Lyrical Ballads, with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 1

LOVE

 
  All Thoughts, all Passions, all Delights,
  Whatever stirs this mortal Frame,
  All are but Ministers of Love,
    And feed his sacred flame.
 
 
  Oft in my waking dreams do I
  Live o'er again that happy hour,
  When midway on the Mount I lay
    Beside the Ruin'd Tower.
 
 
  The Moonshine stealing o'er the scene
  Had blended with the Lights of Eve;
  And she was there, my Hope, my Joy,
    My own dear Genevieve!
 
 
  She lean'd against the Armed Man,
  The Statue of the Armed Knight:
  She stood and listen'd to my Harp
    Amid the ling'ring Light.
 
 
  Few Sorrows hath she of her own,
  My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve!
  She loves me best, whene'er I sing
    The Songs, that make her grieve.
 
 
  I play'd a soft and doleful Air,
  I sang an old and moving Story —
  An old rude Song that fitted well
    The Ruin wild and hoary.
 
 
  She listen'd with a flitting Blush,
  With downcast Eyes and modest Grace;
  For well she knew, I could not choose
    But gaze upon her Face.
 
 
  I told her of the Knight, that wore
  Upon his Shield a burning Brand;
  And that for ten long Years he woo'd
    The Lady of the Land.
 
 
  I told her, how he pin'd: and, ah!
  The low, the deep, the pleading tone,
  With which I sang another's Love,
    Interpreted my own.
 
 
  She listen'd with a flitting Blush,
  With downcast Eyes and modest Grace;
  And she forgave me, that I gaz'd
    Too fondly on her Face!
 
 
  But when I told the cruel scorn
  Which craz'd this bold and lovely Knight,
  And that be cross'd the mountain woods
    Nor rested day nor night;
 
 
  That sometimes from the savage Den,
  And sometimes from the darksome Shade,
  And sometimes starting up at once
    In green and sunny Glade,
 
 
  There came, and look'd him in the face,
  An Angel beautiful and bright;
  And that he knew, it was a Fiend,
    This miserable Knight!
 
 
  And that, unknowing what he did,
  He leapt amid a murd'rous Band,
  And sav'd from Outrage worse than Death
    The Lady of the Land;
 
 
  And how she wept and clasp'd his knees
  And how she tended him in vain —
  And ever strove to expiate
    The Scorn, that craz'd his Brain
 
 
  And that she nurs'd him in a Cave;
  And how his Madness went away
  When on the yellow forest leaves
    A dying Man he lay;
 
 
  His dying words – but when I reach'd
  That tenderest strain of all the Ditty,
  My falt'ring Voice and pausing Harp
    Disturb'd her Soul with Pity!
 
 
  All Impulses of Soul and Sense
  Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve,
  The Music, and the doleful Tale,
    The rich and balmy Eve;
 
 
  And Hopes, and Fears that kindle Hope,
  An undistinguishable Throng!
  And gentle Wishes long subdued,
    Subdued and cherish'd long!
 
 
  She wept with pity and delight,
  She blush'd with love and maiden shame;
  And, like the murmur of a dream,
    I heard her breathe my name.
 
 
  Her Bosom heav'd – she stepp'd aside;
  As conscious of my Look, she stepp'd —
  Then suddenly with timorous eye
    She fled to me and wept.
 
 
  She half inclosed me with her arms,
  She press'd me with a meek embrace;
  And bending back her head look'd up,
    And gaz'd upon my face.
 
 
  'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
  And partly 'twas a bashful Art
  That I might rather feel than see
    The Swelling of her Heart.
 
 
  I calm'd her Tears; and she was calm,
  And told her love with virgin Pride.
  And so I won my Genevieve,
    My bright and beauteous Bride!
 

The MAD MOTHER

 
  Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
  The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,
  Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,
  And she came far from over the main.
  She has a baby on her arm,
  Or else she were alone;
  And underneath the hay-stack warm,
  And on the green-wood stone,
  She talked and sung the woods among;
  And it was in the English tongue.
 
 
  "Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
  But nay, my heart is far too glad;
  And I am happy when I sing
  Full many a sad and doleful thing:
  Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
  I pray thee have no fear of me,
  But, safe as in a cradle, here
  My lovely baby! thou shalt be,
  To thee I know too much I owe;
  I cannot work thee any woe."
 
 
  A fire was once within my brain;
  And in my head a dull, dull pain;
  And fiendish faces one, two, three,
  Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.
  But then there came a sight of joy;
  It came at once to do me good;
  I waked, and saw my little boy,
  My little boy of flesh and blood;
  Oh joy for me that sight to see!
  For he was here, and only he.
 
 
  Suck, little babe, oh suck again!
  It cools my blood; it cools my brain;
  Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
  Draw from my heart the pain away.
  Oh! press me with thy little hand;
  It loosens something at my chest;
  About that tight and deadly band
  I feel thy little fingers press'd.
  The breeze I see is in the tree;
  It comes to cool my babe and me.
 
 
  Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
  Thou art thy mother's only joy;
  And do not dread the waves below,
  When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
  The high crag cannot work me harm,
  Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
  The babe I carry on my arm,
  He saves for me my precious soul;
  Then happy lie, for blest am I;
  Without me my sweet babe would die.
 
 
  Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
  Bold as a lion I will be;
  And I will always be thy guide,
  Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
  I'll build an Indian bower; I know
  The leaves that make the softest bed:
  And if from me thou wilt not go.
  But still be true 'till I am dead,
  My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing,
  As merry as the birds in spring.
 
 
  Thy father cares not for my breast,
  'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest:
  'Tis all thine own! and if its hue
  Be changed, that was so fair to view,
  'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove!
  My beauty, little child, is flown;
  But thou will live with me in love,
  And what if my poor cheek be brown?
  'Tis well for me, thou canst not see
  How pale and wan it else would be.
 
 
  Dread not their taunts, my little life!
  I am thy father's wedded wife;
  And underneath the spreading tree
  We two will live in honesty.
  If his sweet boy he could forsake,
  With me he never would have stay'd:
  From him no harm my babe can take,
  But he, poor man! is wretched made,
  And every day we two will pray
  For him that's gone and far away.
 
 
  I'll teach my boy the sweetest things;
  I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
  My little babe! thy lips are still,
  And thou hast almost suck'd thy fill.
  – Where art thou gone my own dear child?
  What wicked looks are those I see?
  Alas! alas! that look so wild,
  It never, never came from me:
  If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
  Then I must be for ever sad.
 
 
  Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
  For I thy own dear mother am.
  My love for thee has well been tried:
  I've sought thy father far and wide.
  I know the poisons of the shade,
  I know the earth-nuts fit for food;
  Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
  We'll find thy father in the wood.
  Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
  And there, my babe; we'll live for aye.
 

THE ANCIENT MARINER,

A POET'S REVERIE

ARGUMENT

How a Ship, having first sailed to the Equator, was driven by Storms, to the cold Country towards the South Pole; how the Ancient Mariner cruelly, and in contempt of the laws of hospitality, killed a Sea-bird; and how he was followed by many and strange Judgements; and in what manner he came back to his own Country.

The ANCIENT MARINER

A POET'S REVERIE

I

 
  It is an ancient Mariner,
    And he stoppeth one of three:
  "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
    Now wherefore stoppest 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."
 
 
  But still he holds the wedding guest —
    "There was a Ship, quoth he – "
  "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale,
    Mariner! come with me."
 
 
  He holds him with his skinny hand,
    Quoth he, there was a Ship —
  "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon
    Or my Staff shall make thee skip."
 
 
  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 sate 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 pac'd into the Hall,
    Red as a rose is she;
  Nodding their heads before her goes
    The merry Minstralsy.
 
 
  The wedding-guest he beat his breast,
    Yet he cannot chuse but hear:
  And thus spake on that ancient Man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.
 
 
  But now the Northwind came more fierce,
    There came a Tempest strong!
  And Southward still for days and weeks
    Like Chaff we drove along.
 
 
  And now there came both Mist and Snow,
    And it grew wond'rous cold;
  And Ice mast-high came floating by
    As green as Emerald.
 
 
  And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts
    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 crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd —
    A wild and ceaseless sound.
 
 
  At length did cross an Albatross,
    Thorough the Fog it came;
  As if it had been a Christian Soul,
    We hail'd it in God's name.
 
 
  The Mariners gave it biscuit-worms,
    And round and round it flew:
  The Ice did split with a Thunder-fit;
    The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
 
 
  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,
  Whiles all the night thro' fog-smoke white
    Glimmer'd 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."
 

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 Mariner's hollo!
 
 
  And I had done an hellish thing
    And it would work e'm woe:
  For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
    That made the Breeze to blow.
 
 
  Nor dim nor red, like an Angel's head,
    The glorious Sun uprist:
  Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
    That brought the fog and mist.
 
 
  'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay
    That bring the fog and mist.
 
 
  The breezes blew, the white foam flew,
    The furrow follow'd 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 deeps 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 danc'd 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 follow'd us
    From the Land of Mist and Snow.
 
 
  And every tongue thro' utter drouth
    Was wither'd at the root;
  We could not speak no more than if
    We had been choked with soot.
 
 
  Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks
    Had I from old and young;
  Instead of the Cross the Albatross
    About my neck was hung.
 

III

 
  So past a weary time; each throat
    Was parch'd, and glaz'd each 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 mov'd and mov'd, 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 dodg'd a water-sprite,
    It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
 
 
  With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd
    We could nor laugh nor wail;
  Thro' utter drouth all dumb we stood
  Till I bit my arm and suck'd the blood,
    And cry'd, A sail! a sail!
 
 
  With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd
    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 cry'd) 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 strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars
    (Heaven's mother send us grace)
  As if thro' 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, thro' which the Sun
    Did peer, as thro' a grate?
  And are those two all, all her crew.
    That Woman, and her Mate?
 
 
  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
    They were patch'd with purple and green.
 
 
  Her lips were red, her looks were free,
    Her locks were yellow as gold:
  Her skin was as white as leprosy,
  And she was far liker Death than he;
    Her flesh made the still air cold.
 
 
  The naked Hulk alongside came
    And the Twain were playing dice;
  "The Game is done! I've won, I've 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 between the tips.
 
 
  One after one by the horned Moon
    (Listen, O Stranger! to me)
  Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang
    And curs'd me with his ee.
 
 
  Four times fifty living men,
    With never a sigh or groan,
  With heavy thump, a lifeless lump
    They dropp'd down one by one.
 
 
  Their souls did from their bodies fly, —
    They fled to bliss or woe;
  And every soul it pass'd me by,
    Like, the whiz of my Cross-bow.
 

IV

 
  "I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
    I fear thy skinny hand;
  And thou art long and lank and brown
    As is the ribb'd 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 the wide wide Sea;
  And Christ would take no pity on
    My soul in agony.
 
 
  The many men so beautiful,
    And they all dead did lie!
  And a million million slimy things
    Liv'd on – and so did I.
 
 
  I look'd upon the rotting Sea,
    And drew my eyes away;
  I look'd upon the ghastly deck,
    And there the dead men lay.
 
 
  I look'd to Heaven, and try'd to pray;
    But or ever a prayer had gusht,
  A wicked whisper came and made
    My heart as dry as dust.
 
 
  I clos'd my lids and kept them close,
    Till 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 look'd on me,
    Had never pass'd away.
 
 
  An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
    A spirit from on high:
  But O! 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 mov'd in tracks of shining white;
  And when they rear'd, 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 coil'd 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 bless'd them unaware!
  Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
    And I bless'd 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.
 

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 remain'd,
  I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
    And when I awoke it rain'd.
 
 
  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 mov'd 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 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 danc'd between.
 
 
  And the coming wind did roar more loud;
    And the sails did sigh like sedge:
  And the rain pour'd down from one black cloud
    The moon was at its edge.
 
 
  The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
    The 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 loud wind never reach'd the Ship,
    Yet now the Ship mov'd on!
  Beneath the lightning and the moon
    The dead men gave a groan.
 
 
  They groan'd; they stirr'd, they all uprose,
    Nor spake, nor mov'd their eyes:
  It had been strange, even in a dream
    To have seen those dead men rise,
 
 
  The helmsman steerd, the ship mov'd on;
    Yet never a breeze up-blew;
  The Mariners all gan work the ropes,
    Where they were wont to do:
  They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools —
    We were a ghastly crew.
 
 
  The body of my brother's son
    Stood by me knee to knee:
  The body and I pull'd at one rope,
    But he said nought to me.
 
 
  "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 dawn'd – they dropp'd their arms,
    And cluster'd round the mast:
  Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths
    And from their bodies pass'd."
 
 
  Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
    Then darted to the sun:
  Slowly the sounds came back again
    Now mix'd, 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 ceas'd: 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 silently sail'd on
    Yet never a breeze did breathe:
  Slowly and smoothly went the Ship
    Mov'd 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 fix'd 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 into a swound.
 
 
  How long in that same fit I lay,
    I have not to declare;
  But ere my living life return'd,
  I heard and in my soul discern'd
    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 lay'd full low
    The harmless Albatross."
 
 
  "The spirit who 'bideth by himself
    In the land of mist and snow,
  He lov'd the bird that lov'd 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.