The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Poem, Summary, & Analysis)

 

The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(Poem, Summary, & Analysis) 

The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner

[An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one.]

 

It is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

`By thy long 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.

 

[The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.]

 

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 Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line.]

 

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 Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music ; but the Mariner continueth his tale.]

 

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.

 

[The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole.]

 

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,

The 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.

 

[The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing was to be seen.]

 

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!

 

[Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.]

 

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 lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.]

 

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 perched for vespers nine;

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,

Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

 

[The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.]

 

'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 THE SECOND.

 

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 !

 

[His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck.]

 

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 !

 

[But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime.]

 

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 continues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line. The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.]

 

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow followed free ;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

 

The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.

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.

 

[And the Albatross begins to be avenged.]

 

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.

 

[A Spirit had followed them; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.]

 

And some in dreams assuréd 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.

 

[The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient Mariner: in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck.]

 

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 THE THIRD.

 

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.

 

[The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar off.]

 

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.

 

[At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst.]

 

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!

 

[A flash of joy.]

 

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.

 

[And horror follows. For can it be a ship that comes onward without wind or tide?]

 

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.

 

[It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship.]

 

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.

 

And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun.

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?

 

[The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton ship. Like vessel, like crew!]

 

And 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.

 

[Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner.]

 

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.

 

No twilight within the courts of the Sun.

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.

 

[At the rising of the Moon,]

 

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 steerman's face by his lamp gleamed white;

From the sails the dew did drip--

Till clomb above the eastern bar

The hornéd Moon, with one bright star

Within the nether tip.

 

[One after another,]

 

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.

 

[His shipmates drop down dead.]

 

Four times fifty living men,

(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)

With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,

They dropped down one by one.

 

[But Life-in-Death begins her work on the ancient Mariner.]

 

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 THE FOURTH.

 

[The Wedding-Guest feareth that a Spirit is talking to him;]

 

'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.

 

[But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance.]

 

Alone, alone, all, all alone,

Alone on a wide wide sea!

And never a saint took pity on

My soul in agony.

 

[He despiseth the creatures of the calm,]

 

The many men, so beautiful!

And they all dead did lie:

And a thousand thousand slimy things

Lived on; and so did I.

 

[And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead.]

 

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.

 

But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men.

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, I saw that curse,

And yet I could not die.

 

[In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.]

 

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 charméd water burnt alway

A still and awful red.

 

[By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's creatures of the great calm.]

 

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.

 

[Their beauty and their happiness.]

[He blesseth them in his heart.]

 

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 spell begins to break.

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 THE FIFTH.

 

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.

 

[By grace of the holy Mother, the ancient Mariner is refreshed with rain.]

 

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 blesséd ghost.

 

[He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in the sky and the element.]

 

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 danced between.

 

And the coming wind did roar more loud,

And the sails did sigh like sedge ;

And the rain poured 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 bodies of the ship's crew are inspired, and the ship moves on.]

 

The loud wind never reached the ship,

Yet now the ship moved on!

Beneath the lightning and the Moon

The dead men gave a groan.

 

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,

Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;

It had been strange, even in a dream,

To have seen those dead men rise.

 

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;

Yet never a breeze up-blew;

The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,

Where they were wont to do;

They raised 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 pulled at one rope,

But he said nought to me.

 

[But not by the souls of the men, nor by dæmons of earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of angelic spirits, sent down by the invocation of the guardian saint.]

 

'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 dawned -- they dropped their arms,

And clustered round the mast;

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,

And from their bodies passed.

 

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 seemed 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.

 

[Additional stanzas, dropped after the first edition.]

 

Till noon we quietly sailed on,

Yet never a breeze did breathe:

Slowly and smoothly went the ship,

Moved onward from beneath.

 

[The lonesome Spirit from the south-pole carries on the ship as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth vengeance.]

 

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 fixed her to the ocea:

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.

 

[The Polar Spirit's fellow-dæmons, the invisible inhabitants of the element, take part in his wrong ; and two of them relate, one to the other, that penance long and heavy for the ancient Mariner hath been accorded to the Polar Spirit, who returneth southward.]

 

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.'

 

PART THE SIXTH.

 

FIRST VOICE

 

'But tell me, tell me ! speak again,

Thy soft response renewing--

What makes that ship drive on so fast?

What is the ocean doing?'

 

SECOND VOICE

 

`Still as a slave before his lord,

The ocean hath no blast;

His great bright eye most silently

Up to the Moon is cast--

 

If he may know which way to go;

For she guides him smooth or grim.

See, brother, see! how graciously

She looketh down on him.'

 

[The Mariner hath been cast into a trance; for the angelic power causeth the vessel to drive northward faster than human life could endure.]

 

FIRST VOICE

 

'But why drives on that ship so fast,

Without or wave or wind?'

 

SECOND VOICE

 

'The air is cut away before,

And closes from behind.

 

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!

Or we shall be belated:

For slow and slow that ship will go,

When the Mariner's trance is abated.'

 

[The supernatural motion is retarded ; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew.]

 

I woke, and we were sailing on

As in a gentle weather:

'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;

The dead men stood together.

 

All stood together on the deck,

For a charnel-dungeon fitter:

All fixed on me their stony eyes,

That in the Moon did glitter.

 

The pang, the curse, with which they died,

Had never passed away:

I could not draw my eyes from theirs,

Nor turn them up to pray.

 

[The curse is finally expiated.]

 

And now this spell was snapt: once more

I viewed the ocean green,

And looked far forth, yet little saw

Of what had else been seen--

 

Like one, that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more his head;

Because he knows, a frightful fiend

Doth close behind him tread.

 

But soon there breathed a wind on me,

Nor sound nor motion made:

Its path was not upon the sea,

In ripple or in shade.

 

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek

Like a meadow-gale of spring--

It mingled strangely with my fears,

Yet it felt like a welcoming.

 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sailed softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze--

On me alone it blew.

 

[And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.]

 

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?

Is this the hill? is this the kirk?

Is this mine own countree?

 

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,

And I with sobs did pray--

O let me be awake, my God!

Or let me sleep alway.

 

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,

So smoothly it was strewn!

And on the bay the moonlight lay,

And the shadow of the Moon.

 

[Additional stanzas, dropped after the first edition.]

 

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,

That stands above the rock:

The moonlight steeped in silentness

The steady weathercock.

 

[The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,]

 

And the bay was white with silent light,

Till rising from the same,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,

In crimson colours came.

 

[And appear in their own forms of light.]

 

A little distance from the prow

Those crimson shadows were:

I turned my eyes upon the deck--

Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,

And, by the holy rood!

A man all light, a seraph-man,

On every corse there stood.

 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:

It was a heavenly sight!

They stood as signals to the land,

Each one a lovely light;

 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,

No voice did they impart--

No voice; but oh ! the silence sank

Like music on my heart.

 

But soon I heard the dash of oars,

I heard the Pilot's cheer;

My head was turned perforce away

And I saw a boat appear.

 

[Additional stanza, dropped after the first edition.]

 

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,

I heard them coming fast:

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy

The dead men could not blast.

 

I saw a third -- I heard his voice:

It is the Hermit good!

He singeth loud his godly hymns

That he makes in the wood.

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away

The Albatross's blood.

 

PART THE SEVENTH.

 

The Hermit of the Wood,

This Hermit good lives in that wood

Which slopes down to the sea.

How loudly his sweet voice he rears!

He loves to talk with marineres

That come from a far countree.

 

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve--

He hath a cushion plump:

It is the moss that wholly hides

The rotted old oak-stump.

 

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,

'Why, this is strange, I trow!

Where are those lights so many and fair,

That signal made but now?'

 

[Approacheth the ship with wonder.]

 

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said--

'And they answered not our cheer!

The planks looked warped! and see those sails,

How thin they are and sere!

I never saw aught like to them,

Unless perchance it were

 

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag

My forest-brook along;

When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,

And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,

That eats the she-wolf's young.'

 

'Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look--

(The Pilot made reply)

I am a-feared' -- 'Push on, push on!'

Said the Hermit cheerily.

 

The boat came closer to the ship,

But I nor spake nor stirred;

The boat came close beneath the ship,

And straight a sound was heard.

 

[The ship suddenly sinketh.]

 

Under the water it rumbled on,

Still louder and more dread:

It reached the ship, it split the bay;

The ship went down like lead.

 

[The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.]

 

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,

Which sky and ocean smote,

Like one that hath been seven days drowned

My body lay afloat;

But swift as dreams, myself I found

Within the Pilot's boat.

 

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,

The boat spun round and round;

And all was still, save that the hill

Was telling of the sound.

 

I moved my lips -- the Pilot shrieked

And fell down in a fit;

The holy Hermit raised his eyes,

And prayed where he did sit.

 

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,

Who now doth crazy go,

Laughed loud and long, and all the while

His eyes went to and fro.

'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see,

The Devil knows how to row.'

 

And now, all in my own countree,

I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,

And scarcely he could stand.

 

[The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him ; and the penance of life falls on him.]

 

'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'

The Hermit crossed his brow.

'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say--

What manner of man art thou?'

 

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale;

And then it left me free.

 

[And ever and anon through out his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;]

 

Since then, at an uncertain hour,

That agony returns:

And till my ghastly tale is told,

This heart within me burns.

 

I pass, like night, from land to land;

I have strange power of speech;

That moment that his face I see,

I know the man that must hear me:

To him my tale I teach.

 

What loud uproar bursts from that door!

The wedding-guests are there:

But in the garden-bower the bride

And bride-maids singing are:

And hark the little vesper bell,

Which biddeth me to prayer!

 

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been

Alone on a wide wide sea:

So lonely 'twas, that God himself

Scarce seeméd there to be.

 

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,

'Tis sweeter far to me,

To walk together to the kirk

With a goodly company!--

 

To walk together to the kirk,

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,

Old men, and babes, and loving friends

And youths and maidens gay!

 

[And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.]

 

Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell

To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

 

He prayeth best, who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.

 

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,

Whose beard with age is hoar,

Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest

Turned from the bridegroom's door.

 

He went like one that hath been stunned,

And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man,

He rose the morrow morn.

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!

I fear thy skinny hand!

And thou art long, and lank, and brown,

As is the ribbed sea-sand.' :

 

For the two last 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.

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.

 

Summary

Part I

The poem begins as an old Mariner stops one of three wedding guests to tell him a story. Despite the guest's reluctance, the Mariner’s glittering eye compels him to stay and listen. The Mariner begins by recounting how his ship left port and sailed southward. Initially, the voyage is smooth, and the ship is joyfully followed by the sun. But soon, a storm drives the ship toward the South Pole, through mist and snow. In the icy region, an Albatross appears, seemingly bringing good luck. The sailors welcome it and feed it. The bird leads them out of the ice. However, the Mariner unexpectedly kills the Albatross, and the other sailors condemn his action.

 

Part II

After the Albatross is killed, the ship initially continues on, and the weather becomes favorable. The other sailors then justify the Mariner’s action, thinking he may have done right. But soon, the wind dies, and the ship is stuck in a hot, motionless sea. The sailors become dehydrated, and the ship is surrounded by slimy creatures. In despair, the crew blames the Mariner again and hangs the dead Albatross around his neck as a sign of guilt. The mood becomes heavy, with a sense of divine punishment looming over them.

 

Part III

As the ship drifts, a spectral ship approaches across the burning sea. Onboard are two supernatural figures: Death and Life-in-Death. They gamble for the souls of the crew. Death wins the sailors, and Life-in-Death wins the Mariner. Immediately, all two hundred crew members die one by one, cursing the Mariner with their eyes. Alone on the ship, surrounded by corpses, the Mariner is left alive but spiritually tormented, a fate worse than death.

 

Part IV

The Mariner is haunted by the eyes of his dead crewmates. He tries to pray but cannot. However, one night, as he watches the sea creatures, he suddenly feels a deep, spontaneous love for them. This act of love enables him to pray, and the burden begins to lift—the Albatross falls from his neck and sinks into the sea. It is a moment of spiritual awakening and the first sign of redemption.

 

Part V

The Mariner falls into a deep sleep and awakens to find it raining—a sign of renewal. Strange spirits animate the ship, and the dead bodies seem to work the ship, though they are possessed by benevolent forces. A troop of angelic spirits hovers over the corpses. As the ship sails mysteriously onward, the Mariner hears two voices in the wind discussing his fate. They recognize his penance must continue but say he is now partially forgiven because he has learned to love all of God’s creatures.

 

Part VI

The ship sails quickly, faster than human control. The Mariner sees his homeland but faints from exhaustion. While unconscious, he hears the same two voices again, confirming his journey isn't over. When he awakens, he sees a small boat approaching, carrying a Pilot, the Pilot's Boy, and a Hermit. The Hermit is known for his piety and wisdom. As they approach, the ship suddenly sinks, but the Mariner is rescued.

 

Part VII

The Pilot's Boy pulls the Mariner aboard their boat. The Mariner is overwhelmed with guilt and seeks absolution. The Hermit listens as he confesses. From that moment, the Mariner is compelled to wander from place to place, telling his story as a form of lifelong penance. The tale ends where it began: the Mariner finishes his story, and the Wedding Guest leaves the scene, stunned and thoughtful. He skips the wedding, reflecting deeply on the lesson: the importance of loving all of God's creatures. The final moral is explicitly stated:

"He prayeth best, who loveth best

Both man and bird and beast."

 

Analysis in Detail

Part I – The Sin and the Arresting of the Wedding Guest

Analysis:

Narrative Framing: The poem begins in a medieval ballad style, with a dramatic encounter. The use of a frame narrative (the Mariner telling his tale to the Wedding-Guest) creates suspense and contrasts the festive mood of the wedding with the Mariner’s grave tone.

Symbolism of the Mariner: He represents the archetype of a sinner burdened by guilt and seeking redemption. His glittering eye symbolizes his internal torment and spiritual insight.

Theme of Isolation: The Mariner’s isolation begins when he kills the Albatross. The act is abrupt and unprovoked, symbolizing a crime against nature and divine order.

The Albatross: Often interpreted as a Christ-like symbol or a symbol of nature’s blessing. Its killing signifies mankind’s disregard for the natural world and spiritual harmony.

 

Part II – Consequences of the Sin

Analysis:

Shifting Morality: The sailors’ initial condemnation followed by acceptance of the Mariner’s act shows how morality is swayed by convenience. This reflects Coleridge’s Romantic concern with subjective morality.

Nature’s Wrath: The punishment comes through nature—drought, death, and supernatural elements—underscoring the theme that nature is morally significant and reacts to human actions.

Allegory: The Albatross hung around the Mariner’s neck becomes an allegorical weight of sin, like the burden of guilt that every sinner must carry.

Imagery: Vivid descriptions of a lifeless, stagnant sea and the "slimy things" around the ship reflect both physical and spiritual decay.

 

Part III – Judgment and Supernatural Justice

Analysis:

Death and Life-in-Death: These two personified figures are powerful allegories. Death offers release, but Life-in-Death—the state of living with guilt and torment—is the harsher punishment.

Moral Order: The supernatural entities that oversee the crew’s fate suggest a cosmic moral system in which sins are judged, and punishment is meted out appropriately.

Isolation and Suffering: The Mariner’s deeper isolation (after the entire crew dies) underlines that sin ultimately alienates one not only from others but from the divine and natural order.

 

Part IV – The Turning Point (Repentance and Spiritual Awakening)

Analysis:

Spiritual Stagnation: The Mariner cannot pray, indicating a disconnection from God and grace. This is a spiritual desert mirroring the physical stagnation of the sea.

Redemptive Love: The turning point is subtle—his spontaneous blessing of the sea snakes marks the beginning of inner transformation. He does not force himself to love; it comes naturally, and this pure love reconnects him with God.

Symbolic Act: The Albatross falling from his neck signifies the lifting of guilt. Nature forgives him before he fully understands his sin, reflecting the Romantic belief in intuitive spiritual truth.

 

Part V – Restoration and Supernatural Support

Analysis:

Nature’s Mercy: The rain and wind return, and the ship sails again—nature seems to respond positively to the Mariner’s changed heart.

Angelic Forces: Spirits inhabit the dead bodies and steer the ship. These are not zombies but symbolic representations of grace and divine will acting through the natural world.

Voice of Conscience: The two spirits that converse about the Mariner’s crime and penance reinforce the idea of ongoing judgment and that repentance is only the beginning of a long journey toward redemption.

 

Part VI – Return and Foreshadowing of Lifelong Penance

Analysis:

Fleeting Peace: Though the ship nears home, the Mariner cannot find peace—his spiritual trial continues. Fainting symbolizes exhaustion and helplessness in the face of divine justice.

Hermit Figure: The Hermit symbolizes wisdom, confession, and absolution. He’s not just a holy man but a representative of society's conscience.

Sinking Ship: The ship's sudden sinking implies that the old sinful life must be completely destroyed before renewal. It's a symbolic baptism for the Mariner.

 

Part VII – The Aftermath and Moral Lesson

Analysis:

Confession and Compulsion: The Mariner’s need to tell his tale reflects a Catholic idea of confession—truth brings spiritual relief. His storytelling is not voluntary; it’s part of his penance.

Moral Message: The famous lines — “He prayeth best, who loveth best / All things both great and small” — emphasize Coleridge’s Romantic ideal of universal love and the sacredness of all living things.

Impact on the Wedding-Guest: The Wedding-Guest changes—he becomes “a sadder and a wiser man,” suggesting that the Mariner’s tale has transformative power, which is part of its redemptive function.

 

Major Themes

Sin and Redemption: The Mariner's journey from guilt to grace is the core of the poem.

Man and Nature: A central Romantic concern, the poem argues that disrespect for nature is not just wrong—it invites spiritual consequences.

The Supernatural: Ghost ships, spirits, and allegorical figures show how Coleridge weaves the mystical into moral storytelling.

Isolation and Alienation: The spiritual and physical isolation of the Mariner illustrates the alienating nature of sin.

Power of Storytelling: The Mariner’s tale becomes a parable of transformation. The Wedding-Guest becomes a stand-in for the reader.

 

Key Points

1. Structure and Form

Written in seven parts as a ballad with a mix of narrative and lyrical elements.

Uses a frame narrative (Mariner tells his story to the Wedding-Guest).

Rich in archaic language, creating a mystical, ancient atmosphere.

 

2. Major Themes

Sin and Redemption: The Mariner’s killing of the Albatross represents sin; his journey is a spiritual path to redemption.

Man and Nature: Killing the Albatross symbolizes mankind’s disrespect for nature; harmony is restored only when the Mariner loves God’s creatures.

Supernatural Elements: Spirits, ghost ship, and Life-in-Death represent cosmic moral forces judging human actions.

Isolation and Alienation: The Mariner’s suffering and loneliness reflect the isolating consequences of sin.

Moral and Spiritual Awakening: Love and respect for all creation lead to spiritual renewal.

Power of Storytelling: The Mariner’s tale serves as a cautionary lesson with transformative power.

 

3. Key Symbols

The Albatross: A symbol of nature’s blessing and later, the burden of guilt.

The Sea: Represents both the vastness of creation and the emotional/spiritual turmoil of the Mariner.

The Ghost Ship: Embodies divine justice and the supernatural aspect of judgment.

The Hermit: Represents conscience, confession, and spiritual guidance.

 

4. Character Analysis

The Ancient Mariner: A symbol of human guilt, awareness, and lifelong penance. His transformation illustrates Romantic ideals of redemption through nature and spirituality.

The Wedding-Guest: Symbolizes the audience; his change shows the impact of moral storytelling.

Life-in-Death: A powerful symbol of internal torment worse than physical death.

 

5. Poetic Devices

Imagery: Vivid natural scenes and supernatural occurrences (e.g., “water, water, everywhere”).

Personification: Death and Life-in-Death as characters.

Alliteration, repetition, internal rhyme: Enhance rhythm and oral tradition feel.

Symbolism and Allegory: The entire poem functions as a moral and spiritual allegory.

 

6. Moral Message

“He prayeth best who loveth best

Both man and bird and beast.”

This line conveys the poem’s central moral: universal love and reverence for all life are essential for spiritual grace.