The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner - By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Directions: As a group, you are going to read this poem and perform the tasks as though you were a member of the ship. The Captain and the Ship's Log Every ship is supposed to have a log book, which is filled in every day by the captain. If he dies, the next senior officer fills it in (usually the First Mate). You should write a series of entries for the log of the ship in the poem. For part of the voyage, these will be written by the captain; after all the other men die only the ancient mariner is left to fill it in. Decide on appropriate dates (the mariner's tale was supposed to be thought of as already very old when the poem was published: it should be no later than about 1700; other clues to the date are the light- house and the mariner's crossbow). If you wish you can make the log look old by staining the pages, by your handwriting and spelling. The Explorer and Storyboarding The fantastic details in the story are well-suited to vivid illustration. You can use a series of pictures with captions underneath to turn the poem into either a storyboard for a film version, or as a comic strip. For the captions you should use either stanzas of the poem, the prose explanations Coleridge puts in the margin, or both. You should think in terms of 10 large pictures or a comic book for the main events. Cartographer - Map-making The mariner's voyage is clearly described in the poem. Using a modern map of the world or, even better if you can find one, an old world-map, plot the voyage of the ship. If you leave sufficient space, you can draw small illustrations and add brief extracts from the text. The mariner's home port is not specified, but has a wood, a hill, a church and a light-house: perhaps Bristol, where the first edition of the Lyrical Ballads was published and near which Coleridge lived at this time is the most likely real port. You’ll need to print this out before Thursday. The Psychic – Investigator of the supernatural The poem is full of strange, macabre, uncanny or “Gothic” elements. Gothic horror fiction was very popular at the time it was written. As the ships psychic, discuss how these elements appear in the poem. You should consider  the strange weather;  the albatross as a bird of “good omen”;  Death and Life-in-death;  the spirit from “the land of mist and snow”, and the two spirits the mariner hears in his trance;  the angelic spirits which move the bodies of the dead men;  the madness of the pilot and his boy;  the mariner's “strange power of speech”,

PART THE FIRST. "The Bridegroom's doors are opened It is an ancient Mariner, wide, And he stoppeth one of three. And I am next of kin; "By thy long grey beard and glittering The guests are met, the feast is set: eye, May'st hear the merry din." Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? He holds him with his skinny hand, And through the drifts the snowy clifts "There was a ship," quoth he. Did send a dismal sheen: "Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!" Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— Eftsoons his hand dropt he. The ice was all between.

He holds him with his glittering eye— The ice was here, the ice was there, The Wedding-Guest stood still, The ice was all around: And listens like a three years child: It cracked and growled, and roared and The Mariner hath his will. howled, Like noises in a swound! The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot chuse but hear; At length did cross an Albatross: And thus spake on that ancient man, Thorough the fog it came; The bright-eyed Mariner. As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, It ate the food it ne'er had eat, Merrily did we drop And round and round it flew. Below the kirk, below the hill, The ice did split with a thunder-fit; Below the light-house top. The helmsman steered us through!

The Sun came up upon the left, And a good south wind sprung up behind; Out of the sea came he! The Albatross did follow, And he shone bright, and on the right And every day, for food or play, Went down into the sea. Came to the mariners' hollo!

Higher and higher every day, In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, Till over the mast at noon— It perched for vespers nine; The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke For he heard the loud bassoon. white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; "God save thee, ancient Mariner! Nodding their heads before her goes From the fiends, that plague thee thus! The merry minstrelsy. — Why look'st thou so?"—With my cross-bow The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, I shot the ALBATROSS. Yet he cannot chuse but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, PART THE SECOND.

The bright-eyed Mariner. The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Still hid in mist, and on the left Was tyrannous and strong: Went down into the sea. He struck with his o'ertaking wings,

And chased south along. And the good south wind still blew behind

With sloping masts and dipping prow, But no sweet bird did follow,

As who pursued with yell and blow Nor any day for food or play

Still treads the shadow of his foe Came to the mariners' hollo! And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the And I had done an hellish thing, blast, And it would work 'em woe:

And southward aye we fled. For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. And now there came both mist and snow, Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay And it grew wondrous cold: That made the breeze to blow! And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

As green as emerald. Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird PART THE THIRD. That brought the fog and mist. There passed a weary time. Each throat 'Twas right, said they, such birds to Was parched, and glazed each eye. slay, A weary time! a weary time! That bring the fog and mist. How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld The fair breeze blew, the white foam A something in the sky. flew, The furrow followed free: At first it seemed a little speck, We were the first that ever burst And then it seemed a mist: Into that silent sea. It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 'Twas sad as sad could be; And still it neared and neared: And we did speak only to break As if it dodged a water-sprite, The silence of the sea! It plunged and tacked and veered.

All in a hot and copper sky, With throats unslaked, with black lips The bloody Sun, at noon, baked, Right up above the mast did stand, We could not laugh nor wail; No bigger than the Moon. Through utter drought all dumb we stood! Day after day, day after day, I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; And cried, A sail! a sail! As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Water, water, every where, Agape they heard me call: And all the boards did shrink; Gramercy! they for joy did grin, Water, water, every where, And all at once their breath drew in, Nor any drop to drink. As they were drinking all.

The very deep did rot: O Christ! See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! That ever this should be! Hither to work us weal; Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Without a breeze, without a tide, Upon the slimy sea. She steadies with upright keel!

About, about, in reel and rout The western wave was all a-flame The death-fires danced at night; The day was well nigh done! The water, like a witch's oils, Almost upon the western wave Burnt green, and blue and white. Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly And some in dreams assured were Betwixt us and the Sun. Of the spirit that plagued us so: Nine fathom deep he had followed us And straight the Sun was flecked with From the land of mist and snow. bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) And every tongue, through utter As if through a dungeon-grate he drought, peered, Was withered at the root; With broad and burning face. We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) Ah! well a-day! what evil looks How fast she nears and nears! Had I from old and young! Are those her sails that glance in the Instead of the cross, the Albatross Sun, About my neck was hung. Like restless gossameres! As is the ribbed sea-sand. Are those her ribs through which the Sun "I fear thee and thy glittering eye, Did peer, as through a grate? And thy skinny hand, so brown."— And is that Woman all her crew? Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! Is that a DEATH? and are there two? This body dropt not down. Is DEATH that woman's mate? Alone, alone, all, all alone, Her lips were red, her looks were free, Alone on a wide wide sea! Her locks were yellow as gold: And never a saint took pity on Her skin was as white as leprosy, My soul in agony. The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: The naked hulk alongside came, And a thousand thousand slimy things And the twain were casting dice; Lived on; and so did I. "The game is done! I've won! I've won!" I looked upon the rotting sea, Quoth she, and whistles thrice. And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: And there the dead men lay. At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. I looked to Heaven, and tried to pray: Off shot the spectre-bark. But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made We listened and looked sideways up! my heart as dry as dust. Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; The stars were dim, and thick the For the sky and the sea, and the sea night, and the sky The steersman's face by his lamp Lay like a load on my weary eye, gleamed white; And the dead were at my feet. From the sails the dew did drip— Till clombe above the eastern bar The cold sweat melted from their limbs, The horned Moon, with one bright star Nor rot nor reek did they: Within the nether tip. The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. One after one, by the star-dogged Moon Too quick for groan or sigh, An orphan's curse would drag to Hell Each turned his face with a ghastly A spirit from on high; pang, But oh! more horrible than that And cursed me with his eye. Is a curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that Four times fifty living men, curse, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) And yet I could not die. With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: The souls did from their bodies fly,— Softly she was going up, They fled to bliss or woe! And a star or two beside. And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my CROSS-BOW! Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; PART THE FOURTH. But where the ship's huge shadow lay, "I fear thee, ancient Mariner! The charmed water burnt alway I fear thy skinny hand! A still and awful red. And thou art long, and lank, and brown, Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: And the coming wind did roar more loud, They moved in tracks of shining white, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And when they reared, the elfish light And the rain poured down from one black Fell off in hoary flakes. cloud; The Moon was at its edge. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: The thick black cloud was cleft, and Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, still They coiled and swam; and every track The Moon was at its side: Was a flash of golden fire. Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, O happy living things! no tongue A river steep and wide. Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, The loud wind never reached the ship, And I blessed them unaware: Yet now the ship moved on! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, Beneath the lightning and the Moon And I blessed them unaware. The dead men gave a groan.

The self same moment I could pray; They groaned, they stirred, they all And from my neck so free uprose, The Albatross fell off, and sank Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; Like lead into the sea. It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. PART THE FIFTH. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Yet never a breeze up blew; Beloved from pole to pole! The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, To Mary Queen the praise be given! Where they were wont to do: She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, They raised their limbs like lifeless That slid into my soul. tools— We were a ghastly crew. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, The body of my brother's son, I dreamt that they were filled with Stood by me, knee to knee: dew; The body and I pulled at one rope, And when I awoke, it rained. But he said nought to me.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold, "I fear thee, ancient Mariner!" My garments all were dank; Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 'Twas not those souls that fled in And still my body drank. pain, Which to their corses came again, I moved, and could not feel my limbs: But a troop of spirits blest: I was so light—almost I thought that I had died in sleep, For when it dawned—they dropped their And was a blessed ghost. arms, And clustered round the mast; And soon I heard a roaring wind: Sweet sounds rose slowly through their It did not come anear; mouths, But with its sound it shook the sails, And from their bodies passed. That were so thin and sere. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, The upper air burst into life! Then darted to the Sun; And a hundred fire-flags sheen, Slowly the sounds came back again, To and fro they were hurried about! Now mixed, now one by one. And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, Quoth he, "The man hath penance done, How they seemed to fill the sea and air And penance more will do." With their sweet jargoning! PART THE SIXTH. And now 'twas like all instruments, FIRST VOICE. Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, But tell me, tell me! speak again, That makes the Heavens be mute. Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast? It ceased; yet still the sails made on What is the OCEAN doing? A pleasant noise till noon, SECOND VOICE. A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, Still as a slave before his lord, That to the sleeping woods all night The OCEAN hath no blast; Singeth a quiet tune. His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast— Till noon we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: If he may know which way to go; Slowly and smoothly went the ship, For she guides him smooth or grim Moved onward from beneath. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him. Under the keel nine fathom deep, FIRST VOICE. From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he But why drives on that ship so fast, That made the ship to go. Without or wave or wind? The sails at noon left off their tune, SECOND VOICE. And the ship stood still also. The air is cut away before, The Sun, right up above the mast, And closes from behind. Had fixed her to the ocean:

But in a minute she 'gan stir, Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high

With a short uneasy motion— Or we shall be belated:

Backwards and forwards half her length For slow and slow that ship will go,

With a short uneasy motion. When the Mariner's trance is abated.

Then like a pawing horse let go, I woke, and we were sailing on

She made a sudden bound: As in a gentle weather:

It flung the blood into my head, 'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was And I fell down in a swound. high; The dead men stood together. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; All stood together on the deck, But ere my living life returned, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: I heard and in my soul discerned All fixed on me their stony eyes, Two VOICES in the air. That in the Moon did glitter.

"Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the The pang, the curse, with which they man? died, By him who died on cross, Had never passed away: With his cruel bow he laid full low, I could not draw my eyes from theirs, The harmless Albatross. Nor turn them up to pray.

"The spirit who bideth by himself And now this spell was snapt: once more In the land of mist and snow, I viewed the ocean green. He loved the bird that loved the man And looked far forth, yet little saw Who shot him with his bow." Of what had else been seen—

The other was a softer voice, Like one that on a lonesome road As soft as honey-dew: Doth walk in fear and dread, It was a heavenly sight! And having once turned round walks on, They stood as signals to the land, And turns no more his head; Each one a lovely light: Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart— But soon there breathed a wind on me, No voice; but oh! the silence sank Nor sound nor motion made: Like music on my heart. Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. But soon I heard the dash of oars; I heard the Pilot's cheer; It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek My head was turned perforce away, Like a meadow-gale of spring— And I saw a boat appear. It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy Yet she sailed softly too: The dead men could not blast. Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze— On me alone it blew. I saw a third—I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed He singeth loud his godly hymns The light-house top I see? That he makes in the wood. Is this the hill? is this the kirk? He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away Is this mine own countree! The Albatross's blood.

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray— O let me be awake, my God! PART THE SEVENTH. Or let me sleep alway. This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. The harbour-bay was clear as glass, How loudly his sweet voice he rears! So smoothly it was strewn! He loves to talk with marineres And on the bay the moonlight lay, That come from a far countree. And the shadow of the moon. He kneels at morn and noon and eve— The rock shone bright, the kirk no He hath a cushion plump: less, It is the moss that wholly hides That stands above the rock: The rotted old oak-stump. The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, And the bay was white with silent "Why this is strange, I trow! light, Where are those lights so many and Till rising from the same, fair, Full many shapes, that shadows were, That signal made but now?" In crimson colours came. "Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said A little distance from the prow — Those crimson shadows were: "And they answered not our cheer! I turned my eyes upon the deck— The planks looked warped! and see those Oh, Christ! what saw I there! sails, How thin they are and sere! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, I never saw aught like to them, And, by the holy rood! Unless perchance it were A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. "Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; This seraph band, each waved his hand: When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, Which forced me to begin my tale; That eats the she-wolf's young." And then it left me free.

"Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look— Since then, at an uncertain hour, (The Pilot made reply) That agony returns; I am a-feared"—"Push on, push on!" And till my ghastly tale is told, Said the Hermit cheerily. This heart within me burns.

The boat came closer to the ship, I pass, like night, from land to land; But I nor spake nor stirred; I have strange power of speech; The boat came close beneath the ship, That moment that his face I see, And straight a sound was heard. I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: What loud uproar bursts from that door! It reached the ship, it split the bay; The wedding-guests are there: The ship went down like lead. But in the garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing are: Stunned by that loud and dreadful And hark the little vesper bell, sound, Which biddeth me to prayer! Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been drowned Alone on a wide wide sea: My body lay afloat; So lonely 'twas, that God himself But swift as dreams, myself I found Scarce seemed there to be. Within the Pilot's boat. O sweeter than the marriage-feast, Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 'Tis sweeter far to me, The boat spun round and round; To walk together to the kirk And all was still, save that the hill With a goodly company!— Was telling of the sound. To walk together to the kirk, I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked And all together pray, And fell down in a fit; While each to his great Father bends, The holy Hermit raised his eyes, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And prayed where he did sit. And youths and maidens gay!

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Farewell, farewell! but this I tell Who now doth crazy go, To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! Laughed loud and long, and all the He prayeth well, who loveth well while Both man and bird and beast. His eyes went to and fro. "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see, He prayeth best, who loveth best The Devil knows how to row." All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us And now, all in my own countree, He made and loveth all. I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, The Mariner, whose eye is bright, And scarcely he could stand. Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" Turned from the bridegroom's door. The Hermit crossed his brow. "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say— He went like one that hath been What manner of man art thou?" stunned, And is of sense forlorn: Forthwith this frame of mine was A sadder and a wiser man, wrenched He rose the morrow morn. With a woeful agony,  