Journeys Through Bookland Volume Vii Part 8

How loudly his sweet voice he rears!

He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree.

"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 neared: 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 answered not our cheer.

The planks look warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere!

I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were

"'Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod[53-41] is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young.'

"'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look!'

(The Pilot made reply) 'I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!'

Said the Hermit cheerily.

"The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard.

"Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead.

"Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat.

"Upon the whirl where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound.

"I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit.

"I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro.

'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row.'

"And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'O SHRIEVE ME, SHRIEVE ME, HOLY MAN']

"'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'

The Hermit crossed his brow.

'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say-- What manner of man art thou?'

"Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woeful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free.

"Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns.

"I pa.s.s, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; The moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.

"What loud uproar bursts from that door!

The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bridesmaids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer!

"O Wedding-guest! This soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that G.o.d himself Scarce seemed there to be.

"O sweeter than the marriage feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!

"To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!

"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-guest!

He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

"He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear G.o.d who loveth us, He made and loveth all."[57-42]

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is h.o.a.r, Is gone: and now the Wedding-guest Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.

FOOTNOTES:

[29-*] NOTE.--In 1798 there was published in England a little volume of poems known as _Lyrical Ballads_. This collection brought to its two young authors, Wordsworth and Coleridge, little immediate fame, but not long afterward people began to realize that much that was contained in the little book was real poetry, and great poetry. The chief contribution of Coleridge to this venture was _The Ancient Mariner_.

The poem as originally printed had a series of quaintly explanatory notes in the margin, and an introductory argument which read as follows:

"How a ship having pa.s.sed the Line, was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical lat.i.tudes of the great Pacific Ocean, and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancient Mariner came back to his own country."

[30-1] _Eftsoons_ means _quickly_. The poem is written in ballad form, and many quaint old words are introduced.

[30-2] Such rhymes as this--_Mariner_ with _hear_,--were common in the old ballads which Coleridge so perfectly imitates.

[30-3] Does this line tell you anything about the direction in which they were sailing?

[30-4] Where was the ship when the sun stood "over the mast at noon"?

[31-5] Two words are to be understood in this line--"As _one_ who _is_ pursued."

[31-6] Is not this an effective line? Can you think of any way in which the closeness of the foe could be more effectively suggested?

[32-7] Coleridge's wonderful power of painting word-pictures is shown in this and the succeeding stanzas. With the simplest language he makes us realize the absolute lonesomeness and desolateness of the scene: he produces in us something of the same feeling of awe and horror that we should have were we actually in the situation he describes.

[32-8] _Clifts_ means _cleft rocks_.

[32-9] "Like noises _one hears_ in a swound."

[32-10] _Thorough_ is used here instead of _through_, as it often is in poetry, for the sake of the meter.

[32-11] Besides the joy the sailors felt at seeing a living creature after the days in which they had seen "nor shapes of men nor beasts,"

they had a special pleasure in welcoming the albatross because it was regarded as a bird of good omen.

[34-12] Coleridge does not state that it was the albatross that brought the "good south wind:" he lets us infer it.

[34-13] In what direction were they sailing now?