The bodies

of the ship's

It did not come anear;

But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere.

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 more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge;

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the sun;

Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky,
I heard the skylark sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are,

How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now 't was 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,

cloud

The moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The moon was at its side;

Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag—
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reached the ship,

crew are in Yet now the ship moved on!
spired, and
the ship

moves on;

but not by the souls of

the men, nor by demons of earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of

angelic spir.

its, sent

down by the invocation

of the guar dian saint.

Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groaned, they stirred, 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 steered, 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 lifeless tools-
We were a ghastly crew.

The Body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee:

The Body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said naught to me."

"I fear thee, Ancient Mariner!"

"Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!

'T was not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again,

But a troop of spirits blest:

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sailed 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 sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed 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:
It flung the blood into my head
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare ;

But ere my living life returned,

I heard, and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air.

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 fanned 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.

O dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see?

Is this the hill is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbor-bar,
And I with sobs did pray-
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbor-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 steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colors came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck-
O 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 ship suddenly sinketh.

'And they answered not our cheer!

But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl where sank the ship
The boat span 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,

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 sayWhat manner of man art thou?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

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.

The Ancient Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,

Mariner is

saved in the

pilot's boat.

Which sky and ocean smote,

Which forced me to begin my taleAnd 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 't was, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'T is sweeter far to me,

My body iay afloat;

With a goodly company!

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight,

And under reefed foresail we'll scud :

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day,
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay;
Why, 't was just all as one as High Dutch;

For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow :

"For," says he, do you mind me, "let storms e'er so oft

Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

I said to our Poll-for, d'ye see, she would cry-—
When last we weighed anchor for sea,

"What argufies sniveling and piping your eye?

Why, what a blamed fool you must be !

Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to old Davy, I should go, friend Poil,

You never will hear of me more.

What then? All's a hazard: come, don't be so soft:
Perhaps I may laughing come back;

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, Naught's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's, And as for my will, 't is the king's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback;

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack !

CHARLES DIBDIN.

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR.

LOVE contemplating-apart

From all his homicidal glory— The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's glory!

'Twas when his banners at Boulogne

Armed in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
Poor British seaman.

They suffered him-I know not how-
Unprisoned on the shore to roam;
And aye was bent his longing brow
On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight
Of birds to Britain half-way over;
With envy they could reach the white
Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought,
Than this sojourn would have been dearer,
If but the storm his vessel brought
To England nearer.

At last, when care had banished sleep,
He saw one morning, dreaming, doting,
An empty hogshead from the deep
Come shoreward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought
The livelong day laborious; lurking
Until he launched a tiny boat

By mighty working.