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. 455 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, 460 Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew. [Sidenote: And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.] Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? 465 Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree? We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- O let me be awake, my God! 470 Or let me sleep alway. The harbor-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. 475 The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light 480 Till rising from the same, [Sidenote: The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,] Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colors came. [Sidenote: And appear in their own forms of light.] A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: 485 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, 490 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; 495 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, 500 I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, And I saw a boat appear. The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: 505 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 510 That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood. PART VII [Sidenote: The Hermit of the Wood,] This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. 515 How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree.