Shelley_poems

11.Give yourself no unnecessary pain

Give yourself no unnecessary pain,
My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, mother, tie
My girdle for me, and bind up this hair
In any simple knot. Ay, that does well;
And yours, I see, is coming down. How often
Have we done this for one another! now
We shall not do it any more. My Lord,
We are quite ready. Well, 'tis very well.


02.A GARISH DAY. (said by a potent ruffian.)

The all-beholding sun yet shines ; I hear
A busy stir of men about the streets ;
I see the bright sky through the window-panes :
It is a garish, broad, and peering day;
Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears :
And every little corner, nook, and hole,
Is penetrated with the insolent light.
Come, darkness!


03.CONTEMPLATION OF VIOLENCE. (by a man not bad.)

Spare me now.
I am as one lost in a midnight wood,
Who dares not ask some harmless passenger
The path across the wilderness, lest he,
As my thoughts are, should be a murderer.


04.A ROCK AND A CHASM.

I remember,
Two miles on this side of the fort, the road
Crosses a deep ravine: 't is rough and narrow,
And winds with short turns down the precipice ;
And in its depth there is a mighty rock,
Which has, from unimaginable years,
Sustained itself with terror and with toil
Over a gulf, and with the agony
With which it clings seems slowly coming down ;
Even as a wretched soul, hour after hour,
Clings to the mass of life ; yet clinging leans,
And, leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss
In which it fears to fall. Beneath this crag,
Huge as despair, as if in weariness,
The melancholy mountain yawns. Below
You hear, but see not, an impetuous torrent
Raging among the caverns ; and a bridge
Crosses the chasm ; and high above these grow,
With intersecting trunks, from crag to crag,
Cedars, and yews, and pines ; whose tangled hair
Is matted in one solid roof of shade
By the dark ivy's twine. At noon-day here
'Tis twilight, and at sunset blackest night.


05.LOVELINESS INEXPRESSIBLE.

Sweet lamp ! my moth-like muse has burnt its wings,
Or, like a dying swan who soars and sings,
Young Love should teach Time in his own gray style
All that thou art. Art thou not void of guile;
A lovely soul form'd to be blest and bless?
A well of seal'd and secret happiness,
Whose waters like blithe light and music are,
Vanquishing dissonance and gloom? -- a star
Which moves not in the moving heavens, alone?
A smile amid dark frowns? -- a gentle tone
Amid rude voices? -- a beloved sight?
A Solitude, a Refuge, a Delight?
A lute, which those whom love has taught to play,
Make music on, to soothe the roughest day,
And lull fond grief asleep? -- a buried treasure?
A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure?
A violet-shrouded grave of woe? I measure
The world of fancies, seeking one like thee,
And find -- alas! mine own infirmity.


06.EXISTENCE IN SPACE.

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity.

Keats_Poems

Brand quotes Ben Jonson.

And on sweet St. Agnes' night,
Pleas'd yon with the promis'd sight,
Some of husbands, some of lovers,
Which an empty dream discovers.


02.LONELY SOUNDS.

Undescribed sounds,
That come a-swooning over hollow grounds,
And wither drearily on barren moors.


03.ORION.

At this, with madden'd stare,
And lifted hands, and trembling lips he stood
Like old Deucalion mountain'd o'er the flood,
Or blind Orion hungry for the morn.


04.CIRCE AND HER VICTIMS.

Fierce, wan,
And tyrannizing was the lady's look,
As over them a gnarled staff she shook.
Ofttimes upon the sudden she laugh'd out,
And from a basket emptied to the rout
Clusters of grapes, the which they raven'd quick
And roar'd for more, with many a hungry lick
About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow,
Anon she took a branch of mistletoe,
And emptied on it a black dull gurgling phial:
Groan'd one and all, as if some piercing trial
Were sharpening for their pitiable bones.
She lifted up the charm : appealing groans
From their poor breasts went suing to her ear
In vain: remorseless as an infant's bier,
She whisk'd against their eyes the sooty oil ;
Whereat was heard a noise of painful toil,
Increasing gradual to a tempest rage,
Shrieks, yells, and groans, of torture-pilgrimage.


05.A BETTER ENCHANTRESS IMPRISONED IN THE SHAPE OF A SERPENT.

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue,
Striped like a zebra, speckled like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson-barr'd,
And full of silver moons, that as she breath'd
Dissolv'd or brighter shone, or interwreath'd
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries.
So rainbow-sided, full of miseries,
She seem'd, at once, some penanc'd lady elf,
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar;
Her head was serpent; but, ah bitter sweet!
She had a woman's mouth, with all its pearls complete.


06.SATURN DETHRONED.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale,
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat grey-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung about his head,
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deaden'd more
By reason of his fallen divinity
Spreading a shade: the Naiad mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.
Along the margin sand large footmarks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed.


07.THE VOICE OF A MELANCHOLY GODDESS SPEAKING TO SATURN.

As when upon a tranced summer-night
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual solitary gust,
Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air had but one wave:
So came these words, and went.


08.A FALLEN GOD.

-- the bright Titan, frenzied with new woes,
Unused to bend, by hard compulsion, bent
His spirit to the sorrow of the time;
And all along a dismal rack of clouds,
Upon the boundaries of day and night,
He stretch'd himself, in grief and radiance faint.


09.OTHER TITANS FALLEN.

Scarce images of life, one here, one there,
Lay vast and edgeways ; like a dismal cirque
Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
When the chill rain begins at shut of eve
In dull November, and their chancel vault,
The heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.

MYTHOLOGY AND COURT AMUSEMENTS

I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians, that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant king which way I please:
Music and poetry is his delight;
Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat-feet dance the antic hay;
Sometime a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
With hair that gilds the water as it glides,
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his sportful hands an olive-tree,
To hide those parts which men delight to see,
Shall bathe him in a spring; and there, hard by,
One like Actæon, peeping through the grove,
Shall by the angry goddess be transform'd,
And running in the likeness of a hart,
By yelping hounds pull'd down, shall seem to die:
Such things as these best please his majesty.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (text of 1834)

BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
Argument

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.

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.

WHAT IS POETRY?

*01.*
The plant and flower of light,

*02.*
Sir Eger said, "If it be so,
Then wot I well I must forego
Love-liking, and manhood, all clean?"
The water rush'd out of his een !


*03.*
Gray-Steel Into his death thus thraws (throes ?)
He waiters (welters, -- throws himself about) and the grass up draws;
*
A little while then lay he still
(Friends that him saw, liked full ill)
And bled into his armour bright.


*04.*
His wonning (dwelling) was full fair upon an heath,
With greeny trees yshadowed was his place.


*05.*
Pray do not mock me :
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward :
Not an hour more, nor less ; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.


*06.*
With that she dash'd her on the lips,
So dyed double red:
Hard was the heart that gave the blow,
Soft were those lips that bled.



*07.*
So the two brothers and their murdered man
Rode towards fair Florence ;


*08.*
Parea che l' erba le fiorisse intorno,
E d' amor ragionasse quella riva!

Orlando Innamorato, canto iii.


*09.*
Quoth Christabel, So let it be !
And as the lady bade, did she.
Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness ;



*10.*
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain;
For violets pluck'd the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again.


*11.*
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of eternity.


*12.*
Inferno, canto xxxi. ver. 34 et seq.

I looked again: and as the eye makes out,
By little and little, what the mist conceal'd,
In which, till clearing up, the sky was steep'd;
So, looming through the gross and darksome air,
As we drew nigh, those mighty bulks grew plain,
And error quitted me, and terror join'd:
For in like manner as all round its height
Montereggione crowns itself with towers,
So tower'd above the circuit of that pit,
Though but half out of it, and half within,
The horrible giants that fought Jove, and still
Are threaten'd when he thunders. As we near'd
The foremost, I discern'd his mighty face,
His shoulders, breast, and more than half his trunk,
With both the arms down hanging by the sides.
His face appear'd to me, in length and breadth,
Huge as St. Peter's pinnacle at Rome,
And of a like proportion all his bones.
He open'd, as we went, his dreadful mouth,
Fit for no sweeter psalmody; and shouted
After us, in the words of some strange tongue,
" Rafel ma-ee amech zabee almee!?"
" Dull wretch! " my leader cried, " keep to thine horn,
And so vent better whatsoever rage
Or other passion stuff thee. Feel thy throat
And find the chain upon thee, thou confusion !
Lo ! what a hoop is clench'd about thy gorge."
Then turning to myself, he said, " His howl
Is its own mockery. This is Nimrod, he
Through whose ill thought it was that humankind
Were tongue-confounded. Pass him, and say nought:
For as he speaketh language known of none,
So none can speak save jargon to himself."



*13.*
So horsly and so quick of eye,

*14.*
Sleeping against the sun upon a day,

*15.*
Then grew the visage pale, and deadly wet,
The eyes turn'd in their sockets, drearily;
And all things show'd the villain's sun was set.
His trunk that was in chace, fell from its horse,
And giving the last shudder, was a corse.


*16.*
Iliad, lib. xviii. vv. 203-231.

But up Achilles rose, the lov'd of heaven;
And Pallas on his mighty shoulders cast
The shield of Jove ; and round about his head
She put the glory of a golden mist,
From which there burnt a fiery-flaming light.
And as, when smoke goes heaven-ward from a town,
In some far island which its foes besiege,
Who all day long with dreadful martialness
Have pour'd from their own town; soon as the sun
Has set, thick lifted fires are visible,
Which, rushing upward, make a light in the sky,
And let the neighbours know, who may perhaps
Bring help across the sea; so from the head
Of great Achilles went up an effulgence.

Upon the trench he stood, without the wall,
But mix'd not with the Greeks, for he rever'd
His mother's word; and so, thus standing there,
He shouted ; and Minerva, to his shout,
Added a dreadful cry; and there arose
Among the Trojans an unspeakable tumult.
And as the clear voice of a trumpet, blown
Against a town by spirit-withering foes,
So sprang the clear voice of AEacides.
And when they heard the brazen cry, their hearts
All leap'd within them; and the proud-maned horses
Ran with the chariots round, for they foresaw
Calamity; and the charioteers were smitten,
When they beheld the ever-active fire
Upon the dreadful head of the great-minded one
Burning; for bright-eyed Pallas made it burn.
Thrice o'er the trench divine Achilles shouted;
And thrice the Trojans and their great allies
Roll'd back; and twelve of all their noblest men
Then perish'd, crush'd by their own arms and chariots.


*17.*
Iliad, lib. xxiv. vv. 468-510.

So saying, Mercury vanished up to heaven ;
And Priam then alighted from his chariot,
Leaving Idaeus with it, who remain'd
Holding the mules and horses ; and the old man
Went straight indoors, where the belov'd of Jove
Achilles sat, and found him. In the room
Were others, but apart; and two alone,
The hero Automeclon, and Alcimus,
A branch of Mars, stood by him. They had been
At meals, and had not yet remov'd the board.
Great Priam came, without their seeing him,
And kneeling down, he clasp'd Achilles' knees,
And kiss'd those terrible, homicidal hands,
Which had deprived him of so many sons.
And as a man who is press'd heavily
For having slain another, flies away
To foreign lands, and comes into the honse
Of some great man, and is beheld with wonder,
So did Achilles wonder to see Priam;
And the rest wonder'd, looking at each other.
But Priam, praying to him, spoke these words :
God-like Achilles, think of thine own father !
To the same age have we both come, the same
Weak pass; and though the neighbouring chiefs may vex
Him also, and his borders find no help,
Yet when he hears that thou art still alive,
He gladdens inwardly, and daily hopes
To see his dear son coming back from Troy.

But I, bereav'd old Priam ! I had once
Brave sons in Troy, and now I cannot say
That one is left me. Fifty children had I,
When the Greeks came, nineteen were of one womb;
The rest my women bore me in my house.
The knees of many of these fierce Mars has loosen'd;
And he who had no peer, Troy's prop and theirs,
Him hast thou kill'd now, fighting for his country,
Hector; and for his sake am I come here
To ransom him, bringing a countless ransom.
But thou, Achilles, fear the gods, and think
Of thine own father, and have mercy on me :
For I am much more wretched, and have borne
What never mortal bore, I think, on earth,
To lift unto my lips the hand of him
Who slew my boys."

He ceased ; and there arose
Sharp longing in Achilles for his father;
And taking Priam by the hand, he gently
Put him away; for both shed tears to think
Of other times; the one, most bitter ones
For Hector, and with wilful wretchedness
Lay right before Achilles : and the other,
For his own father now, and now his friend;
And the whole honse might hear them as they moan'd.
But when divine Achilles had refresh'd
His soul with tears, and sharp desire had left
His heart and limbs, he got up from his throne,
And rais'd the old man by the hand, and took
Pity on his grey head and his grey chin.


*18.*
Passion unpitied and successless love
Plant daggers in my breast.


*19.*
I've sounded my Numidians, man by man,
And find them ripe for a revolt.


*20.*
The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex.

*21.*
Mariamne, with superior charms,
Triumphs o'er reason ; in her look she bears
A paradise of ever-blooming sweets;
Fair as the first idea beauty prints
In the young lover's soul; a winning grace
Guides every gesture, and obsequious love
Attends on all her steps.



*22.*
Rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.

Troilus and Cressida, Act iii. sc. 3.



*23.*
Oh! and I forsooth
In love ! I that have been love's whip !
A very beadle to a humorous sigh ;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy;
This wimpled, winning, purblind, wayward boy ;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, &c.

Loves Labours Lost, Act iii. sc. 1.


*24.*
Silent icicles
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

Coleridge's Frost at Midnight.


*25.*
You are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; where
yon will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do
redeem it by some laudable attempt.

Twelfth Night, Act iii. sc. 2.


*26.*
It gives a very echo to the seat,
Where Love is throned.



*27.*
Her waggon-spokes made of long-spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers:
The traces of the smallest spider's web;
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, &c.


*28.*
This palace standeth in the air,
By necromancy placed there,
That it no tempest needs to fear,
Which way soe'er it blow it:
And somewhat southward tow'rd the noon.
Whence lies a way up to the moon,
And thence the Fairy can as soon
Pass to the earth below it.
The walls of spiders' legs are made,
Well mortised and finely laid ;
He was the master of his trade,
It curiously that builded :
The windows of the eyes of cats :

(because they see best at night,)

And for the roof instead of slats
Is cover'd with the skins of bats
With moonshine that are gilded.



*29.*
Of leaves of roses, white and red,
Shall be the covering of the bed;
The curtains, vallens, tester all
Shall be the flower imperial;
And for the fringe it all along
With azure hare-bells shall be hung.
Of lilies shall the pillows be
With down stuft of the butterfly.



*30.*
Her feet beneath her petticoat
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they feard the light:
But oh ! she dances such a way !
No sun upon an Easter day
Is half so fine a sight.



*31.*
Her lips were red, and one was thin
Compared with that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly.


*32.*
To witch the world with wondrous horsemanship.

*33.*
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds.

Paradise Lost.


*34.*
Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheav'd
His vastness.

Id.


*35.*
Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage! blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks !
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!

Lear.


*36.*
Then in the keyhole turns
The intricate wards, and every bolt and bar
Unfastens. On a sudden open fly
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound
The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder.

Par. Lost, Book II.


*37.*
Abominable -- unutterable -- and worse
Than fables yet have feigned.

Id.


*38.*
Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait.

Id.


*39.*
But he, my lion, and my noble lord,
How does he find in cruel heart to hate
Her that him lov'd, and ever most ador'd
As the god of my life ? Why hath he me abhorr'd?


*40.*
Only the firmest and the constantest hearts
God sets to act the stoutest and hardest parts.


*41.*
He that hangs or beats out's brains,
The devil's in him if he feigns.


*42.*
With silence (order's help, and mark of care)
They chide that noise which heedless youth affect;
Still course for use, for health they cleanness wear,
And save in well-fix'd arms, all niceness check'd.
They thought, those that, unarm'd, expos'd frail life,
But naked nature valiantly betray'd;
Who was, though naked, safe, till pride made strife,
But made defence must use, now danger's made.


*43.*
And lo ! Silence himself is here;
Methinks I see the midnight god appear.
In all his downy pomp array'd,
Behold the reverend shade.
An ancient sigh he sits upon !!!
Whose memory of sound is long since gone,
And purposely annihilated for his throne!!!

Ode on the singing of Mrs. Arabella Hunt.


*44.*
For ever consecrate the day
To music and Cecilia ;
Music, the greatest good that mortals know,
And all of heaven we have below,
Music can noble hints impart!!!



*45.*
And was admired much of fools, women, and boys,
altered to,
And was admired much of women, fools, and boys,


*46.*
As gentle shepherd in sweet eventide

*47.*
She brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings.

*48.*
Each smoother seems than each, and each than each seems smoother.

*49.*
My eyes make pictures when they're shut:
I see a fountain, large and fair,
A willow and a ruin'd hut,
And thee and me and Mary there.
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow ;
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow.



*50.*
I receive your prayers with kindness, and will give success to
your hopes. I have seen, with anger, mankind adore your sister's
beauty and deplore her scorn: which they shall do no more. For
I'll so resent their idolatry, as shall content your wishes to the full.


*51.*
With kindness I your prayers receive,
And to your hopes success will give.
I have, with anger, seen mankind adore
Your sister's beauty and her scorn deplore;
Which they shall do no more.
For their idolatry I'll so resent,
As shall your wishes to the full content!!


*52.*
Yourself how do you find?
Very well, you I thank.


*53.*
A man so various, that he seemed to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome:
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,
Was everything by starts, and nothing long ;
But in the course of one revolving moon
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon :
Then all for women, rhyming, dancing, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Blest madman ! who could every hour employ
With something new to wish or to enjoy!
Railing and praising were his usual themes,
And both, to show his judgment, in extremes:
So over-violent, or over-civil,
That every man with him was god or devil.
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art;
Nothing went unrewarded, but desert.
Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late,
He had his jest, and they had his estate.


*54.*
And much they griev'd to see so nigh their hall
The bird that warn'd St. Peter of Ms fall;
That he should raise his mitred crest on high,
And clap his wings and call his family
To sacred rites; and vex the ethereal powers
With midnight matins at uncivil hours ;
Nay more, his quiet neighbours should molest
Just in the sweetness of their morning rest.

(What a line fall of " another doze " is that!)

Beast of a bird! supinely, when he might
Lie snug and sleep, to rise before the light!
What if his dull forefathers used that cry?
Could he not let a bad example die ?



*55.*
On her white breast -- a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss -- and infidels adore;
Her lively looks -- a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes -- and as unfix'd as those
Favours to none -- to all she smiles extends,
Oft she rejects -- but never once offends ;
Bright as the sun -- her eyes the gazers strike,
And like the sun -- they shine on all alike;
Yet graceful ease -- and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults -- if belles had faults to hide ;
If to her share -- some female errors fall,
Look on her face -- and you'll forget them all.



*56.*
It happen'd -- on a summer's holiday,
That to the greenwood shade -- he took his way,
For Cymon shunn'd the church -- and used not much to pray:
His quarter-staff -- which he could ne'er forsake,
Hung half before -- and half behind his back :
He trudg'd along -- not knowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went -- for want of thought.

By chance conducted -- or by thirst constrain'd,
The deep recesses of a grove he gain'd : --
Where -- in a plain defended by a wood,
Crept through the matted grass -- a crystal flood,
By which -- an alabaster fountain stood;
And on the margent of the fount was laid --
Attended by her slaves -- a sleeping maid;
Like Dian and her nymphs -- when, tir'd with sport,
To rest by cool Eurotas they resort. --
The dame herself -- the goddess well express'd,
Not more distinguished by her purple vest --
Than by the charming features of the face --
And e'en in slumber -- a superior grace :
Her comely limbs -- compos'd with decent care,
Her body shaded -- by a light cymarr,
Her bosom to the view -- was only bare;
Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied --
For yet their places were but signified. --
The fanning wind upon her bosom blows --
To meet the fanning wind -- the bosom rose,
The fanning wind -- and purling stream -- continue her repose.


*57.*
Whilst listening to the murmuring leaves he stood --
More than a mile immers'd within the wood --
At once the wind was laid. -- The whispering sound
Was dumb. -- A rising earthquake rock'd the ground.
With deeper brown the grove was overspread --
A sudden horror seiz'd his giddy head --
And his ears tinkled -- and his colour fled.


Nature was in alarm. -- Some danger nigh
Seem'd threaten'd -- though unseen to mortal eye.
Unused to fear -- he summon'd all his soul,
And stood collected in himself -- and whole:
Not long. --


*58.*
There was a place,
Now not -- though Sin -- not Time -- first wrought the change,
Where Tigris -- at the foot of Paradise,
Into a gulf -- shot under ground -- till part
Rose up a foimtain by the Tree of Life.
In with the river sunk -- and with it rose
Satan -- involv'd in rising mist -- then sought
Where to lie hid. -- Sea he had search'd -- and land
From Eden over Pontus -- and the pool
Meaotis -- up beyond the river Ob ;
Downward as far antarctic ; -- and in length
West from Orontes -- to the ocean barr'd
At Darien -- thence to the land where flows
Ganges, and Indus. -- Thus the orb he roam'd
With narrow search; -- and with inspection deep
Consider'd every creature -- which of all
Most opportune might serve his wiles -- and found
The serpent -- subtlest beast of all the field.



*59.*
The wind was high, the window shakes;
With sudden start the miser wakes;
Along the silent room he stalks,

(A miser never " stalks; " but a rhyme was desired for " walks ")

Looks hack, and trembles as he walks :
Each lock and every bolt he tries,
In every creek and corner pries;
Then opes the chest with treasure stor'd,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard;

("Hoard" and "treasure stor'd" are just made for one another,)

But now, with sudden qualms possess'd,
He wrings his hands, he heats his breast ;
By conscience stung, he wildly stares,
And thus his guilty soul declares.

And so he denouces his gold, as miser never denouced it; and sighs because :

Virtue resides on earth no more!


*60.*
'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,
And the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock
Tu-whit! Tu-whoo !
And hark, again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily he crew.
Sir Leoline, the baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock
She maketh answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters and twelve for the hour,
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud:
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.


Is the night chilly and dark ?
The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin grey cloud is spread on high,
It covers, but not hides, the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full,
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chilly, the cloud is grey;

(These are not superfluities, but mysterious returns of importunate feeling)

'Tis a month before the month of May,
And the spring comes slowly up this way.
The lovely lady, Christabel,
Whom her father loves so well,
What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle-gate ?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothed knight;
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that's far away.

She stole along, she nothing spoke,
The sighs she heav'd were soft and low,
And nought was green npon the oak,
But moss and rarest mistletoe ;
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree,
And in silence prayeth she.

The lady sprang up suddenly,
The lovely lady, Christabel!
It moan'd as near as near can be,
But what it is, she cannot tell.
On the other side it seems to be
Of the huge, broad breasted, old oak tree.

The night is chill, the forest bare ;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ?

(This " bleak moaning " is a witch's)

There is not wind enough in the air
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady's cheek?
There is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of Its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

Hush, beating heart of Christabel!
Jesu Maria, shield her well!
She folded her arms beneath her cloak,
And stole to the other side of the oak.
What sees she there?

There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a robe of silken white,
That shadowy in the moonlight shone :
The neck that made that white robe wan,
Her stately neck and arms were bare :
Her blue-vein'd feet unsandall'd were;
And wildly glitter'd, here and there,
The gems entangled in her hair.
I guess 'twas frightful there to see
A lady so richly clad as she ,
Beautiful exceedingly.


*61.*
Large was his bounty and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompence as largely send;
He gave to misery all he had, a tear ;
He gain'd from heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

Gray's Elegy.


*62.*
The fops are proud of scandal; for they cry
At every lewd, low character, "That's I."

Dryden's Prologue to the Pilgrim.



*63.*
What makes all doctrines plain and clear ?
About two hundred pounds a year.
And that which was proved true before,
Prove false again? Two hundred more.

Hudibras



*64.*
Compound for sins they are inclined to,
By damning those they have no mind to.

Id.


*65.*
Stor'd with deletery medicines,
Which whosoever took is dead since.

Id.


*66.*
Win
The women, and make them draw in
The men, as Indians with a female
Tame elephant inveigle the male.

Id..


*67.*
He made an instrument to know
If the moon shines at full or no ;
That would, as soon as e'er she shone, straight
Whether 'twere day or night demonstrate;
Tell what her diameter to an inch is,
And prove that she's not made of green cheese.

Hudibras.



*68.*
But oh ! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, haven't they hen-peck'd you all?


*69.*
Let our trumpets sound,
And cleave both air and ground
With beating of our drums.
Let every lyre be strung,
Harp, lute, theorbo, sprung
With touch of dainty thumbs.

16.UNLOVELINESS OF FROWNING

UNLOVELINESS OF FROWNING.

Cupid sets a crown
Upon those lovely tresses;
O spoil not with a frown
What he so sweetly dresses !

Id.

15.BEAUTEOUS MORAL EXAMPLE

BEAUTEOUS MORAL EXAMPLE.

Her I hold
My honourable pattern; one whose mind
Appears more like a ceremonious chapel.
Full of sweet music, than a thronging presence.

Id.