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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

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