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The supernatural motion is retarded; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew

The curse is finally expiated.

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 passed 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 looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen-
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, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound por 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 it felt like a welcoming.
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too :
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-
On me alone it blew.
Oh! dream of joy ! is this indeed
The light-house top I see ?
Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ?
Is this mine own coun e ?
We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray-
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.
The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn !
And on the bay the moon light lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.

And the ancient Mariner behold. eth his native country,

The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,

And appear in their own forms of light.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock :
The moon light, steeped in silentness
The steady weather-cock.
And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.
A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were :
I turn’d my eyes upon the deck-
Oh, Christ! what saw I there !
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood !
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse 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 oh! 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
That 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.

The Hermit of the
Wood,

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

PART THE SEVENTH.
This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slops down to the sea.
How loudly his soft voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.

1

Approacheth the ship with wonder,

He kneels at morn, and noon and eve
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted 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 answered not our cheer!
The planks look warped ! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere !
I never saw ought 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,
And the owlet whoops to the tod below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.”
Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look-
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared-Push on, push on !
Said the Hermit cheerily..
The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
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 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 drown'd,
My body lay afloat ;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within 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 shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

The ship suddenly sinketh.

The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.

The ancient Ma. riner earnestly entreateth the Her. mit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.

And ever anil anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land,

I took the oars : the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went too 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 stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
"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 ?"
Forth with this frame of mine was wrench'd
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale ;
And then it left me free.
Since then, at an uncertain 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 wedding-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-Guest ! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea :
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a godly company !-
To walk together to the kirk,
And altogether pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay !

And to teach by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.

Farewell, farewell ! but this I'll tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
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, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hear,
Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn :
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

STANZAS ON PAINTING.

By Thomas Campbell.

O Thou ! by whose expressive art,

Her perfect image Nature sees, In union with the graces, start,

And sweeter by reflection please! In whose creative hand the hues,

Stol'n from yon orient rainbow shine : I bless thee, Promethean Muse ;

And hail the brightest of the NINE !

Possessing more than mortal power ;

Persuasive more than poet's tongue, Whose lineage in a raptur'd hour,

From Love, the lord of Nature sprung: Does Hope her high possession meet ?

Is Joy triumphant ;-Sorrow flown ? Sweet is the trance, the tremor sweet,

When all we love is all our own.

But hush, thou pulse of pleasure dear,

Slow throbbing, cold, I feel thee part ; Lone absence plants a pang severe,

Or death inflicts a keener dart :

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