glazed each weary eye!

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

The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar off.

At first it seem'd a little speck, And then it seem'd 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 near'd and near'd: As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged, and tack'd, and veer'd.

At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a s.h.i.+p; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood!

I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!

A flash of joy;

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all.

And horror follows. For can it be a s.h.i.+p that comes onward without wind or tide?

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 aflame, The day was wellnigh done!

Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad, bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.

It seemeth him but the skeleton of a s.h.i.+p.

And straight the Sun was fleck'd with bars (Heaven's Mother send us grace!), As if through 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?

And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun. The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton s.h.i.+p. Like vessel, like crew!

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?

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the s.h.i.+p's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner.

The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; "The game is done! I've won! I've won!"

Quoth she, and whistles thrice.