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cFrom The Oxford Book of English Verse 1250 - 1918
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Part I
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one three.
'By thy long grey beard and  glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
(An ancient Mariner meeteth 3 gallants
 bidden to a wedding feast, and detaineth
 one.)
The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'
He holds him with his skinny hand,
 'There was a ship,' quoth he.
 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
 Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
He holds him with his glittering eye-
The Wedding-guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.
(The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by 
the eye of the old seafaring man and
 constrained to hear his tale)
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stope:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
'The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirt, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.
The Sun came up upon the left
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.
(The Mariner tells how the ship sailed south 
with a good wind and fair weather, till it
 reached the Line)
Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon----'
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.
The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
(The Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal 
music;  but the Mariner continueth his tale)
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
'And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
(The ship driven by a storm towards the
South Pole)
With sloping mast and dipping
prow. As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the blast,
And southward aye we fled.
And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondeous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
And through the drifts the snowy clifs
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken---
The ice was all between.
(The land of ice, and of fearful sounds, 
where no living thing was to be seen.)
The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and  howl'd,
Like noises  in a swound!
At length did cross an Albatross,
Through the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hail'd it in God's name.
(Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, 
came through the snow-fog, and was
received with joy and hospitality.)
It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did spil with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steer'd us through!
And a good south wing sprng up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' hollo!
(And lo! the Albatross a bird of god omen,
and followeth the ship as it returned 
northward through the fog and floating ice)
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perch'd for vespers nine;
While all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmer'd the white moonshine.'
'God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
Why look'st thou so?'-'With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross.
(The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth 
the pious bird of good omen)
Part II
'The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!
And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averr'd I had kill'd the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!
(His shipmates cry out against the ancient 
Mariner for killing the bird of good luck.) 
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averr'd I had kill'd the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such bird to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
(But when the fog cleared off, they justify 
the same, and thus make themselves accomplices
in the crime.)
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow follow'd free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
(The fair breeze continues; the ship enters 
the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even 
till it reaches the Line)
Down drop the breeze, the sail dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
(The ship, hath been suddenly becalmed.)
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere
Nor any drop to drink.
(And the Albatross begins to be avenged.)
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy thing did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires dance at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.
And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us
From the land of mist and snow.
(A Spirit had follwed them one of the invisible 
inhabitants of this planet, neither departed 
souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned 
Jew, Josephus, and the platonic Constinopolitan; 
Micheal Psellus, may be consulted. They are
very numerous, and there is no climate or
element without one or more.)
And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was wither'd at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
(The shipmates in their sore distress, would 
fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient 
Mariner in sign whereof they hang the dead 
sea-bird round his neck.)
Part III
'There passes a weary time. Each throat
Was parch'd, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye!
When, looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.
(The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign 
in the element afar off.)
At first it seem'd a little speck,
And then it seem'd a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, I wist!
And still it near'd and near'd:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged, and tack'd and veer'd.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!
(At its nearer approach it seemeth him to be 
a ship and at a dear ransom he freeth his 
speech from the bonds of thirst.)
With throats unslaked, with black lips backed,
Agape they heard me call:
Grammercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.
(A flash of joy;)
See! see! (I cried) she tack no more!
Hither to work us weal--
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
( And horror follows. For can it be a ship 
that comes onward without wind or tide?)
The western wave was all aflame,
The day was wellnigh 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 fleck'd with bars
(Heaven's  Mother send us grace!),
As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd
With broad and burning face.
(It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship.)
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like rearless gossameres?
Are those her ribs though which the Sun
Did peer, as though a gate?
And is that Woman all her crew
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is death that Woman's mate?
(And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of
 the setting Sun. The Spectre-Woman and her 
Death-mate and no other on board the 
skeleton ship. Like vessel, like crew!)
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare 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. 
(Death and Life-in-Deah have diced for
the ship's crew and she (the latter) winneth 
the ancient Mariner.)
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.
(No twilight within the courts of the Sun)
We listen'd and look'd sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seem'd to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleam'd white;
From the sails the dew did drip---
Till climb above the eastern bar
The horned Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.
(At the rising of the Moon)
One after one, by the star-dogg'd Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.
(One after another,)
Four times fifty living men
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan),
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropp'd down one by one.
(His shipmates drop down dead.)
The souls did from their bodied fly--
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it pass'd me by
Like the whizz of my crossbow!'
(But Life-in-Death begind her work on the
ancient Mariner.)
Part IV
'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribb'd sea-sand.
(The Wedding-guest feareth that a spirit is 
talking to him)
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.
(But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his 
bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his 
horrible penance.)
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 thy all dead did lie:
And thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
(He despiseth the creature of the calm)
I look'd upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I look'd upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.
(And envieth that they should live and so 
many lie dead.)
I look'd to heaven, and tried to pray;
#But nor ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My hert as dry as dust.
I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
But the sky and the sea, and sea and sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melter from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they look'd on me
Had never pass'd away.
(But the curse liveth for him in the eye 
of the dead men.)
An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the 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 nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside---
(In his loneliness and fixedness he yeardeth 
towards the journeying Moon, and the stars
that still sojourn, yet still move onward; 
and everywhere the blue sky belongs to 
them, and is their appointed rest and their 
native country and their own natual homes, 
which they enter inannounced, as lords that 
are certainly expected, and yet there is a 
silent joy at their arrival.)
Her beams bemock'd 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 watch'd the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they read'd, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
(By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's
creatures of the great calm.)
Within the shadow of the ship,
I watch'd their rich attire!
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coil'd 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 gush'd from my heart,
And I bless'd them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I bless'd them unaware.
(Their beauty and their happiness. He 
blessed them in his heart.)
The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
(The spell begins to break.)
Part V
'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 remain'd,
I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew;
And when I woke, it rain'd.
(By grace of the holly Mother, the ancient 
Mariner is refreshed with rain.)
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 sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.
And soon I heard a roarring wind:
It did not come near;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.
(He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights
 and commotions in the sky and the element.)
The upper air burst into life;
And a hundred fire-flags sheen;
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.
And the coming wind did roar moore loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain pour'd down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.
The thick black cloud as cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side;
Like water shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.
The loud wind never reach'd the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lighning and the Moob
The dead men gave a groan.
(The bodies of the ship's crew are inspired, 
and the ship moves on;)
They groan'd, they stirr'd, 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 steer'd, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifelesss tools
We were a ghastly crew.
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 naught to me.'
"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!"
"Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest:
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corpses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:
(But not by the souls of the men, nor be 
demons of earth or middle air, but by a
blessed troop of angelic spirits, send 
down by the invocation of the guardian
saint.)
For when it dawn'd -- they dropp'd their arms,
And cluster'd round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies pass'd
Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then dated 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 skylark 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 ceased; 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 quite tune.
Till noon we quietly sail'd on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved 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 lonesome Spirit from the South Pole 
carries on the ship as far as the Line, in 
obedience to the angelic troop, but still 
requireth vengeance.)
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:
If flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.
How long in the same fit I lay,
I have not to eclare;
But ere my living life return'd
I heard, and in my soul discern'd
Two voices in the air.
(The Polar Spirit's fellow demonds, the 
invisible inhabitants of the element, take
part in his wrong; and two of them relate,
one to the other, that penance log and heavy
for the ancient Mariner hath been accorded 
to the Polar Spirit, who  returned southward.)
"Is it he?" quoth one, "is this the man?
By Him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless albatross.
The Spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved 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."
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?"
(The Mariner hath been cast into a trance/
for the angelic power causeth the vessel to
drive northward faster than human life can
endure.)
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 ans 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.
(The supernatural motion is retarded; the
Mariner awakes, and his penance begins 
anew.)
All stool 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 pass'd away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.
And now this spell was snapt: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And look'd far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen-
(The curse is finally expiated.)
Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on,
and turns no more his head;
Because he knows frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.
It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring -
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet if 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 it indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
(And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his 
native country.)
We drifted o'er 
The harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray -
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep away.
The harbour-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
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steep'd in silentness
The steady weathercock.
And the bay was white with silent light
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadow were,
In crimson colurs came.
(The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies.)
A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turn'd my eyes upon the deck -
O Christ! what saw I there!
(And appear in their own forms of light.)
Each corpse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corpse there stood.
This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;
This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart -
No voice; but O, the silence sank
Like music on my heart.
But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turn'd perforce away
And I saw a boat appear.
The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.
I saw a third - I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood.
Part VII
'This hermit good lives in that wood
Which slope down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countriee.
(The Hermit of the Wood.)
He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve -
He hath a cushion plump.
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotte old oak-stump.
The skiff-boat near'd: 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 answer'd not our cheer!
The planks look wrap'd! and see those sails
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like them,
Unless perchance it were
(Approacheth the ship with wonder.)
Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And eats 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-fear'd." - "Push on, push on!"
Said the Hermit cheerily.
The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirr'd;
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 reach'd the ship, it split bay;
The ship went down like lead
(The ship suddenly sinketh)
Stunn'd by the loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drown'd
My body lay afloat;
But swifly as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boad.
(The ancient Mariner is saved in 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 shriek'd
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And pray'd where he did sit.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laugh'd 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 stepp'd forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
(The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth 
the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penane of 
life falls on him.)
"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man !"
The Hermit cross'd his brow.
"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say -
What manner of man art thou?"
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begine my tale;
And then it left me free.
(And ever and anon throughout life an 
agony constraineth him to travel from land 
to land;)
Since then, at an uncetain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns
I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That 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 weding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark, the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!
O Wedding-Guests! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide, wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God 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.
(And to teach, by his own example, love 
and reverence to all things that God made 
and loveth)
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.'
The Mariner, whoses eyes is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunn'd
And is of sence forlorn:
A sadder and wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
HAUU 
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