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It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek He singeth loud his godly hymns
The Albatross's blood.
This Hermit good lives in that wood The Hermit of
Which slopes down to the sea. the Wood, And the ancient Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
How loudly his sweet voice he rears! Mariner behold- The light-house top I see?
He loves to talk with marineres eth his native Is this the hill ? is this the kirk?
That come from a far countrée.
He kneels at morn, and noon, and
He hath a cushion plump:
The rotted old oak-stump.
'Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit Approacheth the The moonlight steep'd in silentness said
ship with wonder. The steady weathercock.
“ And they answer not our cheer!
The planks look warp'd! and see
How thin they are and sere! The angelic spir. Till, rising from the same,
I never saw aught like to them,
In crimson colors came.
“ Brown skeletons of leaves that lag their own forma Those crimson shadows were:
My forest-brook along; of light.
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf
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!"
The boat came closer to the ship,
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.
Still louder and more dread:
The ship went down like lead.
Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful The ancient Ma
riner is saved in
the Pilot's boat. And I saw a boat appear.
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.
The boat spun round and round;
I moved my lips—the Pilot shriek’d, But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are :
Alone on a wide wide sea:
Scarce seemed there to be.
'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, The ancient Ma- "O shrive me, shrive me, holy man!" Old men, and babes, and loving riner earnestly en- The Hermit cross'd his brow.
friends, treateth the Hermit to shrive him ;
Say quick,” quoth he, “ I bid thee And youths and maidens gay! and the penance say
And to teach, by of life falls on -What manner of man art thou ?” Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
his own example, him.
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !
love and reverForthwith this frame of mine was He prayeth well, who loveth well ence to all things wrench'd
Both man and bird and beast. that God made With a woful agony,
and loveth. Which forced me to begin my tale ; He prayeth best, who loveth best And then it left me free.
All things both great and small; And over and Since then, at an uncertain hour,
For the dear God who loveth us, anon throughout That agony returns :
He made and loveth all. his future life an And till my ghastly tale is told, agony constraineth him to travel This heart within me burns.
The Mariner, whose eye is bright, from land to land,
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
A sadder and a wiser man
| at either of the former periods, or if even the first and second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been
much greater than I dare at present expect. But The first part of the following poem was written in for this, I have only my own indolence to blame. the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose seven, at Stowey in the county of Somerset. The of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imi. second part, after my return from Germany, in the tation from myself. For there is amongst us a set of year one thousand eight hundred, at Keswick, Cum- critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought berland. Since the latter date, my poetic powers and image is traditional; who have no notion that there have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended are such things as fountains in the world, small as animation. But as, in my very first conception of the well as great; and who would therefore charitably tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the derive every rill they behold Nowing, from a perforawholeness, no less than with the loveliness of a tion made in some other man's tank. I am confident, vision, I trust that I shall yet be able to embody in however, that as far as the present poem is concerned, verse the three parts yet to come.
the celebrated poets whose writings I might be susIt is probable, that if the poem had been finished pected of having imitated, either in particular pas
sages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole, * To the edition of 1816,
would be among the first to vindicate me from the
The lady sprang up suddenly,
charge, and who, on any striking coincidence, would permit me to address them in this doggrel version of two monkish Latin hexameters.
"Tis mine and it is likewise yours;
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 only 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,
Is the night chilly and dark ?
Mary mother, save me now!
The lovely lady, Christabel,
My sire is of a noble line,
She stole along, she nothing spoke,
And see! the lady Christabel
Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs ;
These words did say:
morrow This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow;
But vainly thou warrest,
For this is alone in
That in the dim forest
Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep,