Poems of Coleridge. Coleridge Samuel Taylor. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Coleridge Samuel Taylor
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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 horned 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.1

        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 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 a 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 charmed 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 selfsame 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


<p>1</p>

For the last two lines of this stanza, I am indebted to Mr. Wordsworth. It was on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to Dulverton, with him and his sister, in the autumn of 1797, that this poem was planned, and in part composed. [Note of S. T. C., first printed in Sibylline Leaves.]