Thursday, March 23, 2006

expectations

This week was LEAP testing. I gave the iLEAP (whatever the hell place that holds in the universe) to four 9th graders in special ed and my job was to read the tests to them. It was nice to make a bond with these four children. They went at the tests with no whining, with gusto even. On the last day (yesterday) we had the reading comprehension section and I was not allowed to read the passages to them and I could see the fire fade in their eyes and the worry set in. I have a friend who says that politicians ought to take the Graduate Exit Exam that all high school students have to pass, even the students with society-tested, doctor-verified situations or conditions that render them officially incapable of passing the test, and publish the politicians' scores. I think so too. It's too easy to sit on the self-imposed and self-congratulatory "I'm an adult" throne and toss out edicts. Excuse me, but does anyone think our president could pass the high school GEE?
But to get off the soapbox...
Today I went to a wake for a student at our school who died Sunday in a car wreck. I didn't know the girl but I do teach her best friend who was in the car with her. They were both from Chalmette, now living on the northshore and going to Mandeville High School. Enough said.
Today I also started Great Expectations with my freshmen. It's a hard novel. I remember trying to read it in high school and hating it but reading it later in life and loving it. So I told them that. In one of the classes we talked about the difficulties and abuses so many children experience and I waxed romantic about how amazing the human spirit is, that it can endure such abuse and still rise, and students told stories, and I told mine, and one of my students said, "some of us do not rise." I think something important is going to happen in this class.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

what is the sacred

Here's the story of yesterday. We read the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner," (pasted in below). I tried to explain or rather to help the students understand something that I can only vaguely understand with my mind (though I sense what's true), that is, why the mariner was so grievously punished for taking the life of a bird. I only sense but cannot actually know that all things on Earth are connected and that what hurts you hurts me, and also that what feeds you feeds me (and what feeds me feeds you). But the mariner stepped into the flow and pulse and interrupted it, interfered in the forward movement. He was cocky maybe, or had the belief that he didn't need the mystery the bird represented. Maybe that's it, that our ability to understand rationally (which negates the possibility of faith and mystery) is an empty thing, that the mariner's spirit or heart or whatever got filled up by the experience of loss, that it perhaps made him feel that loneliness that I think is at the very very core of humans, made him feel that "...his soul hath been alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be." Maybe what he received was the opportunity to find God, to recognize his emptiness and loneliness and to seek out the mystery. But we have to sacrifice or face danger and death in order to reach inside to where the center of things is shrouded in the fog and the mist (9 fathoms down), the unknowable. The irony about all this is that during a discussion of the sanctity of life (we didn't name it that but that's what the discussion was) one student, Roy, who had come in late and missed the poem, said he likes to kill animals. Here was the man who must hear the mariner's tale and he came in late and missed it.
We wrote in response to Coeleridge's line, "What manner of man art thou," and I got some of the most real writing I've seen yet from students. Here's one by Adam:
"What manner of man art thou? Hidden, scalded. Raw. I hide from society. People are friend and foe. Living anxiously for something to happen. Waiting to see tomorrow. Enjoying the things that get me thru the day. Hoping to get over the fear of people. Hoping to live life anew. Though hoping to be ignored. Fear always there. As if over my shoulder. As if fear was a person. Fear/Pain, Love/Pleasure, Fear/Hatred, Love/Desire, Fear/Society, Love/Acceptance, Fear/Life, Love/Tomorrow, Fear/Love.
But always fearing fear itself."
It's 8:15 a.m., the room is filled with intensity. Racquel, who playfully fights me about all these poems we read, has been writing for 25 minutes non-stop. Her hand is on her forehead. Occasionally she stops and lifts her face and looks to the floor beside her, into the depths below the floor, for a word to flesh out some vague thought, some fleeting glimpse of understanding, because she wants to name the thing inside. I feel profoundly grateful to be the one this time who was able to give her the space to find a little more of herself. And this time it came about because we read a poem that she fought about a man who had an experience that deepened him and forced him into the world to be a teacher. And here I am, a teacher, passing another teacher along. But Racquel is a teacher too. She's listening to the muse and writing her song out and will pass it along sometime, somehow, because now she has words for it because she has a pen in her hand, and someone sometime somehow will hear her words and what she knows about herself and will see what we recognize to be true of ourselves too, that we are of the one human community, cut from the same cloth, one wide and lovely entity that is indeed affected by the death of a bird.
Here's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner":

ARGUMENTHow 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 IAn ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one.
It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three.`By thy long 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.The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.
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 dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the lighthouse top.The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line.
The Sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he !And he shone bright, and on the rightWent 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 Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music ; but the Mariner continueth his tale.
The bride hath paced into the hall,Red as a rose is she ;Nodding their heads before her goesThe 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.The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole.
`And now the STORM-BLAST came, and heWas 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 blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,The 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.The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing was to be seen.
And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid 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 !Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.
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 lo ! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.
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.'The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.
`God save thee, ancient Mariner !From the fiends, that plague thee thus !--Why look'st thou so ?'--With my cross-bowI 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 leftWent down into the sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind,But no sweet bird did follow,Nor any day for food or playCame to the mariners' hollo !His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck.
And I had done an hellish thing,And it would work 'em woe :For all averred, I had killed the birdThat made the breeze to blow.Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay,That made the breeze to blow !But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime.
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,The glorious Sun uprist :Then all averred, I had killed the birdThat brought the fog and mist.'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,That bring the fog and mist.The fair breeze continues ; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line.
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,The furrow followed free ;We were the first that ever burstInto that silent sea.The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,'Twas sad as sad could be ;And we did speak only to breakThe 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 shipUpon a painted ocean.And the Albatross begins to be avenged.
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 legsUpon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and routThe death-fires danced at night ;The water, like a witch's oils,Burnt green, and blue and white.A Spirit had followed them ; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels ; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.
And some in dreams assuréd wereOf the Spirit that plagued us so ;Nine fathom deep he had followed usFrom the land of mist and snow.
And every tongue, through utter drought,Was withered at the root ;We could not speak, no more than ifWe had been choked with soot.The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient Mariner : in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck.
Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looksHad I from old and young !Instead of the cross, the AlbatrossAbout my neck was hung.
PART III
There passed a weary time. Each throatWas parched, and glazed each eye.A weary time ! a weary time !How glazed each weary eye,When looking westward, I beheldA something in the sky.The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar off.
At first it seemed a little speck,And then it seemed a mist ;It moved and moved, and took at lastA 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.At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship ; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst.
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 !A flash of joy ;
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.And horror follows. For can it be a ship that comes onward without wind or tide ?
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 waveRested the broad bright Sun ;When that strange shape drove suddenlyBetwixt us and the Sun.It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship.
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,(Heaven's Mother send us grace !)As if through a dungeon-grate he peeredWith broad and burning face.And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun.
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 ?The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton ship.
And those her ribs through which the SunDid 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 ?[first version of this stanza through the end of Part III]
Like vessel, like crew !
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.Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner.
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.No twilight within the courts of the Sun.
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.At the rising of the Moon,
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 steerman's face by his lamp gleamed white ;From the sails the dew did drip--Till clomb above the eastern barThe hornéd Moon, with one bright starWithin the nether tip.One after another,
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.His shipmates drop down dead.
Four times fifty living men,(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,They dropped down one by one.But Life-in-Death begins her work on the ancient Mariner.
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 IVThe Wedding-Guest feareth that a Spirit is talking to him ;
`I fear thee, ancient Mariner !I fear thy skinny hand !And thou art long, and lank, and brown,As is the ribbed sea-sand.(Coleridge's note on above stanza)
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.But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,Alone on a wide wide sea !And never a saint took pity onMy soul in agony.He despiseth the creatures of the calm,
The many men, so beautiful !And they all dead did lie :And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on ; and so did I.And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead.
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 madeMy 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 skyLay like a load on my weary eye,And the dead were at my feet.But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,Nor rot nor reek did they :The look with which they looked on meHad never passed away.
An orphan's curse would drag to hellA spirit from on high ;But oh ! more horrible than thatIs the curse in a dead man's eye !Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,And yet I could not die.In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward ; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.
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 charméd water burnt alwayA still and awful red.By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's creatures of the great calm.
Beyond the shadow of the ship,I watched the water-snakes :They moved in tracks of shining white,And when they reared, the elfish lightFell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the shipI watched their rich attire :Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,They coiled and swam ; and every trackWas a flash of golden fire.Their beauty and their happiness.
He blesseth them in his heart.
O happy living things ! no tongueTheir 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 spell begins to break.
The self-same moment I could pray ;And from my neck so freeThe Albatross fell off, and sankLike 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.By grace of the holy Mother, the ancient Mariner is refreshed with rain.
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--almostI thought that I had died in sleep,And was a blesséd ghost.He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in the sky and the element.
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 stillThe 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 bodies of the ship's crew are inspired, and the ship moves on ;
The loud wind never reached the ship,Yet now the ship moved on !Beneath the lightning and the MoonThe 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 sonStood by me, knee to knee :The body and I pulled at one rope,But he said nought to me.But not by the souls of the men, nor by dæmons of earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of angelic spirits, sent down by the invocation of the guardian saint.
`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 skyI heard the sky-lark sing ;Sometimes all little birds that are,How they seemed to fill the sea and airWith their sweet jargoning !
And now 'twas like all instruments,Now like a lonely flute ;And now it is an angel's song,That makes the heavens be mute.
It ceased ; yet still the sails made onA pleasant noise till noon,A noise like of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune.[Additional stanzas, dropped after the first edition.]
Till noon we quietly sailed on,Yet never a breeze did breathe :Slowly and smoothly went the ship,Moved onward from beneath.The lonesome Spirit from the south-pole carries on the ship as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth vengeance.
Under the keel nine fathom deep,From the land of mist and snow,The spirit slid : and it was heThat 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 lengthWith a short uneasy motion.
Then like a pawing horse let go,She made a sudden bound :It flung the blood into my head,And I fell down in a swound.The Polar Spirit's fellow-dæmons, the invisible inhabitants of the element, take part in his wrong ; and two of them relate, one to the other, that penance long and heavy for the ancient Mariner hath been accorded to the Polar Spirit, who returneth southward.
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 discernedTwo 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 lowThe harmless Albatross.
The spirit who bideth by himselfIn the land of mist and snow,He loved the bird that loved the manWho 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 silentlyUp to the Moon is cast--
If he may know which way to go ;For she guides him smooth or grim.See, brother, see ! how graciouslyShe looketh down on him.'The Mariner hath been cast into a trance ; for the angelic power causeth the vessel to drive northward faster than human life could endure.
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.'The supernatural motion is retarded ; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew.
I woke, and we were sailing onAs 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.The curse is finally expiated.
And now this spell was snapt : once moreI viewed the ocean green,And looked far forth, yet little sawOf what had else been seen--
Like one, that on a lonesome roadDoth walk in fear and dread,And having once turned round walks on,And turns no more his head ;Because he knows, a frightful fiendDoth 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 cheekLike 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.And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.
Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeedThe 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.[Additional stanzas, dropped after the first edition.]
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,That stands above the rock :The moonlight steeped in silentnessThe steady weathercock.The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,
And the bay was white with silent light,Till rising from the same,Full many shapes, that shadows were,In crimson colours came.And appear in their own forms of light.
A little distance from the prowThose 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 sankLike music on my heart.
But soon I heard the dash of oars,I heard the Pilot's cheer ;My head was turned perforce awayAnd I saw a boat appear.[Additional stanza, dropped after the first edition.]
The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,I heard them coming fast :Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joyThe dead men could not blast.
I saw a third--I heard his voice :It is the Hermit good !He singeth loud his godly hymnsThat he makes in the wood.He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash awayThe Albatross's blood.
PART VIIThe Hermit of the Wood,
This Hermit good lives in that woodWhich slopes down to the sea.How loudly his sweet voice he rears !He loves to talk with marineresThat come from a far countree.
He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve--He hath a cushion plump :It is the moss that wholly hidesThe 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 ?'Approacheth the ship with wonder.
`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 lagMy 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.The ship suddenly sinketh.
Under the water it rumbled on,Still louder and more dread :It reached the ship, it split the bay ;The ship went down like lead.The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.
Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,Which sky and ocean smote,Like one that hath been seven days drownedMy body lay afloat ;But swift as dreams, myself I foundWithin the Pilot's boat.
Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,The boat spun round and round ;And all was still, save that the hillWas telling of the sound.
I moved my lips--the Pilot shriekedAnd 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 whileHis 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.The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him ; and the penance of life falls on him.
`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 wrenchedWith a woful agony,Which forced me to begin my tale ;And then it left me free.And ever and anon through out his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land ;
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 brideAnd bride-maids singing are :And hark the little vesper bell,Which biddeth me to prayer !
O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath beenAlone on a wide wide sea :So lonely 'twas, that God himselfScarce seeméd there to be.
O sweeter than the marriage-feast,'Tis sweeter far to me,To walk together to the kirkWith 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 friendsAnd youths and maidens gay !And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.
Farewell, farewell ! but this I tellTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest !He prayeth well, who loveth wellBoth man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best, who loveth bestAll 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-GuestTurned 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.