V.
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sleep, it is a gentle thingBelov’d from pole to pole!To Mary-queen the praise be yevenShe sent the gentle sleep from heavenThat slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deckThat had so long remain’d,I dreamt that they were fill’d with dewAnd when I awoke it rain’d. My lips were wet, my throat was cold,My garments all were dank;Sure I had drunken in my dreamsAnd still my body drank. I mov’d and could not feel my limbs,I was so light, almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blessed Ghost. The roaring wind! it roar’d far off,It did not come anear;But with its sound it shook the sailsThat were so thin and sere. The upper air bursts into life,And a hundred fire-flags sheenTo and fro they are hurried about;And to and fro, and in and outThe stars dance on between. The coming wind doth roar more loud;The sails do sigh, like sedge:The rain pours down from one black cloudAnd the Moon is at its edge. Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,And the Moon is at its side:Like waters shot from some high crag,The lightning falls with never a jagA river steep and wide. The strong wind reach’d the ship: it roar’dAnd dropp’d down, like a stone!Beneath the lightning and the moonThe dead men gave a groan. They groan’d, they stirr’d, they all uprose,Ne spake, ne mov’d their eyes:It had been strange, even in a dreamTo have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steerd, the ship mov’d on;Yet never a breeze up-blew;The Marineres all ’gan work the ropes,Where they were wont to do:They rais’d their limbs like lifeless tools--We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother’s sonStood by me knee to knee:The body and I pull’d at one rope,But he said nought to me--And I quak’d to think of my own voiceHow frightful it would be! The day-light dawn’d--they dropp’d their arms,And cluster’d round the mast:Sweet sounds rose slowly thro’ their mouthsAnd from their bodies pass’d. Around, around, flew each sweet sound,Then darted to the sun:Slowly the sounds came back againNow mix’d, now one by one. Sometimes a dropping from the skyI heard the Lavrock sing;Sometimes all little birds that areHow they seem’d to fill the sea and airWith their sweet jargoning, And now ’twas like all instruments,Now like a lonely flute;And now it is an angel’s songThat makes the heavens be mute. It ceas’d: yet still the sails made onA pleasant noise till noon,A noise like of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune. Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!“Marinere! thou hast thy will:“For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make“My body and soul to be still.” Never sadder tale was toldTo a man of woman born:Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!Thou’lt rise to morrow morn. Never sadder tale was heardBy a man of woman born:The Marineres all return’d to workAs silent as beforne. The Marineres all ’gan pull the ropes,But look at me they n’old:Thought I, I am as thin as air--They cannot me behold. Till noon we silently sail’d onYet never a breeze did breathe:Slowly and smoothly went the shipMov’d onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deepFrom the land of mist and snowThe spirit slid: and it was HeThat made the Ship to go.The sails at noon left off their tuneAnd the Ship stood still also. The sun right up above the mastHad fix’d her to the ocean:But in a minute she ’gan stirWith a short uneasy motion--Backwards and forwards half her lengthWith a short uneasy motion. Then, like a pawing horse let go,She made a sudden bound:It flung the blood into my head,And I fell into a swound. How long in that same fit I lay,I have not to declare;But ere my living life return’d,I heard and in my soul discern’dTwo voices in the air, “Is it he?” quoth one, “Is this the man?“By him who died on cross,“With his cruel bow he lay’d full low“The harmless Albatross. “The spirit who ’bideth by himself“In the land of mist and snow,“He lov’d the bird that lov’d 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.
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