THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE-3

III.

I saw a something in the Sky

No bigger than my ?st;

At ?rst it seemd a little speck

And then it seemd a mist:

It movd and movd, and took at last

A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!

And still it nerd and nerd;

And, an it dodgd a water-sprite,

It plungd and tackd and veerd.

With throat unslackd, with black lips bakd

Ne could we laugh, ne wail:

Then while thro drouth all dumb they stood

I bit my arm and suckd the blood

And cryd, A sail! a sail!

With throat unslackd, with black lips bakd

Agape they heard me call:

Gramercy! they for joy did grin

And all at once their breath drew in

As they were drinking all.

She doth not tack from side to side--

Hither to work us weal

Withouten wind, withouten tide

She steddies with upright keel.

The western wave was all a ?ame,

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 strait the Sun was ?eckd with bars

(Heavens mother send us grace)

As if thro a dungeon grate he peerd

With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)

How fast she neres and neres!

Are those _her_ Sails that glance in the Sun

Like restless gossameres?

Are these _her_ naked ribs, which ?eckd

The sun that did behind them peer?

And are these two all, all the crew,

That woman and her ?eshless Pheere?

_His_ bones were black with many a crack,

All black and bare, I ween;

Jet-black and bare, save where with rust

Of mouldy damps and charnel crust

Theyre patchd with purple and green.

_Her_ lips are red, _her_ looks are free,

_Her_ locks are yellow as gold:

Her skin is as white as leprosy,

And she is far liker Death than he;

Her ?esh makes the still air cold.

The naked Hulk alongside came

And the Twain were playing dice;

"The Game is done! Ive won, Ive won!"

Quoth she, and whistled thrice.

A gust of wind sterte up behind

And whistled thro his bones;

Thro the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth

Half-whistles and half-groans.

With never a whisper in the Sea

Off darts the Spectre-ship;

While clombe above the Eastern bar

The horned Moon, with one bright Star

Almost atween the tips.

One after one by the horned Moon

(Listen, O Stranger! to me)

Each turnd his face with a ghastly pang

And cursd me with his ee.

Four times ?fty living men,

With never a sigh or groan,

With heavy thump, a lifeless lump

They droppd down one by one.

Their souls did from their bodies ?y,--

They ?ed to bliss or woe;

And every soul it passd me by,

Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.