The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is an epic poem written in 1797 by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It is Coleridge's longest and most famous poem, written unusually in the style of an old ballad with the inclusion of ancient, archaic words. Perhaps this accentuates the timeless landless world in which the action unfolds. The poems centres on an old sailor and the story he tells a guest outside a wedding ceremony. We, as readers, are swept along in his voyage to the southern seas, in which he commits evil and through suffering, redeems himself. All this in a world of solitude! One ship, alone in a world of ice, and later alone on the painted ocean, and later still one man alone on this ship. In this eerie, unnatural atmosphere, the 'moral' of the poem retains the same power today as back then.
The poem runs to 626 lines and is in 7 parts. Although always considered as a whole, for me it is the first four parts that are special. They focus on the crime and the punishment, concluding with the mariner's rehabilitation. For the full poem, which also includes his return to civilisation, follow the links at the bottom.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born in 1772 as the tenth child of Reverend John Coleridge, a vicar and master of the local grammar school. He grew up at this school until the age of 9, when his father died. After this he was enrolled into Christ's Hospital boarding school in London and subsequently attended Jesus College, Cambridge with the intention of following in his father's footsteps. However he left Cambridge without a degree and in debt, after becoming in involved in socialist politics following the French Revolution.
Leaving Cambridge, he briefly joined the Royal Dragoons before returning to Cambridge. There he met Robert Southey, a fellow radical, and they envisaged a plan to create a utopian community in Pennsylvania, called a pantisocracy (government by all). As part of this plan, Robert married a girl called Edith Fricker, and Coleridge married her sister whom he did not love. In 1795, Southey abandoned the whole plan and moved to Portugal.
In the same year, Coleridge met William and Dorothy Wordsworth, and became close friends with both. He also published his first volume of poetry, the unremarkable Poems on Various Subjects. Upon Wordsworth's influence, his style altered markedly, and he produced his 'conversational poems' as well as contributing to a political newsletter, The Watchman.
In 1797, he moved to Somerset to be near the Wordsworths. It was in the next two years that he would produce his most famous poems. The opium usage begun in 1796 had not yet become a destructive addiction. Coleridge and Wordsworth decided to collaborate and they decided that Wordsworth would write poems about nature. Coleridge would be responsible for writing poems of supernature. Their joint effort, Lyrical Ballads, was published in 1798. It marks the beginning of romantic poetry. The collection begins with The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, also its longest poem, although the bulk of the poetry in the book was contributed by Wordsworth. Apparently the book was not a great success and (according to Wikipedia) mainly sold to sailors who mistook for a songbook!
Coleridge states of the poem, that 'it was on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to Dulverton, with [William Wordsworth] and his sister, in the Autumn of 1797, that this Poem was planned, and in part composed.'
Afterwards, Coleridge and Wordsworth toured Germany studying German poetry and philosophy (notably Schiller & Kant respectively). Coleridge settled in the Lake District upon his return and lectured on philosophy and literature. He later stayed in London, and also unsuccessfully tried to free himself of opium. In 1816, Kubla Khan and Christabel were finally published, although they were circulated years before. He also revised The Rime of the Ancient Mariner numerous times, mainly updating the spelling of words to modern English, and lastly including notes in the margin for his 1817 edition. As his opium addiction grew stronger in later life, his poetry became weaker in quality. He died of a heart attack in 1834.
The text of the first four parts of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, together with the introduction and argument as originally published, are below.
I can easily believe, that there are more invisible than visible beings in the universe. But who shall describe for us their families and their ranks and relationships and distinguishing features and functions? What they do? Where they live? The human mind has always circled around a knowledge of these things, never attaining it. However I have no doubt, that it is sometimes beneficial to contemplate, in thought as in a picture, the image of a greater and better world; lest the intellect, habituated to the trivia of daily life, may contract itself too much, and wholly sink into trifles. But at the same time we must be vigilant for truth, and maintain proportion, that we may distinguish certain from uncertain, day from night.
How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.
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 opened 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 years' child
The Mariner hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man
The bright-eyed Mariner.
'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse 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 cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
'And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong
He struck with his o'ertaking wings
And chased us south along.
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 roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled
And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
And through 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 cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
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 steered us through!
And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' hollo!
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles 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.'
'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 a 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 followed 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 assur'ed 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 withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked 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.
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 seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed 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 neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.
With throats unslaked, 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 throats unslaked, 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 steadies 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 peered
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-mare 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.
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 horn'ed 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!
'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, 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
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 the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights 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 charm'ed 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,
Then 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 self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.
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