The body of my brother’s son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull’d at one rope, But he said nought to me-- And I quak’d to think of my own voice How frightful it would be! The day-light dawn’d--they dropp’d their arms, And cluster’d round the mast: Sweet sounds rose slowly thro’ their mouths And from their bodies pass’d. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun: Slowly the sounds came back again Now mix’d, now one by one. Sometimes a dropping from the sky I heard the Lavrock sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seem’d 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 ceas’d: 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. Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! “Marinere! thou hast thy will: “For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make “My body and soul to be still.” Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thou’lt rise to morrow morn. Never sadder tale was heard By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return’d to work As silent as beforne. The Marineres all ’gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n’old: Thought I, I am as thin as air-- They cannot me behold. Till noon we silently sail’d on Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship Mov’d onward from beneath. 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 fix’d her to the ocean: 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 into a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return’d, I heard and in my soul discern’d 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 lay’d full low “The harmless Albatross. “The spirit who ’bideth by himself “In the land of mist and snow, “He lov’d the bird that lov’d 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.