"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 throughout his future life and 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 seemed 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.'