Lyrical Ballads, With a Few Other Poems (1798) Part 2

The body of my brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull'd at one rope, But he said nought to me-- And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be!

The day-light dawn'd--they dropp'd their arms, And cl.u.s.ter'd round the mast: Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths And from their bodies pa.s.s'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 Lavrock 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.

Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!

"Marinere! thou hast thy will: "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still."

Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!

Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return'd to work As silent as beforne.

The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old: Thought I, I am as thin as air-- They cannot me behold.

Till moon 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 "Withouten 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 Marinere'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 pa.s.s'd away: I could not draw my een from theirs Ne turn them up to pray.

And in its time the spell was snapt, And I could move my een: I look'd far-forth, but little saw Of what might else be seen.

Like one, that on a lonely 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, Ne sound ne 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 light-house top I see?

Is this the Hill? Is this the Kirk?

Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- "O let me be awake, my G.o.d!

"Or let me sleep alway!"

The harbour-bay was clear as gla.s.s, So smoothly it was strewn!

And on the bay the moon light lay, And the shadow of the moon.

The moonlight bay was white all o'er, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, Like as of torches came.

A little distance from the prow Those dark-red shadows were; But soon I saw that my own flesh Was red as in a glare.

I turn'd my head in fear and dread, And by the holy rood, The bodies had advanc'd, and now Before the mast they stood.

They lifted up their stiff right arms, They held them strait and tight; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, A torch that's borne upright.

Their stony eye-b.a.l.l.s glitter'd on In the red and smoky light.

I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before.

There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the sh.o.r.e.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock: The moonlight steep'd in silentness The steady weatherc.o.c.k.