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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 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 Skylark 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.

      Till noon 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

       Without or 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 Mariner’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 eyes from theirs

       Nor turn them up to pray.

      And now this spell was snapt: once more

       I view’d the ocean green,

       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 breath’d a wind on me,

       Nor sound nor 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 lighthouse top I see?

       Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?

      

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