And appear

in their

own forms of light.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned 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 turned perforce away
And I saw a boat appear.

The skiff-boat neared: 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 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,

And 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-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 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
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.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,

Approacheth the ship with wonder.

The ship suddenly sinketh.

The ancient Mariner is saved in the

Pilot's boat.

The ancient

Mariner earnestly entreateth

the Hermit

to shrieve

him; and the penance of

life falls on

him.

And ever

and anon

Laughed 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 stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man !
The Hermit crossed his brow.

'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say--
What manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale :
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:

throughout And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

his future

life an agony

constraineth

him to travel I pass, like night, from land to land; from land to I have strange power of speech;

land.

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.

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,

1797.

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.

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 hoar,

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

And to teach
by his own
example
love and re-
verence to all
things that
God made
and loveth.

CHRISTABEL.

PREFACE.*

Try first part of the filewing or was veten n the year 1797, at Stowey, in the councy of Somerser The seront part after my return from Germany, in the wear ice. at Keswick, Camerad. It is probable, that if the poem had been insitet at acter of die frner periods, or if even the first and second part had been published in the year to the impression of its originality would have been meter chun i dure ac present expect. But for this, I have only my own imicience to Shane. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imitation from mysel For there is amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and mage is adicional: who have no action that there are such things as mucans in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore churnably derve every / they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some cher man's tank I am confident, however, that as far as the present poem is concerned the celebrated poets whose writings I might be suspected of having unitated either in particular passages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole,, would be among the first to vindicate me from the charge, and who, on any staking concidence, would permit me to address them in this doggerel version of two monist. Latin beximeters.

"Tis mine and it is Ekewise yours;

But am i titis will not do:

Let it be mine, good friend! for I
Am the poorer of the two

I have only to add, that the metre of the Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle: namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be found to be caly four. Nevertheless this occasional variation in number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition, in the nature of the imagery or passion.

PART I.

TIS the middle of night by the castle clock,
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;

*To the edition of 1816.