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Analysis of Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

By NASRULLAH MAMBROL on February 16, 2021 • ( 0 )

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s most popular poem. It opened the 1798 first edition of Lyrical Ballads , where it first appeared; Coleridge revised it for the 1800 edition and undertook further revisions later, after his sea voyage to Malta (where he went to recover his health), revisions that include the wonderful marginal glosses. Nevertheless it would probably be better to see the different versions of the poem as essentially true to the same vision and to regard them as presenting that vision with the slight stereoscopic differences that allow us to see depth.

In chapter 14 of his intellectual quasi-autobiography, Biographia Literaria (1817), Coleridge describes how he and William Wordsworth decided to split the writing of Lyrical Ballads so that Coleridge would do the so-called supernatural poems and Wordsworth the entirely naturalistic ones. The idea was that Wordsworth would treat natural events as though they had the special interest that ballads had traditionally found in the supernatural; while Coleridge would do the converse, which is to say he would treat supernatural events as they would be experienced by psychologically real human beings. Both procedures would meet in the attention they focused on the reactions, psychological and expressive, to be represented (as Wordsworth put it in the preface to the 1800 volume) by “fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation.” For Wordsworth, the vividness of sensation would be communicated by intensity of language in the naturalist poems; for Coleridge, the intensity of language would reflect the vividness of sensation that the supernatural elements would necessarily produce, but it was the sensation of real people and not its supposed supernatural occasions that was the source of the poetic language. Thus, he wrote in perhaps the most famous passage in Biographia Literaria , “it was agreed, that my endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.”

In a letter to Wordsworth about the 1800 edition of Lyrical Ballads, which Wordsworth had just sent him, Charles Lamb had foreshadowed just this language in a deeply insightful comment on the poem: “I am sorry that Coleridge has christened his Ancient Marinere, a Poet’s Reverie; . . . What new idea is gained by this title but one subversive of all credit—which the tale should force upon us—of its truth!” He goes on, “For me, I was never so affected with any human tale. After first reading it, I was totally possessed with it for many days. I dislike all the miraculous part of it; but the feelings of the man under the operation of such scenery, dragged me along like Tom Pipe’s magic whistle. . . . the Ancient Marinere undergoes such trials as overwhelm and bury all individuality or memory of what he was—like the state of a man in a bad dream, one terrible peculiarity of which is, that all consciousness of personality is gone” (letter dated January 30, 1801). This comment is perhaps the single best thing ever said about the poem. The Ancient Mariner is a man reduced to his simple, bare essence, and that essence is simply the obsessive memory of what brought him to this extremity.

Coleridge later said that Anna Laetitia Barbauld complained of the poem that it had no moral. He replied that he thought “the poem had too much: and that the only, or chief fault, if I might say so, was the obtrusion of the moral sentiment so openly on the reader as a principle or cause of action in a work of such pure imagination. It ought to have had no more moral than the Arabian Nights’ tale of the merchant’s sitting down to eat dates by the side of a well and throwing the shells aside, and lo! a genie starts up and says he must kill the aforesaid merchant because one of the date shells had, it seems, put out the eye of the genie’s son” ( Specimens of the Table Talk of the Late Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1835]). This is just what Lamb admired about the poem, the sense that it gives, through supernatural means, of being thrown into the world of mortality and loss for obscure and even impenetrable reasons. On one level—this might be the extent to which the poem might seem to have too much of a moral—the reason seems evident: the mariner is guilty of shooting the albatross. But how much of a sin can that be? What is sinful about it is its apparent randomness. He never explains why he shot it, only that after shooting it, everything went wrong.

Why did he shoot it? One reason is that Wordsworth suggested it, giving Coleridge the idea as the central plot point of the poem. This is not a facetious answer: To be alive is to have a story to tell, and to have a story to tell is to be able to point to some moment of arbitrary and shocking deviation from the expected and the norm. The Ancient Mariner himself does not know why he shot the albatross, just as the Wedding Guest cannot make sense of his sudden change of demeanor. Nothing in his character or in his story prepares us for the moment; nothing in his character or in his story has prepared him for it. He has done so with the same unremarkable thoughtlessness of the merchant throwing the shells (the pits) of the dates aside, and it is therefore part of his experience of being thrown into the world of mortality and loss that he is also thrown into the world of guilt.

The remarkable thing about the poem is its analysis of a sense of guilt without a corresponding sense of willful wrongdoing. The mariner is saturated with guilt—but it is important to see that the main content of his guilt is guilt for the punishment that he has brought down on the entire crew. He is guilty because he is being punished, more than he is being punished for his guilt.

The importance of this moral and psychological insight may be underscored by its reappearance in a poem that might at first seem very different—Wordsworth’s Intimations Ode. There Wordsworth sees as the saving moment the sudden sense within the self of “high instincts before which our mortal nature / Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised” (ll. 145–46). Unfounded guilt is the way the mind preserves a sense of itself as in the world but not of the world. In the psychological lexicon of romanticism, it is the original sin of subjectivity itself—that is, a sense of being different from the world that demands one be a part of it. Guilt registers our failure to be a part of the world.

This is why the Ancient Mariner can make the Wedding Guest feel guilty as well. The mariner ends his tale by saying that he recognizes the person he must tell it to. But what has the Wedding Guest done? He desires to be part of the social world, to belong to it fully and happily. There is no albatross in his past. But the mariner’s tale fills the guest with fear and wonder and makes it impossible for him to feel unquestioningly of the world any more. He has been submitted to the eeriness of whatever poetic impulse corresponded in Coleridge’s mind to the guilt in the mariner’s.

If the story had a simple moral, it would be that the mariner’s unconscious impulse of love and pity is saving. He blessed the “happy living creatures” unawares because some kind saint took pity on him as well. But it is one of the central puzzles of the poem that this blessing turns out not to be nearly enough. It is the beginning of penance and redemption, but not the end. In fact, the end never comes. The return of the wind, the return to harbor, the subsequent years— none free him of the eternal burden of repeating his tale when he sees a person somehow like himself. The beauty of the blessing and of the impulse to bless does not restore him to his original state. Rather, it sustains itself as a sense of movement toward love in a world that is hostile to love. The world’s hostility to love is what makes its creatures suffer, and the love that seeks to counter that hostility can never ignore or transcend the world’s suffering.

Here, too, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner foretells the Intimations Ode, in which Wordsworth also feels a sudden and, he hopes, saving impulse of love toward the “blessed creatures” (l. 36) that surround him. But the impulse would not be saving if blessing were enough. Wordsworth needs to feel that the world is a world of loss, and what he and the Ancient Mariner have in common is the realization that all the living creatures in it are similarly thrown into it without orientation, bearing, or hope of escape from the burden of subjectivity. Both poems are about the irremediable discovery of the weight of this burden on all human beings, and the intensity of insight this discovery brings. The poem shares the insight even as it shares the burden, in Coleridge with the Wedding Guest. It is not too much to say that Coleridge hopes, perhaps rightly, that the Wedding Guest is Wordsworth himself, profoundly affected by the poem and surprised in his mortal nature by his own high instincts.

Bibliography Bate, Walter Jackson. Coleridge. New York: Macmillan, 1968. Bloom, Harold. The Visionary Company: A Reading of English Romantic Poetry. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1961. Brisman, Leslie. Romantic Origins. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1978. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. Selected Poems. Edited by William Empson and David Pirie. Manchester, England: Fyfield, 1989. Frank, Robert H. Passions within Reason: The Strategic Role of the Emotions. New York: Norton, 1988. Freud, Sigmund. “The Uncanny.” In The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 17: 219–256. London: Hogarth Press, 1953–74. Janowitz, Anne. England’s Ruins: Poetic Purpose and the National Landscape. Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1990. Lowes, John Livingston. Road to Xanadu: A Study in the Ways of the Imagination. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1930. Parker, Reeve. Coleridge’s Meditative Art. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1975.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43997/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner-text-of-1834

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Rime of the Ancient Mariner | Overview, Summary & Analysis

“Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is a captivating narrative poem written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. First published in 1798 as part of the Lyrical Ballads, this poem is known for its hauntingly beautiful language, vivid imagery, and exploration of profound themes such as guilt, redemption, and the supernatural.

Table of Contents

Background Information

About the Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge was a prominent English poet, critic, and philosopher of the Romantic movement. Born in 1772, Coleridge was deeply influenced by the natural world and the supernatural. His works often reflect his fascination with the mysterious and the unknown.

Context of the Poem: “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” was written during a time of great social and political upheaval in Europe. Coleridge drew inspiration from various sources, including his own experiences at sea and accounts of maritime exploration. The poem also reflects the prevailing religious and philosophical beliefs of the time, particularly concerning the power of nature and the consequences of human actions.

Summary of “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”

Part 1: The Mariner’s Tale: The poem begins with an old sailor, the Ancient Mariner, stopping a young wedding guest on his way to a wedding celebration. The Mariner compels the young man to listen to his tale, which recounts a harrowing journey at sea.

Part 2: The Crew’s Fate: During the voyage, the Mariner’s ship encounters a series of supernatural events, including an encounter with an albatross, which the Mariner inexplicably kills. This act brings a curse upon the ship and its crew, leading to their tragic demise.

Part 3: Redemption: Haunted by his actions, the Mariner wanders the earth, compelled to share his story as a warning to others. Through his suffering and repentance, he ultimately finds redemption and a deeper understanding of the interconnectedness of all living things.

Themes Explored

Guilt and Redemption: One of the central themes of the poem is the idea of guilt and the quest for redemption. The Mariner’s actions bring about tragic consequences, but through his journey, he learns the importance of remorse and forgiveness.

Nature and Supernatural: “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” explores the relationship between humanity and the natural world, as well as the influence of the supernatural on human affairs. The poem is filled with vivid descriptions of the sea, sky, and other elements of the natural world, which serve as both backdrop and catalyst for the unfolding narrative.

Isolation and Loneliness: The Mariner’s plight highlights the themes of isolation and loneliness. Cursed to wander the earth alone, he becomes a figure of tragedy and despair, cut off from the society he once knew.

Analysis of Key Characters

The Ancient Mariner: The protagonist of the poem, the Ancient Mariner, serves as both narrator and central figure. His journey from prideful sailor to repentant wanderer forms the heart of the narrative, embodying themes of guilt, redemption, and spiritual awakening.

The Wedding Guest: The Wedding Guest represents the audience to whom the Mariner addresses his tale. Initially reluctant to listen, he becomes enthralled by the Mariner’s story, symbolizing the transformative power of storytelling.

Literary Devices Used

Imagery: Coleridge employs rich, vivid imagery throughout the poem to evoke the sights, sounds, and sensations of the natural world. From the icy wastes of the Antarctic to the eerie calm of a ghostly ship, his imagery creates a powerful sense of atmosphere and mood.

Symbolism: The albatross, a central symbol in the poem, represents innocence, freedom, and the interconnectedness of all living things. Its death at the hands of the Mariner symbolizes the disruption of this harmony and the subsequent curse that befalls the ship.

Alliteration: Coleridge’s use of alliteration, or the repetition of consonant sounds, adds musicality and rhythm to the poem’s language. This technique enhances the poem’s auditory appeal and helps to create a sense of unity and cohesion within the text.

Influence and Legacy

“Rime of the Ancient Mariner” has had a profound influence on subsequent generations of writers and artists. Its themes of guilt, redemption, and the supernatural continue to resonate with readers across cultures and time periods, making it a timeless classic of English literature.

Relevance in Modern Times

Despite being written over two centuries ago, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” remains relevant in today’s world. Its exploration of themes such as environmental degradation, moral responsibility, and the search for meaning speaks to contemporary concerns and challenges, ensuring its enduring relevance for generations to come.

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In conclusion, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is a masterpiece of English literature that continues to captivate and inspire readers with its timeless themes, vivid imagery, and haunting narrative. Through the journey of the Ancient Mariner, we are reminded of the power of storytelling to illuminate the human condition and explore the mysteries of existence.

Is “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” based on a true story?

No, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is a work of fiction written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. However, it draws inspiration from various sources, including Coleridge’s own experiences at sea.

What is the significance of the albatross in the poem?

The albatross serves as a powerful symbol of innocence, freedom, and the interconnectedness of all living things. Its death at the hands of the Mariner symbolizes the disruption of this harmony and the ensuing curse that befalls the ship.

Why is the poem called “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”?

The term “rime” refers to frost or ice, which symbolizes the icy wastes of the Antarctic where the Mariner’s journey begins. The title emphasizes the ancient and timeless nature of the Mariner’s tale, which transcends the boundaries of time and space.

What is the moral of “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”?

One of the central morals of the poem is the importance of recognizing and taking responsibility for one’s actions. The Mariner’s journey from prideful sailor to repentant wanderer underscores the transformative power of guilt, remorse, and redemption.

How does “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” reflect Romantic ideals?

“Rime of the Ancient Mariner” embodies many key characteristics of Romantic literature, including a reverence for nature, an exploration of the supernatural, and an emphasis on individual experience and emotion. Coleridge’s vivid imagery and lyrical language further reinforce the poem’s Romantic sensibilities.

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The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

 by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

PART I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. ‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp’st thou me? The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May’st hear the merry din.’ He holds him with his skinny hand, ‘There was a ship,’ quoth he. ‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’ Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years’ child: The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. ‘The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon—’ The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o’ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow , And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God’s name. It ate the food it ne’er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play , Came to the mariner’s hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night , through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.’ ‘God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look’st thou so?’—With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS. PART II The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariner’s hollo! And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work ’em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. ‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, ‘Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch’s oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. And some in dreams assurèd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought , Was withered at the root ; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART III There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in. As they were drinking all. See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel! The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven’s Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those  her  sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres? Are those her  ribs  through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a DEATH? and are there two? Is DEATH that woman’s mate? Her  lips were red,  her  looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man’s blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; ‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’ Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out; At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark. We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dew did drip— Till clomb above the eastern bar The hornèd Moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. The souls did from their bodies fly,— They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow! PART IV ‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.’— Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! This body dropt not down. Alone , alone , all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay dead like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan’s curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man’s eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside— Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship’s huge shadow lay, The charmèd water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water- snakes : They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. PART V Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light—almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind: 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, And the rain poured down from one black 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, Yet now the ship moved on! 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 nought to me. ‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’ Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! ‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest: For when it dawned—they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. 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 sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! And now ’twas 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, A noise like of a hidden brook 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. ‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved 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.’ PART VI First Voice ‘But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?’ Second Voice Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast— If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.’ First Voice ‘But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?’ Second Voice ‘The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner’s trance is abated.’ 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 fixed 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 turned 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 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. 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 countree? 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 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 colours came. 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 Pilot and the Pilot’s boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The 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. PART VII This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. 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 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, 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: 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 seemèd 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, 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.

Summary of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

• Popularity of “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”: Samuel Taylor Coleridge, one of the best English poets, critics and philosopher wrote ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’. It is a lyrical ballad known for mystical themes and atonement of sin. It was first published in 1798. The poem speaks about a person who survives a horrible storm. It illustrates his utmost desire to narrate his tale to the others.
• “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, As a Representative of Luck: The poem is about the desire of an old Mariner who loves to tell his strange tales to others. The poem begins when he stops one of the wedding guests. Despite the refusal of the guest, the Mariner grabs his attention with his magical eyes. He makes him listen to the story he tells. The Mariner describes an incident when he was sailing with his crew near America . His ship loses its direction due to storm. Suddenly, an albatross appears and the ship is freed from the land of ice and mist, but Mariner kills the bird with his crossbow. After he has killed that bird, strange things started happening. The crew believes the Mariner has committed sin and brought suffering. Thus, they decide to hang the dead bird’s body around the Mariner’s neck as a reminder of his sin. As the poem continues, everyone on the ship dies except the Mariner. He is rescued by Hermit’s boat and reaches the port safely. On reaching the shore, he desperately desires to narrate the story to Hermit. Even after many years of the incident, he still feels the same need to save them. After expressing his emotions, the Mariner departs, and the guest also returns home feeling wiser and sadder.
• Major Themes in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”: Sin, survival, and death are the major themes of this poem. The poem revolves around the thematic strand of sin the Mariner commits by killing a sea bird which later becomes the reason for multiple deaths. He kills one of the God’s loveliest creature. It takes him so long to understand that he has committed a heinous crime. Therefore, he and his crew remain cursed. He fails to find peace until he confesses that he violated God’s law by killing the Albatross. That is why he suffers until he learns to adore and appreciate the beauty in God’s creation.

Analysis of Literary Devices Used in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”

literary devices are tools used by writers to convey their emotions, ideas, and themes to make texts more appealing to the reader. Samuel Taylor Coleridge has used various literary devices to enhance the intended impacts of his poem. Some of the major literary devices have been analyzed below.

• Symbolism : Symbolism is a use of symbols to signify ideas and qualities, by giving them symbolic meanings that are different from their literal meanings. Here, Albatross is a symbol of good luck and woman represents perpetual temptation.
• Rhetorical Question : Rhetorical question is a sentence that is posed to make the point clear. For example, “What manner of man art thou?”, “That signal made but now?” and “Is this the hill? Is this the kirk?”
• Enjambment : It is defined as a thought in verse that does not come to an end at a line break ; instead, it continues to the next line. For example,

“ Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro.”

• Imagery : Imagery is used to perceive things involving five senses. For example, “What loud uproar bursts from that door”, “I stood on the firm land” and “The boat came closer to the ship.”
• Metaphor : It is a figure of speech in which an implied comparison is made between the objects that are different. The entire poem is an extended metaphor for a supernatural theme , an allusion to Christ’s death and sacrifices through the Mariner’s life and adventure . Albatross is a metaphor for a mental burden or curse. In “spring of love gushed from my heart” is ‘spring of love’ is a metaphor for love and attraction.
• Personification : Personification is to give human qualities to inanimate objects. For example, “The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right, Went down into the sea.” As if the Sun is a person who can swim or dive.
• Simile : It is a figure of speech in which an implied comparison is made between the objects that are different using ‘as’ or ‘like’. For example, “Every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my crossbow” in lines 223-224. Here the souls are compared to the speed of the crossbow.

Analysis of Poetic Devices Used in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”

Poetic and literary devices are the same, but a few are used only in poetry. Here is the analysis of some of the poetic devices used in this poem.

• Stanza : A stanza is a poetic form of some lines. The entire poem is divided into seven parts. There are four-line stanzas, five-lined stanzas, and also six-lined stanzas.
• Quatrain : A quatrain is a four-lined stanza borrowed from Persian poetry. Here most stanzas are quatrain.
• End Rhyme : End rhyme is used to make a stanza melodious. For example, “tell/well”, “bends/friends” and “returns/burns.”

Quotes to be Used

The lines stated below are useful for a traveler while narrating an exciting adventure of his life to his audience .

“The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea.”

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Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Rime of the ancient mariner essay: introduction, power and nature in rime of the ancient mariner, spirituality versus environmentalism: should they be separated, nature in the rime of the ancient mariner: conclusion, works cited.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” fits within the Romantic literary style. In the poem, nature is represented as a powerful and inspiring force that is incomprehensible to humans, who, in comparison to nature, have no power in influencing the world and what eventually occurs. In the dispute about nature in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” there can be two contrasting opinions on the treatment of nature. On the one hand, environmentalists may be concerned with the way nature is treated by humans, while on the other, there is a spiritual perspective that nature is the embodiment of God, with which the Mariner must reconcile.

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” begins with the description of a wedding feast, during which the Mariner decided to tell his remarkable story. The scene then changes to the description of nature where the Mariner is left alone to sail his ship: “the ship was cheered, the harbor cleared, Merrily, did we drop,” which signifies the positive outlook of the mariner on his upcoming adventures (Coleridge 52).

Alone and away from civilization, the Mariner is forced to battle against storms and other dangers of the ocean. A crucial moment to consider in the discussion about the role of nature in the poem is the Mariner killing an albatross (Rumens). Some can link this episode to the human desire to master nature, while for others, this act is spiritual. However, one must agree that nature in the poem has much more power over human beings than human beings have of nature. For instance, nature is so powerful that it forces the Mariner and his sailors to suffer from intense thirst when they remain in desolate waters: “Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink; water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink” (Coleridge 70). This shows that any attempts to become the master of nature are pointless, and the only thing that human beings can do is merely survive.

With regard to the idea of spirituality in the poem, the author depicts nature as an expression of the spiritual world. The author illustrates the close links between nature and the spirituality in the sequence of unfortunate events that the Mariner has to suffer after killing the albatross (Pham). In the poem, nature is the creation of God; thus, when the Mariner improperly interacts with nature and wants to gain power over it, he also challenges God. Therefore, attempts at harming nature are sins or moral failures since they question the authority and power of God.

In the Christian perspective, sins lead to punishment, and in the poem, the penalty is supernatural – a combination of natural and spiritual, with polar spirits coming to haunt the Mariner and his crew: “And some in dreams assured were of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us from the land of mist and snow” (Coleridge 71). Apart from the polar spirits, the Mariner experiences the nightmare of Life-in-Death: “The nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man’s blood with cold” (Coleridge part 3). The existence of such supernatural beings in the poem shows that humans should avoid being reckless in their actions and cause harm simply due to their rage.

The punishment is relieved when the Mariner and the seamen learn how to value nature. In the verse where the mariner started appreciating the creation of God: “A spring of life gushed from my heart, and I bless them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, and I blessed them unaware” there is a clear shift from the unfortunate events that haunted the protagonist (Coleridge 80). The appreciation for nature as the creation of God is the defining factor that alleviates the punishment because the Mariner realizes what he does wrong: “the self-same moment I could pray; and from my neck so free the albatross fell off, and sank like lead inti the sea” (Coleridge 81). The punishment relieves because the Mariner experiences the consequences of his actions and prays for being relieved from the hauntings of the spirits.

Throughout the entire poem, there is a message of appreciation for nature as God’s creation (Joavani 74). The author emphasizes that when human beings take what nature offers without giving back, they are likely to pay for their actions: “twas right, say they, such birds to slay, that brings the fog and mist” (Coleridge 69). In this way, the author wants to say that harming other natural creation of God will bring nothing but fog and mist, which many people associate with darkness and the lack of understanding of what the future holds. One cannot help to think about the resource crisis that the world is experiencing at the moment. People are used to relying on natural resources such as water, oil, minerals; however, they forget that when all of it is gone, the Earth will become impossible to live on (Goldenberg).

One can conclude that nature plays a dual role in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” which means that the environmental and spiritual messages should not be opposed to one another. The co-existence of Life-in-Death and polar spirits within the poem shows that the author sees them as integral parts of God’s nature that humans should not overlook to avoid being treated in the same way as the Mariner (Kim 12). Although such supernatural phenomena as polar spirits do not exist in real life, Coleridge used them as metaphors that represent the adverse outcomes of harming the nature.

Coleridge, Samuel. The rime of the ancient mariner . The Floating Press, 2009.

Goldenberg, Suzanne. “Why Global Water Shortages Pose Threat of Terror and War.” The Guardian , 2014, Web.

Joavani, Loudres. “The Interplay of Faith and Imagination: An Analysis of Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” International Journal of Languages, vol. 2, no. 2, 2014, pp. 73-97.

Kim, Paul Chi Hun. The Notion of Nature in Coleridge and Wordsworth from the Perspective of Ecotheology . Thesis, University of Warwick, 2013. UOW, 2013.

Pham, Thomas. “A Beautiful World of Ethereal Places and Ephemeral Wonders.” English102 , 2017, Web.

Rumens, Carol. “Poem of the Week: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.” The Guardian , 2009, Web.

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IvyPanda. (2020, September 18). Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. https://ivypanda.com/essays/nature-in-coleridges-the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner/

"Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge." IvyPanda , 18 Sept. 2020, ivypanda.com/essays/nature-in-coleridges-the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner/.

IvyPanda . (2020) 'Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge'. 18 September.

IvyPanda . 2020. "Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge." September 18, 2020. https://ivypanda.com/essays/nature-in-coleridges-the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner/.

1. IvyPanda . "Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge." September 18, 2020. https://ivypanda.com/essays/nature-in-coleridges-the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner/.

Bibliography

IvyPanda . "Nature in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge." September 18, 2020. https://ivypanda.com/essays/nature-in-coleridges-the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner/.

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6.8: Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834)

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Learning Objectives

• Explain the Romantic characteristic of mysticism and Coleridge’s theory of the Imagination as they function in “The Eolian Harp.”
• Understand how Coleridge’s presentation of mysticism in “The Eolian Harp” plays out in narrative form in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”
• Assess the gothic elements in “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”
• Recognize and explain the pattern of observation of nature leading to a meditation in “The Eolian Harp” and “This Lime-tree Bower, My Prison.”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge  was born in a small village in southwestern England. The son of a clergyman/school teacher,  Coleridge  attended his father’s school. He learned to read very early and remained a voracious reader. After his father’s death, Coleridge was sent to school in London where he met Charles Lamb, the friend to whom he wrote “This Lime-tree Bower My Prison.” An excellent scholar,  Coleridge  attended Cambridge University but never finished a degree. He did, however, become enthralled with radical ideas such as communal living and with fellow poet Robert Southey planned to move to America to establish a utopian community called Pantisocracy, literally meaning equal government by all. The scheme required the participants to be married couples, so  Coleridge  married Sara Fricker, the sister of Southey’s fiancée. Having married more for convenience than love, Coleridge was unhappy in his marriage, as presumably was his wife, and the two eventually separated.

Coleridge and his wife Sara lived for a short time in Nether Stowey, a village near the Bristol Channel. Coleridge had met William Wordsworth who lived nearby at Alfoxden with his sister Dorothy Wordsworth. While living here, Coleridge produced some of his finest poetry, including “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and “This Lime-tree Bower My Prison.”

Throughout his life Coleridge suffered from poor health and probably from poor mental health as well. By the early 1800’s he had become addicted to opium. His addiction became so severe that he moved in with a doctor in London who helped him keep his drug use under control.

In his later years, Coleridge delivered a highly successful series of lectures on Shakespeare, wrote respected works of literary theory and criticism, and developed a reputation as an intellectual.

• Biographia Literaria .  Project Gutenberg .
• The Complete Poetical Words of Samuel Taylor Coleridge by Samuel Taylor Coleridge .  Project Gutenberg .
• “ The Eolian Harp .”  Representative Poetry Online . Ian Lancashire, Department of English. University of Toronto. University of Toronto Libraries.
• “ This Lime-tree Bower my Prison .”  Representative Poetry Online . Ian Lancashire, Department of English. University of Toronto. University of Toronto Libraries.
• “ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (text of 1834) .”  Representative Poetry Online . Ian Lancashire, Department of English. University of Toronto. University of Toronto Libraries.
• “ Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison .” RCHS Hypertext Reader.
• The Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Prose and Verse .  Hathi Trust Digital Library . Philadelphia. Thomas, Cowperthwait & Co. 1840.

“The Eolian Harp”

This poem follows the pattern of observation of nature leading to a meditation. Notice the descriptive details of the cot [cottage] and its peaceful natural surroundings. Coleridge uses images of sound and smell as well as sight to help his audience imagine the scene he describes.

The Eolian Harp

( Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire )

At the beginning of stanza 2 (line 13), Coleridge focuses attention on the lute (another word for the  eolian harp —also sometimes spelled “aeolian”) that sits in the window.

In stanza 2 Coleridge writes a fundamental statement of Romantic mysticism. The speaker exclaims, “O! the one Life within us and abroad.” Here he recognizes, as Wordsworth did in “Tintern Abbey,” the spiritual presence (the “one Life”) that is “within us” (inside human beings) and “abroad” (in the things around us—in nature).

In stanza 4 Coleridge creates one of the central images of Romantic poetry. His speaker asks, “What if all of animated [living] nature be but organic Harps.…” All of living nature, including people, is compared to harps. He notes that the harps are “diversely framed”; people don’t look alike just as all harps do not look alike. As the wind blows over the harp and enlivens the strings to create music, the spiritual presence that is in the world moves over people and enlivens their Imaginations. See lines 47 and 48.

Rather than ending the poem with the meditation section of stanzas 2–4, Coleridge adds a concluding stanza that takes the audience back to the cottage setting, thus framing the poem. After indulging in his intellectual, philosophical musings, his wife Sara brings him back down to earth. The last stanza specifically refers to God and to Christ, revealing of Christian religious beliefs. In this poem, Coleridge identifies the spiritual presence of Romantic mysticism as God.

Coleridge’s cottage at Nether Stowey.

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”

Coleridge’s long narrative poem in ballad style, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” proved to be one of the more popular works in  Lyrical Ballads . In this poem Coleridge takes an idea he proposes in theoretical form in “The Eolian Harp” and plays out the idea in a story. Having described the world of nature infused with a spiritual presence, the “one Life within us and abroad,” Coleridge states in “The Eolian Harp” lines 31 and 32:

Methinks, it should have been impossible

Not to love all things in a world so fill’d;

In the story of the Ancient Mariner we learn what happens to a person, the Mariner, who does not “love all things in a world” filled with a divine presence.

Modern statue of the Ancient Mariner with the albatross around his neck.

From one perspective, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is an adventure story with gothic elements: supernatural events, the spirits, reanimated bodies, the Mariner’s mystical abilities. From another perspective, it’s the story of a man who had to learn to respect the spiritual presence in nature, the “one Life within us and abroad.”

“This Lime-tree Bower My Prison”

Video clip 6.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge This Lime Tree Bower, My Prison.wmv

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View a video mini-lecture on “This Lime-tree Bower My Prison.”

In the autobiographical and intimate “This Lime-tree Bower My Prison,” Coleridge writes about the experience of sitting, unwillingly, beneath a tree’s overspreading branches, feeling as if the branches form a room, a bower. Because he didn’t want to be there, he characterizes the bower as a prison. Coleridge’s wife had accidently spilled boiling milk on his foot, and because of his injury he was unable to accompany his friends, including Charles Lamb, on a hike. Coleridge particularly wanted his friend Lamb, who lived in London, to experience nature. The complaining, grumbling tone comes through in the first two lines of the poem:

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,

This lime-tree bower my prison!

In lines 2–5, Coleridge explains why he is so upset about missing the hike:

                                        I have lost

Beauties and feelings, such as would have been

Most sweet to my remembrance even when age

Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness!

This idea is very similar to Wordsworth’s explanation of gathering “life and food for future years” in “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey.”

Although Coleridge complains about missing the walk, in stanza 3 he finds a consolation: he’s found nature in his “bower.” He realizes he can see the beauty of nature where he sits. He learns that “nature ne’er deserts the wise and pure.” Again he echoes a line from Wordsworth’s “Lines”: “Nature never did betray / The heart that loved her.”

Key Takeaways

• “The Eolian Harp” and “This Lime-tree Bower, My Prison” use the typical Romantic structure of an observation of nature leading to a meditation.
• Coleridge fashions a key image of Romantic mysticism in “The Eolian Harp.”
• “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” illustrates the theoretical statements of “The Eolian Harp” by narrating what happens to one individual who fails to recognize and appreciate the spiritual presence in nature.
• “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” one of the most popular poems in  Lyrical Ballads , exhibits gothic elements.
• Similar to Wordsworth’s desire to share the spiritual blessings of nature with his sister expressed in “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey,” Coleridge wishes to share the experience with his friend and fellow writer Charles Lamb.

In his  Biographia Literaria , Coleridge explains his theory of the Imagination:

The Imagination then I consider either as primary, or secondary. The primary Imagination I hold to be the living Power and prime Agent of all human Perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I Am. The secondary I consider as an echo of the former, co-existing with the conscious will, yet still as identical with the primary in the kind of its agency, and differing only in degree, and in the mode of its operation.

For Coleridge, Imagination is a creative process that mirrors the creation of the universe. He compares the wind (blowing across the harp to create music) with an act of Imagination.

The word  inspire  literally means to breathe into. How does the word  inspire  relate to Coleridge’s description of the eolian harp and to Coleridge’s idea of the Imagination?

• Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is written in seven parts. Write a brief (2 or 3 sentence) plot summary of each part.
• “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” was published in the 1798  Lyrical Ballads . Working jointly on the volume, Wordsworth and Coleridge collaborated closely on some parts of this poem. Part of Coleridge’s “assignment” in producing the volume was to write poems that included supernatural elements, and “Ancient Mariner” abounds with supernatural elements. List several.
• The Ancient Mariner himself has supernatural abilities; he holds the wedding guest with his “glittering eye” (line 13). The Ancient Mariner uses this magical ability to force someone to stay and listen to his story with some people, but not others. How does he determine to whom to tell his story? See Part 7.
• Why did the Ancient Mariner shoot the albatross, and why was his shooting the bird such a heinous act? Think about Romantic mysticism in answering this question.
• The last four stanzas of Part 4 are the climactic moment in the story. What change in attitude does the Ancient Mariner experience that finally allows his punishment out on the sea to end?
• When the spirits leave the bodies of the Mariner’s shipmates, to what does Coleridge compare the sound? Why does he choose this particular simile?
• The Ancient Mariner’s punishment, of course, is not completely over. What penance does he have to pay for the rest of his life?

General Information

• A Coleridge Companion: An Introduction to the Major Poems and the Biographia Literaria . John Spencer Hill. London. Macmillan Press. 1983. Nelson Hilton, Director. Center for Teaching and Learning. University of Georgia, Athens.
• Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner”: A Consumer’s Guide . Dr. George Soule, Carleton College.
• “ Samuel Taylor Coleridge .”  Poets.org . Academy of American Poets.
• “ Samuel Taylor Coleridge .” Dove Cottage and the Wordsworth Museum. The Wordsworth Trust.
• “ Samuel Taylor Coleridge .” History of the College. Jesus College, University of Cambridge.
• “ Samuel Taylor Coleridge: A Brief Biography .”  The Victorian Web . Glenn Everett, University of Tennessee at Martin.
• “ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner .”  LibriVox .
• “ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Samuel Taylor Coleridge .”  Lit2Go . Florida Educational Technology Clearinghouse. Florida Center for Instructional Technology. University of South Florida.
• The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge .  Project Gutenberg .

The Aeolian Harp

• The Aeolian Harp . Charles Rzepka. Boston University. explanation and images of aeolian harps.
• “ Aeolian Vibration .” John H. Lienhard. University of Houston.  Engines of Our Ingenuity . audio and text.

Concordances

• S. T. Coleridge The Ancyent Marinere Web Concordance . The Web Concordances. R.J.C. Watt, University of Dundee.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

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Discussion Questions

Why does the Mariner tell his story to the Wedding Guest? Consider the Hermit in your answer.

Can “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” be considered a religious work? Explain your answer with proof from the poem.

Whose fate is worse: the Mariner’s, or that of the sailors? Why?

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The Origins of 8 Literary Clichés

W orn-out phrases can make a reader roll their eyes, or worse—give up on a book altogether. Clichés are viewed as a sign of lazy writing, but they didn’t get to be that way overnight; many modern clichés read as fresh and evocative when they first appeared in print, and were memorable enough that people continue to copy them to this day (against their English teachers’ wishes). From Shakespeare to Dickens , here are the origins of eight common literary clichés.

1. Forever And a Day

This exaggerated way of saying “a really long time” would have been considered poetic in the 16th century. William Shakespeare popularized the saying in his play The Taming of the Shrew (probably written in the early 1590s and first printed in 1623).

Though Shakespeare is often credited with coining the phrase, he wasn’t the first writer to use it. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, Thomas Paynell’s translation of Ulrich von Hutten’s De Morbo Gallico put the words in a much less romantic context. The treatise on the French disease , or syphilis, includes the sentence: “Let them bid farewell forever and a day to these, that go about to restore us from diseases with their disputations.” And it’s very possible it’s a folk alteration of a much earlier phrase: Forever and aye (or ay — usually rhymes with day ) is attested as early as the 1400s, with the OED defining aye as “Ever, always, continually”—meaning forever and aye can be taken to mean “for all future as well as present time.”

Though he didn’t invent it, Shakespeare did help make the saying a cliché; the phrase has been used so much that it now elicits groans instead of swoons. Even Shakespeare couldn’t resist reusing it: “Forever and a day” also appears in his comedy As You Like It , written around 1600 .

2. Happily Ever After

This cliché ending line to countless fairytales originated with The Decameron , penned by Italian writer Giovanni Boccaccio in the 14th century . A translation of the work from the 1700s gave us the line, “so they lived very lovingly, and happily , ever after” in regard to marriage. In its earlier usage, the phrase wasn’t referring to the remainder of a couple’s time on Earth. “The ever after” used to mean heaven, and living “happily ever after” meant enjoying eternal bliss in the afterlife.

3. It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s 1830 novel Paul Clifford opens with the phrase it was a dark and stormy night . Those seven words made up only part of his first sentence, which continued, “the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

Regardless of what came after it, that initial phrase is what Bulwer-Lytton is best remembered for today: An infamous opener that has become shorthand for bad writing. No artist wants to be known for a cliché, but Bulwer-Lytton’s legacy as the writer of the worst sentence in English literature may be partially deserved. Though he popularized it was a dark and stormy night , the phrase had been appearing in print —with that exact wording—decades before Bulwer-Lytton opened his novel with it.

4. Little Did They Know

The clichéd phrase little did they know still finds its way into suspenseful fiction today, and can be spotted in works published in the 19th century, according to writer George Dobbs in a piece for The Airship —but it was truly popularized by adventure-minded magazines in the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s. Dobbs cites this line from a December 1931 issue of The Rotarian as an early example: “Little did he know that he was then on the verge of discovering a hidden treasure.” The phrase was effective enough to infect the minds of generations of suspense writers.

5. Not to Put Too Fine a Point on It

Charles Dickens is credited with coining and popularizing many words and idioms, including flummox, abuzz, odd-job, and—rather appropriately— Christmassy . The Dickensian cliché not to put too fine a point upon it can be traced to his mid-19th century novel Bleak House . His character Mr. Snagsby was fond of using this phrase meaning “speak plainly.”

6. Add Insult to Injury

The concept of adding insult to injury is at the heart of the fable “The Bald Man and the Fly.” In this story—which is alternately credited to the Greek fabulist Aesop or the Roman fabulist Phaedrus , though Phaedrus likely invented the relevant phrasing—a fly bites a man’s head. He tries swatting the insect away and ends up smacking himself in the process. The insect responds by saying, “You wanted to avenge the prick of a tiny little insect with death. What will you do to yourself, who have added insult to injury?” Today, the cliché is used in a less literal sense to describe any action that makes a bad situation worse.

7. Albatross Around Your Neck

The phrase albatross around your neck comes to us via Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” first published in 1798. According to maritime folklore, albatrosses are lucky, and when the sailor in the poem shoots one, it leads to bad luck for the crew—so he has to wear the dead animal around his neck as punishment: “Ah! well a-day! / what evil looks / Had I from old and young! / Instead of the cross, the Albatross / About my neck was hung,” the sailor says. These days, we use the phrase to refer to “A burden which some unfortunate person has to carry, by way of retribution for doing something wrong,” according to The Phrase Finder.

8. Pot Calling the Kettle Black

The earliest recorded instance of this idiom appears in Thomas Shelton’s 1620 translation of the Spanish novel Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes. The line reads: “You are like what is said that the frying-pan said to the kettle, ‘Avant, black-browes.’” Readers at the time would have been familiar with this imagery. Their kitchenware was made from cast iron, which became stained with black soot over time. Even as cooking materials evolved, this metaphor for hypocrisy stuck around.

A version of this story ran in 2021; it has been updated for 2023.

Are you a logophile? Do you want to learn unusual words and old-timey slang to make conversation more interesting, or discover fascinating tidbits about the origins of everyday phrases? Then get our new book, The Curious Compendium of Wonderful Words: A Miscellany of Obscure Terms, Bizarre Phrases, & Surprising Etymologies, out now! You can pick up your copy on Amazon , Barnes & Noble , Books-A-Million , or Bookshop.org .

This article was originally published on mentalfloss.com as The Origins of 8 Literary Clichés .

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Samuel taylor coleridge, ask litcharts ai: the answer to your questions.

In Part III, the Mariner uses a simile to describe the flight of the sailors' souls from their bodies as they dropped dead on the deck of the ship:

The souls did from their bodies fly, – They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow! Cite this Quote

The comparison of the sailors' souls to the "whizz of my cross-bow" introduces a sense of speed and suddenness. A cross-bow releases its projectile with remarkable speed, and in this context, the simile suggests the almost instantaneous departure of the sailors' souls from their bodies as they move toward their destinies of "bliss or woe." This simile also evokes the cross-bow that the Mariner used to kill the albatross. As the reader is presented with an image of the souls whizzing past the Mariner, the poem evokes both awe and dread. The swift and quasi-mechanical way in which the sailors' souls leave their bodies makes their deaths seem inevitable.  The simile heightens the dramatic effect of this passage and gives weight and significance to the sequence of events that it describes.

In Part IV, the Wedding Guest lists the reasons for his fear of the Ancient Mariner, including a strange simile that compares him to sand:

I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. Cite this Quote

The Mariner is "long, and lank, and brown, / As is the ribbed sea-sand." This simile draws a parallel between the Mariner's physical attributes and the characteristics of the sea-sand, aligning the look of his skin with the texture and color of ribbed sea-sand. It creates a clear and evocative visual image in the reader's mind, allowing them to picture the Mariner's gaunt and weathered appearance.

The Mariner carries the marks of the maritime environment from spending many years at sea. In fact, he appears so old and weathered that the Wedding Guest begins to believe that he perished alongside his crew and is telling the story as a ghost or zombie. His physical features, especially his skin, show evidence of many years of wear. The sea-sand is shaped and marked by the elements, just as the Mariner's experiences have left a lasting impact on his physical appearance. The resemblance between the Mariner and the sand also suggests his hard-won closeness to nature.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

It is an ancient mariner And he stoppeth one of three. --"By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stoppest thou me?

The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: Mayst hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand, "There was a ship," quoth he. "Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!" Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

He holds him with his glittering eye-- The wedding-guest stood still, And listens like a three-years' child: The mariner hath his will.

The wedding-guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner.

"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon--" The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.

The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner.

"And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled.

Listen, stranger! Mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice mast-high came floating by, As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind; The albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners' hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moon-shine."

"God save thee, ancient mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-- Why lookst thou so?" "With my crossbow I shot the albatross.

The sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done an hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea.

Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.

The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot.

Ah! wel-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung.

There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! A weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drouth all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all aflame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun.

And straight the sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon grate he peered With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the sun, Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that woman all her crew? Is that a Death? and are there two? Is Death that woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!' Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre bark.

We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My lifeblood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dews did drip-- Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one.

Their souls did from their bodies fly-- They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my crossbow!"

"I fear thee, ancient mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown."-- "Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest! This body dropped not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.

I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay.

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gushed, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close, Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside--

Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! No tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary-Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from heaven, That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light--almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere.

The upper air bursts 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; And the rain poured down from one black 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, Yet now the ship moved on! 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 nought to me."

"I fear thee, ancient mariner!" "Be calm, thou wedding-guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blessed.

For when it dawned--they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed.

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 'twas 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, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we silently 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.

'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless albatross.

The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.'

The other was a softer voice, As soft as honeydew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'

FIRST VOICE

'But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing-- What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?'

SECOND VOICE

'Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast--

If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.'

'But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?'

'The air is cut away before, And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the mariner's trance is abated.'

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 fixed 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 snapped: 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 turned 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 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 lighthouse top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own country?

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 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 colours 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 pilot and the pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy The 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.

This hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with mariners That come from a far country.

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 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 look 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, 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 country, I stood on the firm land! The hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.

'Oh 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 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; The 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 bridemaids 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.

Oh 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, 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.

This poem is in the public domain.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a leader of the British Romantic movement, was born on October 21, 1772, in Devonshire, England.