The Rime of the Ancient Mariner | Page 4

a water-sprite,?It plunged and tacked and veered.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,?We could not laugh nor wail;?Through utter drought all dumb we stood!?I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,?And cried, A sail! a sail!
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,?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 cried) she tacks no more!?Hither to work us weal;?Without a breeze, without a tide,?She steadies 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 straight the Sun was flecked with bars,?(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)?As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,?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 through which the Sun?Did peer, as through a grate??And is that Woman all her crew??Is that a DEATH? and are there two??Is DEATH that woman's mate?
Her lips were red, her looks were free,?Her locks were yellow as gold:?Her skin was as white as leprosy,?The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,?Who thicks man's blood with cold.
The naked hulk alongside came,?And the twain were casting dice;?"The game is done! I've won! I've won!"?Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:?At one stride comes the dark;?With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea.?Off shot the spectre-bark.
We listened and looked sideways up!?Fear at my heart, as at a cup,?My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,?The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;?From the sails the dew did drip--?Till clombe above the eastern bar?The horned Moon, with one bright star?Within the nether tip.
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon?Too quick for groan or sigh,?Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,?And cursed me with his eye.
Four times fifty living men,?(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)?With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,?They dropped down one by one.
The souls did from their bodies fly,--?They fled to bliss or woe!?And every soul, it passed me by,?Like the whizz of my CROSS-BOW!
PART THE FOURTH.
"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!?I fear thy skinny hand!?And thou art long, and lank, and brown,?As is the ribbed sea-sand.
"I fear thee and thy glittering eye,?And thy skinny hand, so brown."--?Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!?This body dropt not down.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,?Alone on a wide wide sea!?And never a saint took pity on?My soul in agony.
The many men, so beautiful!?And they all dead did lie:?And a thousand thousand slimy things?Lived on; and so did I
I looked upon the rotting sea,?And drew my eyes away;?I looked upon the rotting deck,?And there the dead men lay.
I looked to Heaven, and tried to pray:?But or ever a prayer had gusht,?A wicked whisper came, and made?my heart as dry as dust.
I closed my lids, and kept them close,?And the balls like pulses beat;?For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky?Lay like a load on my weary eye,?And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,?Nor rot nor reek did they:?The look with which they looked on me?Had never passed away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell?A spirit from on high;?But oh! more horrible than that?Is a curse in a dead man's eye!?Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,?And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky,?And no where did abide:?Softly she was going up,?And a star or two beside.
Her beams bemocked the sultry main,?Like April hoar-frost spread;?But where the ship's huge shadow lay,?The charmed water burnt alway?A still and awful red.
Beyond the shadow of the ship,?I watched the water-snakes:?They moved in tracks of shining white,?And when they reared, the elfish light?Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship?I watched their rich attire:?Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,?They coiled and swam; and every track?Was a flash of golden fire.
O happy living things! no tongue?Their beauty might declare:?A spring of love gushed from my heart,?And I blessed them unaware:?Sure my kind saint took pity on me,?And I blessed them unaware.
The self same moment I could pray;?And from my neck so free?The Albatross fell off, and sank?Like lead into the sea.
PART THE FIFTH.
Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,?Beloved from pole to pole!?To Mary Queen the praise be given!?She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,?That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck,?That had so long remained,?I dreamt that they were filled with dew;?And when I awoke, it rained.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,?My garments all were dank;?Sure I had drunken in my dreams,?And still my body drank.
I moved, and could not feel my limbs:?I was so light--almost?I thought that I had died in