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“O 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
And was a blessed Ghost.
And soon I heard a roaring wind,
It did not come anear ;
But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.
air burst into life,
The wan stars danced between.
And the coming wind did roar more loud ;
And the sails did sigh like sedge : And the rain poured down from one black cloud
The moon was at its edge.
The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side :
Like waters shot from some high crag,
A river steep and wide.
The loud wind never reached the Ship,
Yet now the Ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes : It had been strange, even in a dream
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
Where they were wont to do :
We were a ghastly crew.
The body of my
brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pulled 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 dawned they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast : Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun :
Now mixed, now one by one.
Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the Sky-lark sing ;
Sometimes all little birds that are
How they seemed 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 ceased : yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
In the leafy month of June,
Singeth a quiet tune.