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The Rime of the

Ancient Mariner


Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(1772 - 1834)

Part VII



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner




part vii



The Hermit of the Wood


This Hermit good lives in that wood

Which slopes down to the sea.

How loudly his sweet voice he rears !

He loves to talk of 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 ?"


Approacheth the ship with wonder.

" 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.


The ship suddenly sinketh.

Under the water it rumbled on,

Still louder and more dread :

It reached the ship, it spilt 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 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.


The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him ; and the penance of life falls of 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 srenched

With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale ;

And then it left me free.


And ever and anon throughout his future life and 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 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 seemed 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 !


And to teach by his own example, love and reverence

Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell

To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.


to all things that God made and loveth.

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.





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