The sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: Backward and forward half her length, Then like a pawing horse let go; How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard, and in my soul discerned 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 laid full low "The Spirit who bideth by himself He loved the bird that loved the man The other was a softer voice, Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, PART 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, The pang, the curse, with which they died, I could not draw my eyes from theirs, And now this spell was snapt; once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen Like one that on a lonesome road And, having once turned round, walks on, Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Its path was not upon the sea, It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek, Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, O dream of joy! is this indeed Is this the hill? Is this the kirk? We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, The harbor-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less The moonlight steeped in silentness, And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes that shadows were, In crimson colors came. A little distance from the prow Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, A man all light, a seraph man, This seraph-band, each waved his hand; They stood as signals to the land, This seraph-band, each waved his hand No voice; but oh! the silence sank But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, The pilot and the pilot's boy, Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy I saw a third-I heard his voice, It is a hermit good! He singeth loud his Godly hymns He'll shrive my soul, he'll wash away PART VII. This hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with mariners That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve― It is the moss that wholly hides The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk. 'Strange, by my faith!' the hermit said- The planks looked 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 is heavy with snow, 'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look I am a-feared.'-'Push on, push on!' The boat came closer to the ship 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 I moved my lips-the pilot shrieked And hark, the little vesper bell, O Wedding Guest! this soul hath been So lonely 'twas, that God himself O sweeter than the marriage feast, To walk together to the kirk To walk together to the kirk, While each to his great Father bends- Farewell! farewell! but this I tell He prayeth best who loveth best The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Is gone. And now the Wedding Guest He went like one that hath been stunned, A sadder and a wiser man -Samuel Taylor Coleridge. When ye would elude our eyes. As gay, as gamesome and as blithe, It may be, that your ceaseless gambols, Is but the task of weary pain, An endless labor, dull and vain; And while your forms are gaily shining, -Hartley Coleridge. HE sun is low, as ocean's flow TH On the Beach. Heaves to the strand in breakers white; And sea-birds seek their wild retreat Where the cliffs reflect the fading light. The billow gleams in parting beams, And sighs upon the lonely shore, Whilst childhood stands upon the sands To greet the coming fisher's oar. Swift to my heart the waves impart Another dream of restless life, As some proud mind the fierce fates bind, Or doom to vain and endless strife. The waves are bright with peace to-night, And gladly bound 'neath summer's reign; I tread the verge of the shelving surge, To muse upon its wild refrain. O deep! thy winds, in murmuring chimes Sweet to my ear, my love implore, Thou dost enthral with siren call, And tempt me from thy peaceful shore! Yes, o'er the graves, thy heaving waves, A stern delight with danger dwells; There's buoyant life amid thy strife, And rapture in thy lonely dells. E'en in thy wrath, thy surging path Hath peril's joy beyond thy shores! Amid the glare of their despair, The soul above thy terror soars. But 'neath thy smile there's death and wile, The dark abyss, the waiting grave! Thy surges close o'er human woes On distant strand, in secret cave! Insatiate sea! oh, where is she Who trod in love thy gathered sands? Thou gavest her back as wreck and wrack, Pallid, to sad, imploring hands! And where is he, O sea! O sea! Who dared thy treacherous crests to ride? The quick command, the hastening hand, Were vain to rescue from thy tide! Yet not in woe the plaint should go Against thee for the storm's behest; Thou'rt but the slave when wild winds rave And tyrant tempests lash thy breast. Doomed in thy keep the fates to meet, Thou dost obey a mightier wrath! Imperious sway commands thy way, And riots in its reckless path. Shall time's swift flight e'er stay thy might That dooms us to thy caves unblest! Or God's right arm thy tides disarm, And soothe to peace thy long unrest? No! still thy waves with moaning staves Shall heave thy gray sands to the shore, Aud thou shalt roll o'er depth and shoal Forever and forevermore! -William Whitehead. |