Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

"Uncle!" he cried, and softly tapp'd the door;
"Do let me in"—but he could add no more;
The careful father caught him in the fact,
And cried,—“You serpent! is it thus you act?
Back to your mother!"-and, with hasty blow,
He sent th' indignant boy to grieve below;
Then at the door an angry speech began-
"Is this your conduct?-is it thus you plan?
Seduce my child, and make my house a scene
Of vile dispute What is it that you mean?—
George, are you dumb? do learn to know your
friends,

And think awhile on whom your bread depends!
What! not a word? be thankful I am cool-
But, sir, beware, nor longer play the fool;
Come! brother, come! what is it that you seek
By this rebellion ?-Speak, you villain, speak!—
Weeping! I warrant-sorrow makes you dumb:
I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come:
Let me approach—I'll shake you from the bed,
You stubborn dog-Oh God! my brother's dead!-"
Timid was Isaac, and in all the past

He felt a purpose to be kind at last;
Nor did he mean his brother to depart,
Till he had shown this kindness of his heart:
But day by day he put the cause aside,
Induced by av'rice, peevishness, or pride.

But now awaken'd, from this fatal time His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime: He raised to George a monumental stone, And there retired to sigh and think alone; An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook"So," said his son, "would my poor uncle look." "And so, my child, shall I like him expire." "No! you have physic and a cheerful fire." "Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied With every comfort my cold heart denied." He view'd his brother now, but not as one Who vex'd his wife by fondness for her son;

Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale,
The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale:
He now the worth and grief alone can view
Of one so mild, so generous, and so true;
"The frank, kind brother, with such open heart,
And I to break it-'twas a Dæmon's part!"

So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels,
Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals;
"This is your folly," said his heartless wife:
"Alas! my folly cost my brother's life;
It suffer'd him to languish and decay,
My gentle brother, whom I could not pay,
And therefore left to pine, and fret his life away."
He takes his son, and bids the boy unfold
All the good uncle of his feelings told,
All he lamented and the ready tear
Falls as he listens, soothed, and grieved to hear.
"Did he not curse me, child?". "He never

[blocks in formation]

But could not breathe, and said his heart would
"And so will mine:"-" Then, father, you must
My uncle said it took his pains away." [pray;
Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows
That he repenting feels the debt he owes,
And from this source alone his every comfort flows.
He takes no joy in office, honours, gain;
They make him humble, nay, they give him pain;
"These from my heart," he cries, "all feeling drove,
They made me cold to nature, dead to love:"
He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees
A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease;
He takes no joy in office-see him now,
And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow;
Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess'd,
He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest-
Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the best.
And thus he lives, if living be to sigh,
And from all comforts of the world to fly,
Without a hope in life-without a wish to die.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

IN SEVEN PARTS.

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 open'd 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 year's child:

The Mariner hath his will.

The wedding-guest sat on a stone:

He cannot chuse but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

"The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd, Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the light-house 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 can not chuse but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

[blocks in formation]

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 roar'd the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wonderous cold:

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clift
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 roar'd and howl'd,
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 steer'd 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 perch'd for vespers nine;

Whilst 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 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 stream'd off 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 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 wither'd at the root;

We could not speak, no more than if

We had been choak'd 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 seem'd a little speck,
And then it seem'd 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 near'd and near'd:
And as if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tack'd and veer'd.

With throat unslack'd, 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 throat unslacked, 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 steddies 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 peer'd,
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-mair 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.

A gust of wind sterte up behind And whistled through his bones;

[mouth,

Through the holes of his eyes and the hole of his Half whistles and half groans.

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 listen'd and look'd sideways up!

Fear at my heart, as at a cup,

My life-blood seem'd to sip!

The stars were dim, and thick the night,

The steersman's face by his lamp gleam'd white;

From the sails the dews did drip

Till clombe above the eastern bar
The horned moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogg'd moon
Too quick for groan or sigh,

Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang,
And curs'd 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 whiz of my cross-bow!

PART IV.

"I fear thee, ancient Mariner!

I fear thy skinny hand!

And thou art long, and lauk, 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 and so did I.

Liv'd

on;

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

I look'd 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.

[blocks in formation]

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,

Nor rot nor reek did they :

The look with which they look'd on me
Had never pass'd 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 bemock'd 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 watch'd 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 watch'd 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 gusht 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.

O sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Belov'd 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.

[blocks in formation]

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 seem'd 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 fixt 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."

« AnteriorContinuar »