{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3608", "width": "2285", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": ".4\\n-.0^\\no\\n^AO^\\no--\\n.V ^6, ^0. .V ^6,\\nS.^.* lN\\nc3", "height": "3498", "width": "2112", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3498", "width": "2112", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3478", "width": "2055", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3478", "width": "2055", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.\\nAfter the painting by Peter Vandyke.", "height": "3478", "width": "2055", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "lEnglisf) Classics .Star Seines\\nTHE RIME\\ni\\nOF\\nTHE ANCIENT MARINER\\nBY\\nSAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE\\nEDITED FOR SCHOOL USE\\nBY\\nCARLETON ELDREDGE NOYES, A.M.\\nINSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY\\nGLOBE SCHOOL BOOK COMPANY\\nNEW YORK AND CHICAGO\\nyA", "height": "3478", "width": "2055", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "SECOND GOPV,\\nt;533\\nTVSro COPIES HfiCElVBO,\\nl.lbr\u00c2\u00abry of CoBfrMi^\\nOffUooftI,\\nJUN 9 1900\\nKegUUr of Copyrljfcf^,\\nfkUjL^4\\nCopyright, 1^)00\\nGlobe School Book Company.\\n6S3iO\\nMANHATTAN PRESS\\n474 W BROADWAY\\nNEW YORK\\nA\\nvX\\nQ.\\na\\n,Vo", "height": "3478", "width": "2055", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "^?c\\nLEWIS E. GATES", "height": "3478", "width": "2055", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "PREFACE\\nAs The Ancient Mariner, because of the difficulties it\\npresents, may be taken up to advantage toward the end of\\nthe pupil s preparation of the English reading required for\\nadmission to college, this edition of the poem is designed\\nespecially for the use of more advanced students. Assum-\\ning on the part of the pupil some knowledge of many of the\\ntexts assigned, the Introduction is intended, not only to\\nprepare the student to understand the poem it self, but also\\nto point the way to a comprehensive study of literature in\\nits larger significance and it attempts, accordingly, by the\\nuse of the historical method, to set The Ancient Mariner in\\nits right relations with reference both to Coleridge and to\\nits place in English literature. By thus presenting the\\npoem in its wider bearings, the book aims to suggest certain\\nfundamental principles of literary investigation, and, by\\nbringing the student to a true conception of what literature\\nis, to stimulate an interest in further study.\\nThe text here printed is reproduced without change from\\nthe edition of Coleridge s Poetical and Dramatic Works\\npublished in 1829. This reissue of the definitive edition\\nof 1828 has been chosen as the standard for the text,\\nas it was the last to receive Coleridge s personal super-\\nvision. The trifling inconsistencies in punctuation and in", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "vi PREFACE\\nthe use of capitals and quotation marks, as well as the\\narchaic spelling chuse have been retained; for these\\nlittle oddities are so slight as not to be misleading, and\\nthey lend a quaintness in keeping with the spirit of the\\npoem. The exact reproduction, without regard to present\\nstandards of correctness, of the poem as Coleridge left it,\\nfurnishes an authentic text, and brings the reader close to\\nthe poet s intention.\\nAcknowledgment is due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin\\nCompany for permission to use the citation from Lowell s\\naddress on Coleridge.\\nCambridge, Mass.,\\nApril, 11)00.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nIntroduction.\\nI. Biographical Sketch\\nII. Pen Portraits by Contemporaries\\nIII, The Composition of the Poem\\nIV. The Antecedents of the Poem\\nV. The Form of the Poem\\nVI. Judgments and Appreciations\\nVII. Suggestions to Teachers\\nVIII. Examination Questions\\nIX. Chronological Survey\\nX. Bibliograpliy\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nNotes\\nPAGE\\nix\\nxxii\\nxxvii\\nxxxiii\\nxli\\nxlv\\nlix\\nIxii\\nIxiv\\nIxvii\\n1\\n25\\nAppendices\\nA. Relative to the Composition and Sources of the Poem 47\\nB. The Text of 1798 53\\nvn", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nI. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH\\nA LITTLE more than a hundred years ago there was pub-\\nlished in Bristol, England, a small volume of Lyrical Bal-\\nlads With a Few Other Poems. Of the twenty-three poems\\ncomprised in the little book the first was The Rime of the\\nAncyent Marinere, and the last was the Lines ivritten a feiv\\nmiles above Tinterii Abbey. The title page bore no author s\\nname, the volume contained no hint of the poet s identity.\\nThe Lyrical Ballads, given to the public in this unpretend-\\ning fashion, were the work of two young men, the authors\\nrespectively of the first and the last poem of the collection;\\nthe two poets were Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William\\nWordsworth.\\nThe Rime which introduced the volume and tlie Lines\\nwhich ended it were characteristic of the two men. The\\nspiritual elevation and repose, the insight into the life\\nof things, the sense sublime of something far more\\ndeeply interfused, these are the possession of Words-\\nworth s special genius; and the lines in which this interpre-\\ntation of nature and man finds expression are characteristic\\nof Wordsworth s manner at its best: from this manner the\\nentire body of his poetical work differs less in kind than in\\ndegree. For Tlie Ancient 3Iariner, on the other hand, it is\\nnot easy to find a single formula. The mystery of it, its\\nmagic, its reality in unreality, ^like Life-in-Death,\\nits suggestion of new worlds and other states of being, rather\\nobscure than reveal the poet s mind and spirit. Words-\\nworth s genius, incomprehensible and inexplicable as it is, is\\nrelatively simple, It is the one vision of the world-order,", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "X INTRODUCTION\\na continuous pondering on man, on nature, and on human\\nlife and the expression of this single reading of the uni-\\nverse varies only in power and intensity. The genius of\\nColeridge is complex, enigmatical, chaotic, throwing off\\nmyriads of many-colored sparks, and at no time burning,\\nlike Wordsworth s, with the white and steady flame of\\ninvariable truth. Wordsworth is the seer, clear-eyed and\\npenetrating; Coleridge is the dreamer of dreams.\\nFrom his earliest years Coleridge had a hold on unreality\\nas the highest, if not the only reality. Born in Devon, the\\nEnglish Italy, in 1772, Coleridge inherited some of the\\ncharacteristics of his father, the kind, learned, simple\\nhearted vicar and schoolmaster of the parish.^ The\\nson likened the vicar to Parson Adams in learning,\\ngood-heartedness, absentness of mind, and excessive igno-\\nrance of the world and certain of these qualities early\\nmanifested themselves in the boy. The mother was practi-\\ncal and unemotional, but happily gifted with sound sense.\\nThe second wife of the vicar, she was the mother of one\\ndaughter and nine sons, of whom the poet, Samuel Taylor,\\nwas the youngest. By his first wife the vicar was the father\\nof three sons, one of whom had died in infancy. Despite\\nthis large family of brothers, Coleridge s boyhood was soli-\\ntary, apart, unshared his brothers did not understand him\\nand left him to his dreams and vagaries. So he was his\\nown playfellow; and we know that he did not lack for inter-\\nesting, if strange company. His was such a boyhood as we\\nlike to fancy is the boyhood of a poet.\\n1 He published or rather attempted to pubhsh several works. Chief\\namong them was a Latin Grammar in which he proposed an innova-\\ntion in the names of the cases. My father s new nomenclature was\\nnot likely to become popular, although it must be allowed to be both\\nsonorous and expressive. Exempli gratia^ he calls the ablative the\\nqiiippe-qiiare-qiiale-qida-qmdditive case! He used to quote Hebrew\\nto his parishioners, as the immediate language of the Holy Ghost.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xi\\nAs tlie youngest of the family, Sam, as he was called,\\nwas the favorite of his father and mother; their little special\\nattentions aroused the ill-will of his brothers. I was,\\nhe says, in earliest childliood huffed away from the enjoy-\\nments of muscular activity in play, to take refuge at my\\nMother s side on my little stool, to read my little book, and\\nto listen to the talk of my elders. I was driven from life\\nin motion to life in thought and sensation. I never played\\nexcept by myself, and then only acted over what I had been\\nreading or fancying, or half one, half the other, with a\\nstick cutting down weeds and nettles, as one of the Seven\\nChampions of Christendom. I never thought as a\\nchild, never had the language of a child. Thus, instead\\nof taking part in boyish sports, he read incessantly, a\\nhabit which stayed with him through life. At six years\\nof age he had read, besides all the gilt-cover little books\\nthat could be had at that time, and likewise all the uncov-\\nered tales of Tom Hickathrift, Jack the Giant-killer, etc.,\\nBelisarius, Robinson Crusoe, Philip Quarles, and the Ara-\\nbian Nights Entertainments, one tale of which, he says,\\nmade so deep an impression on me, that I was haunted by\\nspectres, whenever I was in the dark. So I became a\\ndreamer, and acquired an indisposition to all bodily\\nactivity. Sensibility, imagination, vanity, sloth, and\\nfeelings of deep and bitter contempt for all who traversed\\nthe orbit of my understanding, were even then prominent\\nand manifest.\\nWhat the child began to be from three to six, he con-\\ntinued to be from six to nine. In this last year he was\\nadmitted to the grammar school, and soon outstripped all\\nof his age. At this time he had a fever; nightly he said\\nas a prayer the old rhyme beginning, Matthew, Mark,\\nLuke, and John. When his mother told him that a neigh-\\nbor did not come to see him for fear of catching the fever,\\nhe answered, Ah, Mamma! the four Angels round my bed", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "xii INTRODUCTION\\nan t afraid of catching it! Frequently have I, he says,\\n(half awake and half asleep, my body diseased and fevered\\nby my imagination), seen armies of ugly things bursting in\\nupon me, and these four angels keeping them off. Here\\nare the brain and the imagination already active which\\nstruck off The Ancient Mariner.\\nIn the boyhood development of this myriad-minded\\nman, the poet was early followed by the philosopher, a\\nsequence typical of his later experience. His father had\\nresolved that the boy should be a parson. He used to take\\nhis son on his knee and hold long conversations with him.\\nOne winter evening, on a walk, he explained to the boy\\nwonderful things about the stars. I heard him with pro-\\nfound delight and admiration, but without the least mixture\\nof wonder or incredulity. For from my earl} reading of\\nfairy tales and genii, etc., etc., my mind had been habitu-\\nated to the Vast. I regulated all my creeds by my\\nconceptions, not by my sight, even at that age. With\\nColeridge imagination and speculation went hand in\\nhand.\\nThe father died when Coleridge was not quite nine years\\nold. The following year a friend secured for the boy a\\nChrist s Hospital presentation. Donning the blue coat and\\nyellow stockings, Coleridge entered the school in September,\\n1782.\\nOf what Christ s Hospital was in the days of Coleridge,\\nLamb, and Leigh Hunt, these men have left us ample record.^\\nFrom them we learn what hardships were suffered by the\\norphan pensioners. The food was poor and insufficient;\\ntheir appetites were dampened, never satisfied the dis-\\ncipline was barbarousl}^ severe, and the mental training\\nstrenuous. For all that, the system was, in the upshot,\\n1 Biog. Lit., Chap. I., Letter to Poole, February 19, 1798; Lamb,\\nChrisfs Hospital Five and Thirty Years Ago, Becollections of Christ s\\nHospital Leigh Hunt, Autobiography, Chaps. III. and IV.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "7\\nBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xiii\\nsalutary. Thank Heaven exclaims Coleridge, I was\\nflogged instead of being flattered. However, as I climbed\\nup the school, my lot was somewhat alleviated.\\nThe school life of Coleridge was quite as extraordinary\\nas his childhood. From eight to fourteen I was a playless\\nday dreamer my whole being was, with eyes closed to\\nevery object of present sense, to crample myself up in a\\nsunny corner and read, read, read. Although he was not\\nambitious, and did not know the meaning of emulation,\\nhis talents and superiority placed him at the head of his\\nclass. But the difference, he says, between him and his\\nschoolfellows, in his lessons and exercises, bore no propor-\\ntion to the measureless difference between him and them\\nin the wide, wild wilderness of useless unarranged book-\\nknowledge and book -thoughts. He read through a circu-\\nlating library from A to Z at the rate of two volumes a\\nday.^ Besides the classic authors studied in the regular\\nschool course, not a small field to cover, he read Plato and\\nPlotinus. He was seized with a rage for metaphysics, and\\nhe fancied himself an atheist. The desultory nature of his\\nreading had its counterpart in his acts. In these school\\nyears there showed itself that uncertainty of purpose and\\nthat waywardness which characterized his later life, and\\nmade him the man of magnificent b eginnings. He was\\ntaken with a fancy to become a shoemaker. He made appli-\\ncation for an apprenticeship, but was promptly brought to\\nhis senses by the clear-headed, if unsympathetic master,\\n1 His accesig to the circulating Ubrary Coleridge owed to an amusing\\nincident. Walking along the crowded Strand one day he was lost, as\\nusual, in his own fancies. This time it was Leander swimming the\\nHellespont, whose part he was acting out in imagination, and he was\\nthrusting out his arms, as if swimming. His hand struck a stranger s\\npocket. The boy was seized as a pickpocket. His explanation, how-\\never, so extraordinary and yet so manifestly sincere, delighted the\\ngentleman with its novelty, and he paid a subscription to a circulating\\nlibrary for the benefit of the Bluecoat boy.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "xiv INTRODUCTION\\nBoyer.^ Soon afterward Coleridge s brother Luke, who was\\nstudying surgery, came to London to work in the- hospi-\\ntals. A passion for medicine took hold upon the Bluecoat\\nboy he read all the medical and surgical books he could lay\\nhands on; and on holiday afternoons he visited the hos-\\npitals with his brother, happy if he was permitted even to\\nhold a plaster. Among the vagaries of his school days we\\nmust count, also, his first love affair. This preoccupation\\nheld him for a longer time than most of his youthful\\ncaprices. His passion for the sister of a schoolmate he\\ncarried with him to the university.\\nBut in these years what of the poet? He was, for a\\nschoolboy of his age, he says, above par in English versi-\\nfication, and had already produced two or three composi-\\ntions which were above mediocrity. But for a time\\npoetry yielded to metaphysics. Before his fifteenth year\\nhe had bewildered himself in metaphysics and theological\\ncontroversy poetry, and even novels and romances, became\\ninsipid to him. From the pursuit of metaphysics, however,\\nhe was auspiciously withdrawn, partly, indeed, by an acci-\\ndental introduction to an amiable family, chiefly, however,\\nby the genial influence of a style of poetry so tender and\\nyet so manly, so natural and real, and yet so dignified and\\nharmonious, as the sonnets and other early poems of Mr.\\nBowles. The poems written under these new influences\\nduring the last years at school a period which Coleridge\\ncharacterized as the era of poetry and love are the\\n1 The Rev, James Boyer is represented by Coleridge as the incar-\\nnation of pedagogic tyranny, but he adds, He sent us to the Univer-\\nsity excellent Latin and Greek scholars and tolerable Hebraists, yet\\nour classical knowledge was the least of the good gifts which we\\nderived from his zealous and conscientious tutorage. Bioci. Lit.,\\nChap. I.\\n2 The Evanses. It was with the eldest daughter, Mary, that he fell\\nin love.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XV\\nAvork of a clever young versifier; they contain little hint of\\nwhat was to come. It is less in his poetry than in the\\ndevelopment of his mind and special faculties, Avhich we\\nhave traced here at some length, that we find foreshadowed\\nthe Coleridge who wrote The Ancient Mariner.\\nFrom Christ s Hospital Coleridge went to Cambridge;\\nwhen he entered at Jesus College he was just eighteen.\\nFor the first year or two he seems to have studied hard.^\\nAt the same time that he distinguished himself for scholar-\\nship, he gathered about himself a circle of friends, who were\\nattracted by his singular powers of conversation. At th^^^\\nend of two years, Coleridge suddenly, for reasons which are\\nnot clear, left the university. He enlisted as a dragoon,\\nunder the name of Silas Tomkyn Comberback, preserving\\nthus his initials. One can imagine what garrison life must\\nhave been for this logician, metaphysician, bard, who\\nhad a horror of horses, and could not even clean his\\naccoutrements. However, he made himself useful, at least\\nto his comrades, by nursing them when they were sick, and\\nwriting their letters. Indeed, it was his literary acomplish-\\nments, it is said, which led to the discovery of his identity.\\nA Latin inscription he had scratched on the stable wall was\\nseen by his captain. An inquiry followed; and, with the\\nhelp of the captain and of a brother, Captain James Cole-\\nridge, the Latin-writing trooper obtained his discharge and\\nreturned to Cambridge.\\nBut not for long. In less than two months he started\\nwith a friend for a walking trip in Wales. On his way, he\\nstayed several weeks in Oxford; and here it was that he\\nmet Southey, then an undergraduate, the author of Joan of\\n1 He won the Browne Gold Medal for a Greek Ode on the Slave\\nTrade, and he was selected as one of four out of seventeen or eighteen\\nto compete for the Craven Scholarship.\\n2 Probably debts and disappointed love. He had now broken with\\nMiss Evans.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "XVI INTRODUCTION\\nArc, and, like Coleridge, a lover of liberty. On his return\\nfrom Wales, Coleridge joined Sontliey in Bristol. The two\\nyoung poets and free-thinkers, with a few friends, devised\\nthe plan of founding, on the banks of the Susquehanna, in\\nfar America, an ideal community. Property was to be held\\nin common. It was supposed that two or three hours a day\\nof labor would be sufficient to support the colony; the\\nremaining time was to be devoted to study and discussion.\\nEach member was to enjoy perfect liberty in his religious\\nand political opinions. Such was the scheme of Panti-\\nsocracy. But, however ideal in aim, it needed material\\nsupport. Money was not to be had, nor were the two\\nenthusiasts able to earn sufficient, though they wrote poetry\\ntogether,^ and each tried lecturing. In the face of diffi-\\nculties too great to be met, it is not surprising that their\\nenthusiasm cooled, and the scheme was abandoned.\\nSignificant as is the plan of Pantisocracy, as illustrating\\nthe bent of Coleridge s mind and his impractical nature, it\\nwas not the most important consequence of the meeting of\\nColeridge with Southey. To this meeting he owed his\\nacquaintance with the woman who became his wife. One\\nof the Pantisocratic friends, Robert Lovell, was married to\\na Miss Pricker, of Bristol; to her sister Edith, Southey was\\nengaged. Coleridge was presented to the circle and soon\\nhe engaged himself to another sister, Sarah Pricker, per-\\nhaps to complete the set. In October of the following\\nyear (1795) he was married at Bristol in Chatterton s\\nChurch.\\nColeridge had left the university the year before with-\\nout taking his degree, refusing the required subscription\\nto the Thirty-nine Articles. With his bride he now\\nsettled in a little cottage in the country; and here he\\nspent several happy months. But life could not be all\\n1 The Fall of Bohespierre. Of this Coleridge wrote the first act,\\nSouthey the second and third. The piece found no publisher.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xvii\\ndreams and poetry, even for Coleridge. Bills had to\\nbe paid, and lie had nothing. For the moment he\\nlaid aside his poetry and turned to a new venture, which\\nseemed to promise a more immediate and concrete return.\\nWith a party of friends he proposed to bring out a weekly\\npolitical miscellany, half review, half newspaper, to be\\ncalled The Watchman. With his usual perversity in mat-\\nters practical, he arranged to issue the paper every eighth\\nday. This plan had for its purpose to avoid the stamp tax,\\nbut in the result, as the paper appeared on a different day\\neach week, the arrangement proved to be as ingeniously\\ncalculated to irritate and alienate its public, as any perhaps\\nthat the wit of man could have devised. The canvass he\\ntook charge of in person. He set out on a tour through the\\nNorth country, preaching by the way in most of the great\\ntowns, as a hireless volunteer, in a blue coat and white\\nwaistcoat, that not a rag of the woman of Babylon might be\\nseen on me. After many amusing adventures, character-\\nistic of the man, he returned with nearly a thousand sub-\\nscribers enrolled on his list.^ In spite of this encouraging\\nstart, the paper worried through a troublous and brief ex-\\nistence, and expired with the tenth number from lack\\nof support.\\nDuring the issue of The Watchman, Coleridge had pub-\\nlished a volume of Poems on Various Subjects, which was,\\non the whole, favorably received by the critics. After the\\nfailure of his paper, he attempted many things, teaching,\\nlecturing, writing for the newspaper, each venture proving\\nfruitless. The birth of a son added to his responsibilities.\\nIt was a time of extreme worry and depression.^ Exce-s-\\n1 Traill, Coleridge, p. 29.\\n2 For Coleridge s account of it, see Biog. Lit., Chap. X.\\n3 Coleridge wrote in January, 1796 My past lite seems to me like\\na dream, a feverish dream all one gloomy huddle of strange acti.*\\nand dim-discovered motives; friendships lost by indolence, and hap-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "xviii INTRODUCTION\\nsive anxiety brought on a severe attack of neuralgia, to\\nwhich his system was peculiarly susceptible.^ For relief\\nhe resorted to laudanum. With from sixty to seventy\\ndrops he sopped the Cerberus and this he followed\\nwith 25 drops every live hours. Here is recorded the\\nbeginning of a practice which was to become a fixed and\\nterrible habit, a habit from which he never freed himself\\nentirely. To have done with the matter once for all, we\\nmay say here that without doubt Coleridge s use of opium\\naffected his powers fundamentally. At the same time that\\nit weakened his will, it stimulated his imagination; and to\\nit may be due some of his inspiration in such poems as The\\nAncient Mariner, Kuhla Khan, and Christabel. Obviously,\\nwe cannot measure its precise effects. We know only that\\nbefore these poems were written Coleridge had begun the\\nuse of opium; it is sufficient here simply to record the fact.\\nSpeculation in the matter or any attempt to determine\\ncauses and results seems to be wholly idle.\\nAfter months of struggle and indecision, new efforts and\\nnew failures, Coleridge was enabled, by the help of a few\\nfriends, to find shelter and a home in Nether Stowey,\\nSomersetshire. In itself, the incident seems commonplace,\\npiness murdered by mismanaged seiisibiUty. And in November,\\n1796 With a gloomy wantonness of imagination I liad been coquet-\\nting with the hideous x ossihles of disappointment. I drank fears hke\\nwormwood, yea, made myself drunken with bitterness for my\\never-shaping and distrustful mind still mingled gall-drops, till out of\\nthe cup of hope I almost poiso wed myself with despair.\\n1 As a child Coleridge had run away from home to escape punish-\\nment, and had spent the night on the edge of a river. A storm came\\non the boy awoke the next morning wet and cold and so stiff that he\\ncouIq not move. He was found and carried home and although he\\nescap 3d serious consequences, this adventure left him subject to ague\\nfor years. At school, too, he had swiim across a river in his clothes\\nt je he neglected to change the result was a rheumatic fever, from\\nlich he suffered acutely.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xix\\nbut its consequences were immense. For it was here\\nthat Coleridge was brought into intimate association with\\nWordsworth; and from their association resulted The\\nAncient Mariner, the Lyrical Ballads, and a revolution in\\nEnglish literature. As it is the moment supremely signifi-\\ncant in the development of Coleridge as the writer of\\nTlie Ancient Mariner, the episode deserves a chapter by\\nitself. To complete here the biographical sketch we may\\nreview very briefly Coleridge s life after the publication\\nof The Ancient Mariner in the little volume of Lyrical\\nBallads.\\nShortly after the Lyrical Ballads appeared, Coleridge, in\\ncompany with Wordsworth and his sister, 3et sail for Ger-\\nmany. Here a year*of eager study initiated him into\\nthe deep secrets of German thought, and brought him to a\\npeculiarly penetrating and appreciative apprehension of the\\ngenius of the German people. He returned to England\\nless of a poet, but a great critic and a trained philosopher.\\nHis poetical production after his return, though considerable\\nin amount, is, for the most part, without distinction. It\\nhas none of the witchery of mood and surpassing felicity\\nof phrase and rhythm which mark the work of his poetic\\nprime. From now on all his efforts, at best only intermit-\\ntent and inconclusive, were directed to journalism, to lec-\\ntures on literature, and to philosophical speculation. In\\nthe articles which he wrote for the Morning Post, soon after\\nhis return from Germany, he developed, according to Mr.\\nTraill, the qualities of a first-rate journalist. His news-\\npaper work presented the opportunity of a permanent\\nway of life for the publisher offered him half shares\\nin the Morning Post and the Courier an equivalent of\\ntwo thousand pounds a year if he would devote himself\\nto the two papers. Coleridge s reply was characteristic:\\nI told him that I would not give up the country and\\nthe lazy reading of old folios for two thousand times", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "XX INTRODUCTION\\ntwo thousand poand in short that beyond 3501. a year\\nI considered money as a real evil. From journalism\\nhe turned to lecturing. In his lectures on literature, on\\nShakespeare and Milton, he showed himself to be a great\\nphilosophic critic. The lectures were marked by his ex-\\ntraordinary brilliance, and his usual waywardness and irre-\\nsponsibility. Often he kept his audience waiting, and\\nsometimes he did not appear at all. On the other hand,\\nonce he was well under way, he carried his audience, in\\nspite of digressions, into undreamed-of regions of eloquence\\nand poetry. Coleridge s audiences probably heard the\\nfinest literary criticism which has ever been given in\\nEnglish. 2\\nYet for all these bursts of energy, flashings of the old-\\ntime fire, the story of these years is dreary indeed. It is\\nthe record of ever new struggles and certain defeat. Effort\\nhad for outcome only Fears self-willed, that shunned the\\neye of hope; and hope that scarce would know itself from\\nfear. His life was ma.rked by a continual flow and ebb,\\nan assertion of will, a renewal of effort, to be followed by\\nthe inevitable collapse and predestined frustration. Cole-\\nridge s nature was one such as is bound to prove ever ineffi-\\ncient; for his genius lacked the necessary reenforcement\\nof a dominant personality: life and all its strivings left\\nhim only a\\nSense of past youth, and manhood come in vain\\nAnd genius given, and knowledge won in vain.\\nThe steady, inexorable enfeebling of his will was a part\\nof the general breakdown of his powers. His health failed,\\nand therewith the practice of taking opium became fixed\\nupon him as a habit. A stay in Malta of two years and a\\njourney through Italy brought him no relief. Eeturned to\\n1 Essays on his Own Times, I, p. xci.\\n2 Campbell, Memoir, Ixxxiv.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XXI\\nEngland, he had no abiding place. He had separated from\\nhis wife and family, and he roamed about the country, find-\\ning a home with this friend and that, dependent on their\\nhospitality and bounty. At last, rallying his forces, he\\ndetermined to make a final heroic stand against opium.\\nA home was found for him with Mr. Gillman, at Highgate,\\nnear London. Here he settled in 1816, and here he spent\\nthe eighteen years of life that remained to him.\\nThese closing years were a time of comparative peace.\\nGrappling with his old enemy, he succeeded in freeing\\nhimself, in a measure, from the wasting tyranny of opium.\\nHe accomplished an amount of literary work, republishing\\nsome of his earlier productions, and writing his Literary\\nLife.^ But most especially he gave himself over to philoso-\\nphy. Here at Mr. Gillman s he gathered about himself\\na company of listeners and disciples, attracted by his\\nmarvellous powers of talk. With them he had, according\\nto one of his visitors, Thomas Carlyle, a higher than lit-\\nerary, a kind of prophetic or magician character. Through\\nthese young men he exerted his great influence upon religious\\nthought in England.\\nIt was here in his Highgate home that Coleridge died on\\nJuly 25, 1834. It remains now to consider very briefly\\nwhat he accomplished.\\nOf the work of Coleridge as a poet I shall not now\\nattempt to speak; in studying The Ancient Mariner wq shall\\nhave a taste of his quality. Even with his poetry set\\naside, Coleridge s influence on English literature and\\nthought is difficult to measure. To him our nineteenth-\\ncentury schools of philosophic and appreciative criticism, as\\nopposed to the dogmatism of the critics of the reviews, owe\\ntheir inception and their method. In philosophy Coleridge\\ntransplanted into England the metaphysics of Kant and of\\n1 Biographia Literaria, or Biographical Sketches of my Literary\\nLife and Opinio ns^ 1817.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "xxii INTRODUCTION\\nthe German Romantic school.^ If Coleridge himself left\\nno philosophic system, these German thinkers whom he\\nintroduced to Englishmen influenced profoundly the men\\nwho followed him. Through philosophy, Coleridge found\\nhis way back to religion. In the closing years at High-\\ngate he gathered about himself as disciples men like\\nMaurice, Sterling, Hare, who became leaders of English\\nreligious thought.\\nObviously, a life like Coleridge s cannot be summed\\nup in a single formula. In spite of weakness and failure,\\ndisease of body and of will, he wrought mightily, if only\\nby what he communicated of inspiration. Even if we set\\napart his influence on life and thought in England, surely\\nit is little enough to say that English literature is incal-\\nculably richer than if Coleridge had not lived. To his\\ninestimable magnificent beginnings he adds at least one\\nthing perfect, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.\\n11. PEN PORTRAITS BY CONTEMPORARIES\\nThat Coleridge may be a personality for us and not\\nmerely a life, let us see him in his habit as he lived.\\nWe have only to turn to the writings of certain of his\\nfriends to find him vividly portrayed.\\nLet us see him first as a Bluecoat boy; here the artist is\\niiis schoolfellow, Charles Lamb.\\nCome back into memory, like as thou wert in the day-\\nspring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before\\nthee the dark pillar not yet turned Samuel Taylor\\nColeridge Logician, Metaphysician, Bard! How have\\nI seen the casual passer through the Cloisters stand still,\\nentranced with admiration (while he weighed the dispro-\\nportion between the speech and the garb of the young\\nMirandula), to hear tliee unfold, in thy deep and sweet\\n1 Notably Ficlite and Schelling, and in criticism Sclilegel.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "PEN PORTRAITS BY CONTEMPORARIES xxill\\nintonations, the mysteries of Jamblichus, or Plotinus (for\\neven in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philo-\\nsophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pin-\\ndar while the walls of the old Grey Friars reechoed to\\nthe accents of the inspired charity-hoy\\nIn startling contrast with Lamb s idealized portrait is\\nColeridge s own picture of himself as a young man of\\ntwenty-four. My face, unless when animated by im-\\nmediate eloquence, expresses great sloth, and great, indeed,\\nalmost idiotic, good-nature. Tis a mere carcass of a face;\\nfat, flabby, and expressive chiefly of inexpression. Yet I\\nam told that my eyes, eyebrows, and forehead are physiog-\\nnomically good. As to my shape, tis a good shape\\nenough if measured, but my gait is awkward, and the walk\\nof the whole man indicates indolence capable of energies.\\nI cannot breathe through my nose, so my mouth, with\\nsensual, thick lips, is almost always open.\\nThis we may correct, in some measure, by the description\\nof him in a letter of Dorothy Wordsworth s. He is a won-\\nderful man. His conversation teems with soul, mind, and\\nspirit. At first I thought him very plain, that is, for\\nabout three minutes. He is pale, thin, has a wide mouth,\\nthick lips, and not very good teeth, longish, loose-growing,\\nhalf-curling, rough, black hair. But if you hear him speak\\nfor five minutes you think no more of them. His eye is\\nlarge and full, and not very dark, but grey, such an eye as\\nwould receive from a heavy soul the dullest expression but\\nit speaks every emotion of his animated mind it has more\\nof the poet s eye in a fine frenzy rolling than I have ever\\nwitnessed. He has fine dark eyebrows, and an overhanging\\nforehead.\\nWordsworth has pictured him as\\n1 Christ s Hospital Five and Thirty Years Ago.\\n2 Letter to ThelwaU, 19 November, 179G.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "XXIV INTRODUCTION\\nA noticeable Man with large grey eyes,\\nAnd a pale face that seemed undoubtedly\\nAs if a blooming face it ought to be\\nHeavy his low-hung lip did oft appear,\\nDeprest by weight of musing Phantasy\\nProfound his forehead was, though not severe\\nYet some did think that he had little business here. i\\nAnother interesting portrait of Coleridge at this time is\\nthat drawn by Hazlitt His forehead was broad and high,\\nlight as if built of ivory, with large projecting eyebrows,\\nand his eyes rolling beneath them, like a sea with darkened\\nlustre. A certain tender bloom his face o erspread, a\\npurple tinge as we see it in the pale thoughtful complexions\\nof the Spanish portrait-painters, Murillo and Velasquez.\\nHis mouth was gross, voluptuous, open, eloquent; his chin\\ngood-humoured and round; but his nose, the rudder of the\\nface, the index of the will, was small, feeble, nothing\\nlike what he has done. It might seem that the genius of his\\nface as from a height surveyed and projected him (with\\nsufficient capacity and huge aspiration) into the world\\nunknown of thought and imagination, with nothing to sup-\\nport or guide his veering purpose, as if Columbus had\\nlaunched his adventurous course for the New World in a\\nscallop, without oars or compass. So, at least, I comment\\non it after the event. Coleridge in his person was rather\\nabove the common size, inclining to the corpulent, or like\\nLord Hamlet, somewhat fat and pursy. His hair (now,\\nalas! grey) was then black and glossy as the raven s, and\\nfell in smooth masses over his forehead.\\nHis portrait was painted by Washington Allston, who\\nsaid of him that his countenance, in his high, poetic mood,\\nwas quite beyond the painter s art, it was indeed spirit\\nmade visible.^ Of this portrait Coleridge said, I am not\\n1 Stanzas in Pocket Copy of Thomson s Castle of Indolence,\\n2 My First Acquaintance with Poets,", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "PEN PORTRAITS BY CONTEMPORARIES XXV\\nmortified, though I own I should like it better to be other-\\nwise, that my face is not a manly or representable face.\\nWhatever is impressive is part fugitive, part existent only\\nin the imagination of persons impressed strongly by my\\nconversation. The face itself is a feeble, unmanly face.\\nThe exceeding weakness, strengthlessness in my face, was\\neven painful to me.\\nFor a final portrait of Coleridge as he was in his later\\nyears, we must turn to one of his visitors at Mr. Gillman s,\\nThomas Carlyle. We must remember that Carlyle\\nlistened to Coleridge only to be repelled by him, and that\\nit is not a disciple and reverent biographer who is writing,\\nbut a literary artist, as irresponsible toward fact as he is\\ntrenchant in his portraiture. His object here is not truth,\\nbut effect.\\nColeridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those\\nyears, looking down on London and its smoke-tumult, like\\na sage escaped from the inanity of life s battle; attracting\\ntowards him the thoughts of innumerable brave souls still\\nengaged there. His express contributions to poetry, philoso-\\nphy, or any specific province of human literature or enlight-\\nenment, had been small and sadly intermittent; but he had,\\nespecially among young, inquiring men a higher than lit-\\nerary, a kind of prophetic or magician character. The\\npractical intellects of the world did not much heed him, or\\ncarelessly reckoned him a metaphysical dreamer but to the\\nrising spirits of the young generation he had this dusky\\nsublime character and sat there as a kind of Magus, girt in\\nmystery and enigma; his Dodona oak grove (Mr. Gillman s\\nhouse at Highgate) whispering strange things, uncertain\\nwhether oracles or jargon.\\nThe good man, he was now getting old, toward sixty\\nperhaps; and gave you the idea of a life that had been full\\nLetter, August 0, 1814. Rossetti, Lives of Famous Poets, p. 252.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "xxvi INTRODUCTION\\nof sufferings; a life heavy-laden, half -vanquished, still\\nswimming painfully in seas of manifold physical and other\\nbewilderment. Brow and head were round, and of massive\\nweight, but the face was flabby and irresolute. The deep\\neyes, of a light hazel, were as full of sorrow as of inspira-\\ntion; confused pain looked mildly fron) them, as in a kind\\nof mild astonishment. The whole figure and air, good and\\namiable otherwise, might be called flabby and irresolute;\\nexpressive of weakness under possibility of strength. He\\nhung loosely on his limbs, with knees bent, and stooping\\nattitude; in walking, he rather shuffled than decisively\\nstept;- and a lady once remarked, he never could fix which\\nside of the garden walk would suit him best, but continually\\nshifted, in corkscrew fashion, and kept trying both. A\\nheavy-laden, high-aspiring, and surely much-snffering\\nman. His voice, naturally soft and good, had contracted\\nitself into a plaintive snuffle and singsong; he spoke as if\\npreaching, you would have said, preaching earnestly and\\nalso hopelessly the weightiest things. I still recollect his\\nobject and subject, terms of continual recurrence in the\\nKantean province; and how he sang and snuffled them into\\nom-m-mject and sum-m-mject, with a kind of solemn\\nshake or quaver, as he rolled along. No talk, in his\\ncentury or in any other, could be more surprising.\\nTo the man himself nature had given, in high measure,\\nthe seeds of a noble endowment; and to unfold it had been\\nforbidden him. A subtle lynx-eyed intellect, tremulous,\\npious sensibility to all good and all beautiful; truly, a ray\\nof empyrean light but embedded in such weak laxity of\\ncharacter, in such indolences and esuriences as had made\\nstrange work with it. Once more, the tragic story of a high\\nendowment with an insufficient will.\\n1 Life of Sterling, Part I., Chap. VIII. Compare what Carlyle\\nwrote to his brother in 1824. I have seen many curiosities not the\\nleast of them I reckon Coleridge. Figure a fat, flabby, incurvated", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "THE COMPOSITION OF THE POEM XXVll\\nIII. THE COMPOSITION OF THE POEM\\nIn the curiously multiform experience of Coleridge, tlie\\nflowering time of his poetic genius is limited to a single\\nbrief period. This period students of his poetry find it\\npossible to detach from the circumstances of his life, and\\nthey are able to consider it apart, as constituting a kind of\\ndistinct and special epoch. It was his annus mirabilis, his\\npoetic prime it was the period which produced The\\nAncient Mariner. And it was, also, the period of Cole-\\nridge s association with Wordsworth.\\nDuring the last year of his residence at Cambridge, where\\nWordsworth had taken his degree two years before Coleridge\\nentered, the younger poet had recognized in the Descriptive\\nSketches, with its words and images all aglow, and in\\nspite of all its defects and unevenness, a poem of excep-\\ntional power and import. Seldom, if ever, he wrote,\\nwas the emergence of an original poetic genius above\\nthe literary horizon more evidently announced. In his\\ntwenty-fourth year, he met Wordsworth personally.^ To\\nColeridge s removal to Nether Stowey in 1796, however,\\nwas due that intimacy and communion which proved in the\\nresult so immensely significant. At that time Wordsworth\\nwas living, with his sister Dorothy, at Kacedown, some\\nthirty miles from Nether Stowey. Here, in June, 1797,\\nColeridge paid the Wordsworths a visit. The first thing\\npersonage, at once short, rotund, and relaxed, with a watery mouth, a\\nsnuffy nose, a pair of strange brown, timid, yet earnest-looking eyes,\\na high tapering brow, and a great bush of grey hair and you have\\nsome faint idea of Coleridge. He is a kind good soul, full of religion\\nand affection and poetry and animal magnetism. His cardinal sin is\\nthat he wants iinll. Thomas Carlyle., 1795-1835, by J. A. Froude,\\nVolume I., p. 179.\\n1 Biog. Lit., Chap. I. Professor Legouis gives the exact date\\nas between September and the 14th of November, 1795, Professor\\nKnight says it was in the early spring of 1796.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "XXviii INTRODUCTION\\nthat was read after lie came, wrote Miss Wordsworth,\\nwas William s new poem, The Ruined Cottage, with which\\nli\u00e2\u0082\u00ac was much delighted; and after tea he repeated to ns\\ntwo acts and a half of his tragedy, Osorio. The next morn-\\ning William read his tragedy, The Borderers.^^ The two\\nyoLing men were not long in discovering how much they had\\nin common.\\nThe Wordsworths returned Coleridge s visit the following\\nmonth, staying with him a fortnight. They were so\\ndelighted with the neighborhood of Stowey, that they\\nremoved from Eacedown and settled at Alfoxden, only\\nthree miles distant from Stowey. Their principal induce-\\nment, according to Dorothy, was Coleridge s society.\\nTwo men more widely different in temperament than the\\naustere, simple, Northern poet of the mountains and of\\nhumble life, and the Southern dreamer of strange dreams,\\nit is difficult to conceive; yet their intercourse at this period,\\nas shortly afterward their association in the composition of\\nthe Lyrical Ballads, has in it something wholly logical, if\\nnot inevitable. Coleridge had been attracted to Words-\\nworth when he had known him only through his poetry.\\nFrom the very beginning of their acquaintance, the two\\nyoung poets felt themselves powerfully drawn to each other.\\nWordsworth acknowledged the fascination the younger man\\nexercised upon him in removing to Alfoxden to enjoy his\\nsociety. Speaking of Coleridge, a few days after his death,\\nhe called him the most loonderful man that he had ever\\nknown. Coleridge, in his turn, was equally enthusiastic\\nand more expressive. He wrote to a friend, I speak with\\nheartfelt sincerity and, I think, unblinded judgment, when\\nI tell you that I feel a little man by his side. Again,\\nThe Giant Wordsworth God love him when I speak in\\nthe terms of admiration due to his intellect, I fear lest these\\nA Prose Works, Ed. Grossart, III. 469.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "THE COMPOSITION OF THE POEM xxix\\nterms should keep out of sight the amiableness of his man-\\nners. He has written near twelve hundred lines of blank\\nverse, superior, I hesitate not to aver, to anything in our\\nlanguage which anyway resembles it. And ten years later\\nhe said of Wordsworth, He is one, whom God knows, I\\nlove and honour as far beyond myself, as both morally and\\nintellectually he is above me. When two men like\\nWordsworth and Coleridge meet on terms of such thorough-\\ngoing mutual esteem, friendship becomes inevitable.^\\nAnd their association, as I have said, was wholly logical.\\nFor by reason of their very difference of character and\\ntemperament, they supplemented and reenforced each other.\\nWordsworth was upright, tenacious, uncompromising; sen-\\nsitive to the power of the hills, he had something of the\\nelevation and isolation of a mountain peak. Contrasted\\nwith Wordsworth s splendid poise is Coleridge s greater\\nflexibility he was more supple, more brilliant, more versa-\\ntile a man of emotional extremes, infirm of purpose, and\\nweak-willed.^ This last trait he was wholly unable to\\nstruggle against successfully; and its existence he frankly\\nrecognized. Indeed, I want firmness, he exclaims in a\\nletter; I perceive I do. Long before he had measured\\nhimself with Wordsworth, he wrote\\n1 For Wordsworth s account of their association see Stanzas\\nWritten in my Pocket Copy of Thomson s \u00e2\u0096\u00a0Castle of Indolence.\\n2 Hazlitt says: I observed that he continually crossed me on the\\nway by shifting from one side of the footpath to the other. This\\nstruck me as an odd movement but I did not at that time connect it\\nwith any instability of purpose or involuntary change of principle, as\\nI have done since. Ke seemed unable to keep on in a straight line.\\nAgain: Coleridge has told me that he himself liked to compose\\nin walking over uneven ground, or breaking through the straggling\\nbranches of a copse-wood whereas Wordsworth always wrote (if\\nhe could) walking up and down a straight gravel walk, or in some\\nspot where the continuity of his verse met with no collateral inter-\\nruption.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "XXX INTRODUCTION\\nTo me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assigned\\nEnergic Reason and a shaping mind,\\nThe daring ken of Truth, the Patriot s part,\\nAnd Pity s sigh, that breathes the gentle heart\\nSloth-jaundiced all and from my graspless hand\\nDrop Friendship s precious pearls, like hour-glass sand.\\nI weep, yet stoop not the faint anguish flows,\\nA dreamy pang in Morning s feverish doze.\\nOn sucli a nature the influence of Wordsworth s sustained\\ncalm was tonic and energizing.\\nDuring this year among the Quantock hills the two poets\\nwere much together. They read their verses to each other;\\nthey talked about poetry. Their discussions turned fre-\\nquently upon poetry in two aspects. Poetry may, in its first\\naspect, appeal to the sympathy of the reader by keeping\\nclose to the truth of nature, by presenting a faithful tran-\\nscript of the world as we know it. To such an appeal\\nand this is the second aspect may be added the interest\\nof novelty, a novelty evoked by seeing things through\\nthe modifying colors of the imagination. So it is not\\naltogether the actual world of immediate and concrete fact,\\nthe world we see and touch, which may furnish the stuff of\\npoetry; but rather a world transformed by the shaping\\npower of the imagination. Por just as a known and\\nfamiliar landscape may gain a sudden charm when, in\\nthe moonlight or at sunset, its contours are modified by\\nthe accidents of light and shade, so the world as we know\\nit day by day, when seen imaginatively, may take on fresh\\nbeauty, may express a deeper significance. Here, then, is\\nthe domain of poetry, where the familiar and the novel\\nmeet and fuse to result in a higher reality. This higher\\nreality both Wordsworth and Coleridge propose to embody\\nin their poetry; this common ground they are ultimately\\nto reach. Yet they start from points diametrically oppo-\\nsite. Wordsworth is to choose his subjects from ordinary", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "THE COMPOSITION OF THE POEM XXXI\\nlife. Seeing imaginatively these familiar and unadorned\\ncharacters and incidents, reading deep into their inner\\nmeaning, he draws from them new significance. By this\\npenetrative power he gives to the truth of nature the\\ncharm of novelty. He pierces the film of familiarity,\\nrouses men from the lethargy of custom, and quickens\\nthem to perceive the loveliness and the wonders of the world\\nabout them. Thus, with the things of everyday life as his\\npoint of departure, he excites a feeling analogous to the\\nsupernatural. With Coleridge, on the other hand, the\\nsupernatural is the starting-point; in the world which he\\nis to call up for us the incidents and actors are unreal. Yet\\njust as in Wordsworth s world of natural truth we spiritu-\\nalize common things and find in them new and immaterial\\npowers and import, so here these supernatural incidents and\\nactors which Coleridge conjures up we are, by the exercise\\nof our poetic faith, to consider real. Suspending all\\ndisbelief for the moment, we must transfer from our inward\\nnature to these shadows of imagination a human interest\\nand a semblance of truth. Or, in simpler terms the poet is\\nable, by the exercise of imagination and the magic of verse,\\nto call up a scene and to people it with beings who act. All\\nthis we knoiD to be unreal as we knoio a stage-play to be\\nunreal; but the poem or the play appeals, not to our intel-\\nlects, but to our imagination. We lay aside what we know,\\nand yield to what we see and feel. The imagination,\\nalthough acting apart from practical life, has a reality of its\\nown. So it is that the poet transports us to a different order\\nof existence, which, for the moment, seems real just as in\\nsleep we do not question the actuality of dreams. It was\\nwith these principles in mind that Coleridge set about the\\ncomposition of The Ancient Mariner}\\nNot all the hours, however, which Coleridge and Words-\\n1 For Coleridge s account of the matter, see Appendix A.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "XXXll INTRODUCTION\\nworth spent together were given over to discussion. At the\\nsame time that they debated theories and principles, they\\ncame very close to nature. They lived much out of doors;\\nthey took long rambles among the hills. One autumn\\nafternoon the two poets, with Dorothy Wordsworth, started\\nfrom Alfoxden on a walking trip, to be gone several days.\\nThey had not much money and to meet the expenses of the\\nexcursion the friends agreed to write a poem, to be sent to\\nthe New Monthly Magazine. In the course of the walk they\\nplanned their poem. The starting-point was suggested by\\nColeridge. A friend of his had had a strange dream, in\\nwhich he fancied that he saw a skeleton ship with figures\\nin it. This situation Coleridge elaborated by force of his\\nown invention. Wordsworth, as his share in the work,\\nsuggested that some crime be committed, which should bring\\nupon the Mariner the spectral persecution, as a consequence\\nof that crime and his own wanderings. Only a day or two\\nbefore, Wordsworth had been reading an old book of travel\\nin which the author recounted that while doubling Cape\\nHorn, they frequently saw albatrosses, huge sea-birds,\\nwith wings twelve or thirteen feet in extent. Wordsworth\\nproposed, accordingly, that the Mariner should be repre-\\nsented as having killed one of these birds, on entering the\\nSouth Seas, and that the protecting spirits of these regions\\nshould be made to avenge the crime. He further suggested\\nthat the ship be navigated by dead men. The same even-\\ning, then, the friends began the composition. Words-\\nworth furnished a few lines but the collaborators had\\nnot gone far, before they discovered that their respective\\nAnd thou art long, and lank, and brown,\\nAs is the ribbed sea-sand.\\nHe holds him with his glittering eye,\\nThe wedding guest stood still,\\nAnd listens like a three years child,\\nThe Mariner hath his will.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "THE ANTECEDENTS OF THE POEM xxxiii\\nmanners were widely different. Accordingly, Wordsworth\\nwithdrew, leaving Coleridge to complete the poem alone.\\nUnder his touch The Anciejit Mariner took shape, until it\\nbecame too important for their immediate object, which\\nwas limited, Wordsworth tells us, to five pounds. Instead,\\nthey began to plan a volume, which was to consist of poems\\nchiefly on supernatural subjects. This volume was the\\nLyrical Ballads, in which the first poem was The Ancient\\nMariner\\nIV. THE ANTECEDENTS OF THE POEM\\nSuch is substantially the genesis of The Ancient Mariner,\\nas recounted by Wordsworth and by Coleridge. Stated\\nhere, however, are only the external circumstances of its\\ncomposition and its more material components. In its\\n1 It is interesting to note that the collaboration on The Ancient\\nMariner was not the first attempt of the two young poets to compose\\ntogether. In the prefatory note to the Wanderings of Cain, Cole-\\nridge says: The work was to have been written in concert with\\nanother [Wordsworth], whose name is too venerable within the\\nprecincts of genius to be unnecessarily brought into connection with\\nsuch a trifle, and who was then residing at a small distance from\\nNether Stowey. The title and subject were suggested by myself, who\\nlikewise drew out the scheme and the contents for each of the three\\nbooks, or cantos, of which the work was to consist, and which, the\\nreader is to be informed, was to have been finished in one night My\\npartner undertook the first canto I the second and whichever had\\ndone first was to set about the third. Methinks I see his grand\\nand noble countenance, as at the moment when having despatched\\nmy own portion of the task at full finger-speed, I hastened to him\\nwith my manuscript that look of humorous despondency fixed on his\\nalmost blank sheet of paper, and then its silent, mock piteous admis-\\nsion of failure, struggling with the sense of the exceeding ridiculous-\\nness of the whole scheme which broke up in a laugh and the\\nAncient Mariner was written instead.\\nFor Wordsworth s account of the composition of The Ancient\\nMariner, see Appendix A.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "XXXIV INTRODUCTION\\nessence, the poem combines elements more subtle and less\\nimmediate than are here set down, elements brought from\\nafar. For the poem is the expression of Coleridge s special\\nhabit of mind, temperament, genius and, further, it gathers\\nup into itself certain tendencies and forces active in the\\nnational life of the time.\\nAll literature, we must remember, is the expression of\\nthe thought and feeling, not only of an individual, but of\\na people and of an age. N o error is more easy for those\\nwho are beginning the study of literature, or more fatal to\\na just understanding of what literature is, than the tendency\\nto regard a given novel, or essay, or poem, the work of a\\nman in any department, as merely an isolated phenomenon,\\nwholly detached and unrelated. The Ancient Mariner, by\\nway of example, is not a total and immediate creation,\\nsprung full-formed from the poet s brain; it is rather the\\ncrystallization under the workings of the poet s trans-\\nfiguring imagination and formative power of utterance\\nof elements already existing and held in solution. It unites\\nin itself strivings, motives, tendencies, operative in the\\nnational life. These components we can in some measure\\ntrace in the finished product. But the process of trans-\\nmutation itself baffles us. Hoio the poet takes these ele-\\nments into himself and gives them out something new,\\noriginal, divine, we do not know. There is a point beyond\\nwhich our analysis cannot go. Recognizing, then, this\\nlimitation, and, accordingly, not seeking to do too much,\\nwe find an examination into these elements, the material\\nitself of the poem, useful and illuminating.\\nWe have seen what concrete incidents went into the com-\\nposition of The Ancient Mariner. The more general ten-\\ndencies and forces at work in the age we can here only\\nsuggest without hoping to define comprehensively. Pub-\\nlished in 1798, the Lyrical Ballads fall within the limits of\\nthe eighteenth century. These poems, then, are the product", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "THE ANTECEDENTS OF THE TOEM XXXV\\nof an age which Matthew Arnokl has characterized as pre-\\neminently an age of prose and reason. Yet what coukl be\\nless prosaic, what could concern itself less with reason, than\\nTlie Rime of the Ancient Mariner? Indeed, t\\\\ie Lyrical Bal-\\nlads, of which Coleridge s poem formed a part, usher in a\\nnew age, and herald the poetical renaissance, the nine-\\nteenth century. This new order of poetry, coming thus at\\nthe end of the earlier age, is the outcome of certain forces\\nof change which were at Avork far back within the eighteenth\\ncentury itself.\\nWhen Matthew Arnold speaks of the century as the age\\nof prose and reason, he means his formula to apply rather\\nto its earlier years. The first quarter of the century was\\ndominated by that literary ideal of which the type and\\nrepresentative is Pope. It was a period of many-sided yet\\nconcentrated activities the coffee-house and the salon were\\nthe stage on which was enacted the little drama of existence.\\nMen s faces were set away from nature; indeed, so far\\nfrom imagining a possible mystical meaning in nature,\\nas do the poets of the nineteenth century, the men of\\nthis time were repelled by even her mere external mani-\\nfestations. Mountains, for example, which have found\\nvoice for all time in the poetry of Wordsworth, were\\nlooked upon as excrescences of nature. In the lives\\nof such men the imagination had no place; the free play of\\nnatural feelings was regarded with distrust. With us the\\nworship of nature and the apotheosis of the individual,\\nwith his sensations, his moods, his deeper emotions, are\\ncommonplaces we take them for granted. We have only,\\nhowever, to contrast our attitude to-day toward nature and\\ntoward human emotion with the eighteenth-century way of\\nfeeling to realize how great was the revolution in which a\\nleading part was played by the Lyrical Ballads.\\nAs the range of ideas to be expressed in poetry was\\nlimited, so the form of expression was narrowly circum-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "XXXvi INTRODUCTION\\nscribed.^ Instead of that assertion of the poet s own indi-\\nviduality which we value to-day, the expression of his\\nspecial personality, in the manner as well as in the matter,\\nthe men of Pope s age aimed at an absolute correctness, a\\nperfect conformity to rule and measure. Order and sym-\\nmetry were the qualities to be sought and these found\\nembodiment in the so-called heroic couplet, two verses of\\nten syllables each, and rimed. This form Pope brought\\nto the highest point of perfection with Pope the manner\\nwas supported by the matter, the form was reenforced by\\nthe content. The couplet itself, however, was easy of\\nmanufacture; and when everybody took to writing verses,\\nmere words came to be substituted for ideas, and, in the\\nhands of Pope s imitators, poetry became a lifeless con-\\nvention, effete and meaningless.^ These facts we must\\nremember, by way of contrast, if we are to appreciate to\\nthe full the mysterious music of The Ancient Mariner.\\nThe second quarter of the eighteenth century witnessed\\nthe beginnings of the change. Nature was, in some sense,\\n1 I saw that the excellence of this kind [of poetry] consisted in\\nthe just and acute observations on men and manners in an artificial\\nstate of society, as its matter and substance, and in the logic of wit\\nconveyed in smooth and strong epigrammatic couplets as its form.\\nMeantime the matter and diction seemed to me characterized not so\\nmuch by poetic thoughts as by thoughts translated into the language\\nof poetry. Biog. Lit., Chap. I.\\n2 See Wordsworth, Appendix to Preface of second edition of Lyrical\\nBallads, On Poetic Diction. Compare Keats\\nBut ye were dead\\nTo things ye knew not of, were closely wed\\nTo musty laws lined out with wretched rule\\nAnd compass vile so that ye taught a school\\nOf dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit,\\nTill, like the certain wands of Jacob s wit.\\nTheir verses tallied. Easy was the task:\\nA thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask\\nOf Poesy. Sleep and Poetry.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE ANTECEDENTS OF THE POEM xxxvii\\nrediscovered by the author of the Seasons. With Thomson\\nthe reaction against contemporary standards, as regards his\\nchoice of subject, was supported by a reaction in form. Aban-\\ndoning the conventional couplet, he adopted the blank verse\\nof Milton, thus pointing the way for a return to earlier and\\nfresher models of poetic style.\\nThe reform begun by Thomson was advanced by Joseph\\nand Thomas Warton, by Collins and Gray, by Cowper,\\nBurns, and William Blake, until the rediscovery of nature\\nand the return to the simple language of men were consum-\\nmated by Wordsworth, in whom nature found her supreme\\ninterpreter. This impulse toward a new order of poetry\\nwas communicated to Coleridge more immediately by the\\nwork of W. L. Bowles. Correcting his early extravagances\\nof diction and exaggerated feeling, Bowles poetry brought\\nhim to simplicity of style and a just sympathy with nature.\\nThe second great movement in the eighteenth century\\nwhich affected more directly the author of The Ayident\\nMariner was the revival of tlie past. The third quarter of\\nthe century was well under way, when all Europe was stirred\\nby the emergence of a strange kind of poetry, new to the\\nage and yet, as it seemed, centuries old. This was the\\nFragments of Ancient Poetry collected in the Highlands of\\nScotland and translated from the Gaelic or Erse language.\\nActually composed by the pretended translator, Macpherson,\\nthese fragments, followed by the epic poems of Fingcd and\\nTemora, were accepted by the age as the poetry of an ancient\\nScotch bard, Ossian, son of the hero Fingal. Genuine or\\nnot, they roused men to an absorbing interest in the litera-\\nture of earlier times. A few years after the publication of\\nthe Ossian poems, the taste for the older literature was\\nfurther stimulated by the Rowley Poems, written by the boy\\nChatterton, in Bristol, and given to the world as the work\\n1 James Thomson, 1700-1748. His first poem, Tri/ife) was published\\nin 1726.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "xxxviii INTRODUCTION\\nof a monk of the fifteenth century. Chief among these\\nmanifestations of a revival of interest in the past in their\\ninfluence on The xincient Mariner, was the publication, in\\n1765, by Dr. Thomas Percy, of a manuscript collection of\\nballads. This return to an older and almost forgotten lit-\\nerature laid hold powerfully on men s imaginations.\\nDominated by convention and rule, the men of the eight-\\neenth century found in the simplicity of diction, the trutli\\nto nature, the freedom and swing of these old ballads, a\\nnew note. These songs and stories, tales in verse, the\\nveritable literature of the people, sprung from unknown\\nparentage, and passing from lip to lip, or preserved on\\nflying leaves, had been excluded from the company of\\nthe more elegant, polite town-poetry of the wits; and\\nsuch notice as they received at the hands of Addison,\\nEowe, Parnell, Tickell, and Prior, awakened only a passing\\ninterest. It was not until the publication of Percy s\\nReliques, that men awoke to a real appreciation of these\\nold songs, and were deeply and permanently stirred.\\nThe influence of this revival of ballad literature on the\\nauthors of the Lyrical Ballads, it is not difficult to trace.\\nOf Percy s collection, Wordsworth said that English poetry\\nhad been absolutely redeemed by it. I do not think that\\nthere is an able writer in verse of the present day who would\\nnot be proud to acknowledge his obligations to tlie Reliques;\\nI know it is so with my friends and for myself, I am happy\\nin this occasion to make a public avowal of my own. On\\nColeridge s poetry, the influence of the English ballads,\\nthough equally powerful, is less direct. In the Biograpliia\\nLiteraria Coleridge refers to Percy s service to English lit-\\nerature, without attempting to determine the precise influ-\\nence of the Reliques upon himself. Wordsworth tells us\\nthat The Ancient Mariner was professedly written in imi-\\ntation of the style, as well as of the spirit of the elder\\npoets. The impulse from the Reliques was communicated", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "THE ANTECEDENTS OF THE POEM XXXIX\\nto Coleridge in curiously roundabout fashion. The fame of\\nPercy s book passed over into Germany. These English\\nballads inspired the young poet Biirger to write the ballad\\nof Lenore. The ballad took Germany by storm, and crossed\\ninto England. Here a translation b} William Taylor was\\npublished in 1796, in the New Monthly Magazine, the peri-\\nodical for which Coleridge originally destined The Ancient\\nMariner. It is highly probable, if not certain, that Cole-\\nridge caught some of his inspiration from Biirger s poem\\nand he adopted suggestions from Lenore for The Ancient\\nMariner. More significant than Burger s influence, how-\\never, is the fact that by 1798 the ballad form was, so to\\nspeak, in the air; men were by this time accustomed to it,\\nsensitive to its qualities, susceptible to its appeal. Words-\\nworth employed it in a number of the poems in the Lyrical\\nBallads (the name of the volume is noteworthy). Cole-\\nridge s use of the ballad form, then, in The Ancient Mariner\\nwas not a startling innovation. People were ready to re-\\nceive it, and it was thus made possible by what had gone\\nbefore.\\nOne other movement in the eighteenth century with\\nwhich The Ancient Mariner was in some measure related,\\nremains to be mentioned very briefly. The poem plays a\\npart in what has ]3een very happily named the Eenaissance\\nof Wonder. The same decade which saw the publication\\nof Ossian, of Percy s Eeliques, and produced Chatterton s\\nRowley Poems brought forth a novel destined to institute a\\nschool and to create for its kind a special and widespread\\ntaste. This was Horace Walpole s Castle of Otranto (1764),\\na story constructed out of supernatural elements. The\\n1 Charles Lamb, writing to Coleridge in 1790, exclaimed, Have you\\nread the ballad called Leonora in the second number of the Monthly\\nMagazine If you have\\n2 Coleridge makes the vessel go down like lead, like the horse in\\nthe wild hunt in Lenore, Brandl, p. 201. Cf. also ihid.y p. 203.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "xl INTRODUCTION\\nmountainous helmet, with its waving sable plumes, which\\ncrashes down into the courtyard of the Castle of Otranto at\\nthe very beginning of the narrative, unheralded and unex-\\nplained, may be taken as a symbol and type of the sudden-\\nness with which supernatural terror was reintroduced into\\nEnglish fiction by Horace Walpole. The wave of super-\\nnaturalism here set in motion rolled on through the century,\\ngathering volume as it moved; it was given new impetus\\nand weight by the prodigiously successful novels of Mrs.\\nAnne Radcliffe; to it contributed Biirger s ballad, Lenore.\\nThis ballad, which influenced Coleridge, as we have seen,\\nand, afterward, AVords worth, Shelle}^, and Keats, found a\\ntranslator in Sir Walter Scott. Indeed, Scott s service to\\nthe movement did not end here, for he contributed several\\npieces to the collection of marvellous ballads brought out\\nby Monk Lewis as Tales of Wonder (1801). In the\\nRenaissance of Wonder a prominent part is played by\\nColeridge s poem.\\nThe Ancient Mariner, then, is in part the outcome of ten-\\ndencies and forces at work in the age. Greater freedom\\nand range in form, a regained simplicity of diction, an\\nentrance into new realms of action and of feeling, these\\ncharacteristics are what the poem owes, in some measure,\\nto its antecedents. Yet it is not enough to see in The\\nAncient Mariner simply one expression of a great move-\\nment; nor, again, is the poem merely a combination in new\\nform of certain clearly defined elements, such as a dream\\nand an episode borrowed from a book of voyages. In it we\\nmust further trace, in so far as analysis can help us, the\\nworking of the poet s imagination. Wherein is the poem\\nmade possible by his special temperament? And is there\\nin his poetry which preceded The Ancient Mariner any hint\\nof what was to come?\\n1 Walter Raleigh, The English Novel, p. 223.\\n2 See A. Brandl s Note on Lenore in England in Erich Schmidt s\\nCharacteristiken., Essay on Biirger s Lenore,", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "THE rOKM OF THE POEM xli\\nThe study of Coleridge s life shows hiin to have been\\npreeminently a dreamer; the only real life for him was the\\nlife lived in the imagination. Curiously enough, however^\\nhis temperament finds almost no expression in his poetr;\\nHis earlier verse is unimaginative, and gives singularly little\\npromise of The Ancient Mariner. The poems in his first\\npublished volume (1796) are marked by a general turgid-\\nness of diction. His work is chiefly imitative. In his\\nChrist s Hospital days he writes verses in the eighteenth-\\ncentury pseudo-classic manner.^ Then he takes to imita-\\nting Bowles. In the work produced at Cambridge we have\\nreminiscences of Milton and Gray.^ It is an extraordinary\\nfact in the poetical history of this extraordinary man that\\nhis genius burst at once into full flower. In this sudden\\nunfolding of his powers it is certain that his association\\nwith Wordsworth counted for very much. Furthermore, at\\nthe opening of this period of imaginative poetical produc-\\ntion, Coleridge began the practice of taking opium. The\\nmeasure of these two influences, however, the association\\nwith Wordsworth and the use of opium cannot be deter-\\nmined precisely. We must content ourselves simply with\\nnoting the facts. The investigation which helped us to\\nappreciate in part the poet s transmuting power here fails.\\nAVe have no data on which to base exact conclusions; and\\nanalysis carried into the domain of speculation and guess-\\nwork, however interesting it may be, has no scientific value.\\nAt this point, then, we may leave our study of sources and\\nturn to the poem itself.\\nV. THE FOEM OF THE POEM\\nIn The Ancient Mariner we recognize a special kind of\\npoem; and when Wordsworth tells us that it was pro-\\n1 Julia, Destruction of the Bastile, Progress of Vice, etc.\\n2 4 Wish^ Song of the Pixies^ Lines on an Autumnal Evening, etc,", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "xlii INTRODUCTION\\nfessedly written in imitation of the style, as well as of the\\nspirit of the elder poets, he gives us a clue to its precise\\nform. The Ancient Mariner is a ballad. As a ballad, then,\\nwe must regard it if we are to appreciate it rightly. In\\norder to enter into its spirit and fully understand its form,\\nlet us turn for a moment to its prototype, the traditional\\npopular ballad of the earlier age.\\nA ballad is defined as a narrative song, a short tale in\\nlyric vtjrse. In its 23rimitive form, it was sung as the\\naccompaniment to a dance; a repetition of the dance\\nmovement was accompanied by the refrain; further, the\\nballad was often extended by improvisation. The ballad,\\nthen, was intended to be sung or chanted, although to-day\\nwe are content simply to recite it.^ It has no single fixed\\nform; it is not the work of any one man. Eather it is\\na growth. Illustrative of the communal character of\\nthe ballads is the fact that they have come down to us\\nanonymous. Preceding the poetry of art, they are the\\nexpression of the spirit of the people as a whole, never of\\nthe personality of an individual.\\nAs distinctively the poetry of the people, enjoyed by all\\nclasses, these old narrative songs, canticles of love and\\nwoe, are characterized by an elemental simplicity and\\nimmediateness. The narrative receives no coloring from\\nthe mood and emotions of any individual poet; the passions\\nportrayed are those common to mankind. The breadth and\\nstrength of feeling, the largeness of movement, find fit\\nexpression; for this objectivity of presentation, this direct-\\nness in the march of the story, is sustained by a verse-form\\nof great simplicity and flexibility.\\nThe ballads are composed in stanzas of free form, stanzas\\nof two, four, five, six, or even more lines. These lines, or\\nProfessor F. J. Child, in Johnson s Cyclopcedia, article Ballads.\\n2 It is interesting to notice that Hazlitt records that both Words-\\nworth and Coleridge recited poetry with a kind of chaunt.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "THE FORM OF THE POEM xliii\\nverses, are not measured off according to the precise num-\\nber of syllables, as in the heroic couplet, in blank verse, or\\nin such stanzas, for example, as Gray uses for his Elegy\\ninstead, the metre is determined by the number of stresses\\nor accented syllables. Of the unaccented syllables there\\nmay be more than one in each foot, as is not the case with\\nthe strict iambic verse, represented by Gray s Elegy:\\nThe cur 1 few tolls the knell of part ing day,\\nThe low I ing herd winds slow ly o er the lea,\\n\\\\j jL \\\\j Z. w \\\\j Kj\\nThe plow I man home ward plods his wear y way,\\n\\\\j \\\\j j^ \\\\j Z- \\\\j \\\\j /_\\nAnd leaves the world to dark ness and to me.\\nThe metre here is strictly iambic each foot contains but\\ntwo syllables; and in each foot the accent, or stress, falls\\non the second syllable. With this contrast the following\\nstanza from the ballad of Fair Margaret and Siveet William:\\nAs it I fell out I on a long summer s day,\\nTwo li)V I ers they sat on a hill;\\nThey sat togeth er that long summer s day.\\n\\\\j\\nvy\\nAnd could not talk their fill,\\nIn place of the absolute regularity of Gray s measure, Ave\\nhave here in the first verse and in the third two feet out of\\nthe four which contain more than two syllables. The basis\\nof this metre, then, is not number of syllables, but stress.^\\n1 AVhat Coleridge says of the metre of Christahel applies equally to\\nthe ballad measure. The metre of the Cliristabel is not, properly\\nspeaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded on\\na new principle namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "xliv INTRODUCTION\\nWe need not at this point analyze the ballad metre in its\\ndetails, classifying all the variations it admits on the\\niambic line and all the variations possible in the make-up\\nof the stanza.^ It is enough to note that the metrical form\\nof the ballad is characterized by freedom. This freedom\\nlends to the march of the story that swiftness of movement\\nessential to narrative; and the flexibility of this free\\nmeasure makes possible an infinite variety of effect.^\\nSuch is the poetry, the style and spirit of which Coleridge\\naimed to catch and reproduce in The Ancient Mariner. How\\nfar has he succeeded? First of all, for the instinctive\\nrightness of the old ballads we must reckon with the sub-\\nstitution by Coleridge of skilled work; with the unconscious\\npoetry of these songs of the people, we must contrast his\\nawareness of certain effects to be produced definitely and\\nconsciously, and his ability knowingly to produce them.\\nthe syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet\\nin each line the accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless\\nthis occasional variation in number of syllables is not introduced wan-\\ntonly, or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with\\nsome transition, in the nature of the imagery or passion. The prin-\\nciple Coleridge here lays down, although unfamiliar to the eighteenth\\ncentury with its rigid correctness in verse, was not really new. The\\nfour-stress measure is the verse-form of Anglo-Saxon poetry, wliicli\\nis scanned according to stress and not at all according to the number\\nof syllables and four-stressed verse is found throughout the range of\\nEnglish poetry. Browning, for example, uses it in How they hr ought\\nthe Good News from Ghent to Aix\\nI sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;\\nI galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three\\nGood speed! cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;\\nSpeed echoed the wall to us galloping through.\\n1 The details of scansion are discussed in the notes on the poem.\\n2 For a thorough -going study of the ballads, the student should\\nconsult Professor Gmnmere s Old English Ballads, and Professor\\nBeers History of English Eomanticism, Chapter VIII. For ballad\\ninfluence on Coleridge, see Brandl, pp. 117, 203 ff.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS xlv\\nSecondly, for the elemental simplicity of emotion of primi-\\ntive folk, we have here portrayed the frenzy, the soul-crises,\\nof a man possessed. Blind fate, taking form in spirits\\nand powers, manifests a demonic activity; destiny fulfils\\nitself through the agency of spectral persecution. Working\\ntlius in the intention rather than with the material of the old\\nballads, Coleridge by his magic transports us into another\\nworld. Once we grant him his conditions, suspending there-\\nwith our disbelief by the exercise of poetic faith, then,\\nas at a play or in sleep, everything follows naturally and\\nconvincingly. For just as the play is the significant and\\nvital reality at the theatre, and dreams furnish us the reality\\nof sleep, so, in the supernatural world, the supernatural is\\nthe natural.\\nIn form, Coleridge avails himself of all the capabilities of\\nhis instrument. The old ballads work by their very artless-\\nness; their sincerity is so real; not a false note impairs\\ntheir rude strength of utterance. While losing none of its\\nlargeness and freedom of mood and movement, the measure\\nis brought under control by Coleridge, who with supreme\\nart does not weaken in refining it. Master of his in-\\nstrument, he uses it with that ultimate skill which con-\\nceals itself to draw from it its sublest harmonies. But the\\nwork of appreciation I leave to the critics of the poem.\\nVI. JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS\\nIt is difficult for us inheritors as we are of all the\\npoetry of the nineteenth century to realize that The\\nAncient Mariner, and with it the Lyrical Ballads, were\\nreceived by the critics with ridicule and abuse. Even\\nSouthey, himself a poet and a Liberal, and the personal\\nfriend of Wordsworth and Coleridge, reviewed the volume\\nin a narrow and carping spirit. In the Critical Revieio for\\nSeptember, 1798, he wrote\\n1 For Lamb s reply to Soutliey s criticism, seepos^, p. 40.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "xlvi INTRODUCTION\\nIn a very different style of poetry [from the other poems\\nin the Lyrical Ballads is the Rime of the Ancyent Marinere\\na ballad (says the advertisement) ^professedly written in\\nimitation of the style, as well as of the spirit of the elder\\npoets. We are tolerably conversant with the early English\\npoets and can discover no resemblance whatever, except in\\nantiquated spelling and a few obsolete words. This piece\\nappears to us perfectly original in style as well as in story.\\nMany of the stanzas are laboriously beautiful; but in con-\\nnection they are absurd or unintelligible. We do not\\nsufficiently understand the story to analyse it. It is a Dutch\\nattempt at German sublimity. Genius has here been\\nemployed in producing. a poem of little merit.\\nQuite as unintelligeut and impercipient as Southey s\\nreview was the criticism in the Monthly Review for\\nJune, 1799.\\nThough we have been extremely entertained with the\\nfancy, the facility, and (in general) the sentiments, of these\\npieces, we cannot regard them as poetry, of a class to be\\ncultivated at the expence of a higher species of versifica-\\ntion, unknown in our language at the time when our elder\\nwriters, whom this author condescends to imitate, wrote\\ntheir ballads. Would it not be degrading poetry, as well\\nas the English language, to go back to the barbarous and\\nuncouth numbers of Chaucer? Suppose, instead of modern-\\nizing the old bard, that the sweet and polished measures,\\non lofty subjects, of Dry den. Pope, and Gray, were to be\\ntransmuted into the dialect and versification of the xivth\\ncentury? Should we be gainers by the retrogradation?\\nWe have had pleasure in reading the reliques of antient\\npoetry, because it was antient and because we were sur-\\nprised to find *so many beautiful thoughts in the rude\\nnumbers of barbarous times. These reasons will not apply\\nto imitations of antique versification. The author s\\nfirst piece, The Rime of the ancyent marinere, is the", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS xlvii\\nstrangest story of a cock and a bull that we ever saw on\\npaper: yet, though it seems a rhapsody of unintelligible\\nwildness and incoherence, (of which we do not perceive the\\ndrift, unless the joke lies in depriving the wedding guest\\nof his share of the feast,) there are in it poetical touches of\\nan exquisite kind.\\nEven Wordsworth failed to perceive the higher qualities of\\nThe Ancient Mariner. In the second edition of the Lyrical\\nBallads he printed the following superior and obtuse\\nnote:\\nThe Author was himself very desirous that it should be\\nsuppressed. This wish had arisen from a consciousness of\\nthe defects of the Poem, and from a knowledge that many\\npersons had been much displeased with it. The Poem of my\\nFriend has indeed many great defects first, that the prin-\\ncipal person has no distinct character, either in his profes-\\nsion of Mariner, or as a human being Avho having been\\nlong under the controul of supernatural impressions might\\nbe supposed himself to partake of something supernatural\\nsecondly, that he does not act, but is constantly acted upon\\nthirdly, that the events having no necessary connection do\\nnot produce each other; and lastly, that the imagery is\\nsomewhat too laboriously accumulated. Yet the Poem con-\\ntains many delicate touches of passion, and indeed the\\npassion is everywhere true to nature; a great number of the\\nstanzas present beautiful images, and are expressed with\\nunusual felicity of language and the versification, tho\\nthe metre is in itself unfit for long poems, is harmonious\\nand artfully varied, exhibiting the utmost powers of that\\nmetre, and every variety of which it is capable. It therefore\\nappeared to me that these several merits (the first of which,\\nnamely, that of the passion, is of the highest kind) gave to\\nthe Poem a value which is not often possessed by better\\nPoems. On this account I requested of my Friend to per-\\nmit me to republish it.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "xlviii INTRODUCTION\\nIn challenge of this Note, Lamb wrote to Wordsworth,\\nJanuary, 1801\\nFor me, I was never so affected with any human tale.\\nAfter first reading it, I was totally possessed with it for\\nmany days. I dislike all the miraculous part of it; but\\nthe feelings of the man under the operation of such scenery,\\ndragged me along like Tom Pipe s magic whistle. I totally\\ndiifer from your idea that the Marinere should have had\\na character and profession. This is a beauty in Gulliver^ s\\nTravels, where the mind is kept in a placid state of little\\nwonderments but the Ancient Marinere undergoes such\\ntrials as overwhelm and bury all individuality or memory\\nof what he was like the state of a man in a bad dream,\\none terrible peculiarity of which is, that all consciousness\\nof personality is gone. Your other observation is, I think\\nas well, a little unfounded: the Marinere, from being\\nconversant in supernatural events, has acquired a super-\\nnatural and strange cast of i^hrase, eye, appearance, etc.,\\nwhich frighten the ^wedding guest. You will excuse my\\nremarks, because I am hurt and vexed that you should think\\nit necessary, with a prose apology, to open the eyes of dead\\nmen that cannot see.\\nAs a striking illustration of the revolution in taste which\\nthe nineteenth century has witnessed, we need pnly set off\\nagainst the early criticisms and judgments of the Beviews\\ncertain recent appreciations of The Ancient Mariner. Out\\nof many, I select a few representative opinions.\\nMore amenable to our judgment [than Christabel and\\nKuhla Khctn], and susceptible of a more definite admira-\\ntion, the Ancient Mariner, and the few other poems cast\\nin something of a ballad type, which we may rank around\\nor below it, belong to another class. The chief of these\\nis so well known that it needs no fresh comment. Only\\nI will say that to some it may seem as though this great\\nsea-piece might have had more in it of the air and savour", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS xlix\\nof the sea. Perhaps it is none the worse and indeed any\\none speaking of so great and famous a poem must feel and\\nknow that it cannot but be right, although he or another\\nmay think it would be better if this were retrenched or\\nthat appended. And this poem is beyond question one of\\nthe supreme triumphs of poetry.\\nThe Ancient Mariner has doubtless more of breadth\\nand space, more of material force and motion, than anything\\nelse of the poet s. And the tenderness of sentiment which\\ntonches with significant colour the pure white imagination\\nis here no longer morbid or languid, as in the earlier poems\\nof feeling and emotion. For the execution, I presume\\nno human eye is too dull to see how perfect it is, and how\\nhigh in kind of perfection. Here is not the speckless\\nand elaborate finish which shows everywhere the fresh rasp\\nof file or chisel on its smooth and spruce excellence this\\nis faultless after the fashion of a flower or a tree. Thus it\\nhas grown: not thus has it been carved.\\nSwinburne, Essays and Studies Coleridge.\\nThe same expectation of the possibility of marvel and\\nhorror, of mysterious sins and their forgiveness, and of the\\nchance of meeting some forgotten spiritual life which was\\nbefore man came on earth, which creeps over us as we read\\nThe Ancient Mariner, belongs to seamen who have been lost\\nin unvisited spaces of ocean, vext with everlasting calm.\\nI never met a sailor whose ship had been among the lonely\\nplaces of the sea, who did not know of their hauntings, who\\nwould be surprised to see the phantom ship, who did not\\nhear in the air that sighed in the rigging the voices of the\\ncreatures that are half of the waters and half of the air\\nabove them. With wonderful but unconscious skill Cole-\\nridge has kept this sea-poem within the limits of this sub-\\njective feeling. The supernatural in it is the translation\\ninto form of the unconscious emotions of the lonely Mariner;", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "1 INTRODUCTION\\nbut all the time, in order to actualize the poem, the scenery\\nis kept extraordinarily true to nature. The single motive,\\nHe prayetli well who lovetli well,\\nBoth man and bird and beast,\\nis so slight that it does not take the whole out of the world of\\ndreaming phantasy, out of the mystery of the great and soli-\\ntary sea; and yet, when it comes in at the end, it throws back\\nits single impression on the whole and gives it lyric unity.\\nI believe this motive grew out of the poem as it went\\nalong, and that it did not form the previous basis of the\\npoem.\\nSo the poem is a revelation made by Coleridge of what\\nhe believed to be always the case in the spiritual world.\\nThat world is on the side of pity and love, and men who\\nviolate these are punished by hardness of heart. They\\ncannot pray, they cannot be wise, they cannot bless the\\nliving creatures of the land and sea and sky. Nature to\\nthem is dead; and if there be powers bound up with Nature,\\nthese are their enemies till they change their hearts. And\\nColeridge imagined the lonesome Spirit of the South Pole\\nwho loved the Albatross, and his fellow-demons, the invisi-\\nble inhabitants of the element, and the great Ocean that\\nalways looks at the moon, and the Sun and the Moon, who\\nact with the Polar Spirit; and Death and Life in Death,\\nthe spiritual powers which execute the sanctions of the Law\\nof Pity.\\nTo support this atmosphere, in which the laws of the\\nspiritual world take form as living beings, all the things of\\nNature mentioned in the poem are impersonated, have a life\\nand will. The Storm Blast which drives the ship southward\\nis as alive as the North Wind is in the Teuton s tale. Even\\nthe Dark itself comes like a giant with one stride over the\\nsea. The water snakes, the creatures of the calm, are full\\nof happiness in their own beauty. The Ocean breathes and", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS li\\nmoves and acts like one vast spirit. The Moon and the\\nStars have their own being.\\nWe are in a living world, yet as this part of the poem\\nverges too near to the allegorical, it is so far forth removed\\nfrom the mysterious in which it is conceived. To avoid\\nthis fault, the basis of the poem has a psychological mystery\\nin it, such as Coleridge loved. The Ancient Mariner him-\\nself has a spiritual Power which enables him to know the\\nman to whom he must tell his tale, and who must listen to\\nhim. On this mission he wanders^ with strange power of\\nspeech, from land to land. This is the actual supernatural,\\nthe spiritual Power in the poem not allegorical, not sub-\\njective. And this it is which after all gives to the poem\\nits deepest strangeness. All the wonders are made truly. -_=^-\\nspiritual by it.\\nAs to its poetry, it is like that of Christabel, not to be\\nanalyzed or explained. The spirit herself of Poetry is\\neverywhere, in these two poems, felt, but never obtruding,\\ntouching spiritual life and earthly loveliness with equal\\nlight, and so charming sense and soul with music, that what\\nis spiritual seems sensible, and what is of the senses seems\\nspiritual.\\nStopford Brooke, The Golden Book of Coleridge.\\nAny one examining the poem with a critical eye for its\\nmachinery and groundwork, will have noticed that Cole-\\nridge is careful not to introduce any element of the mar-\\nvellous or supernatural until he has transported the reader\\nbeyond the pale of definite geographical knowledge, and thus\\nleft behind him all those conditions of the known and the\\nfamiliar, all those associations with recorded fact and experi-\\nence, which would have created an inimical atmosphere.\\nIndeed, there is perhaps something rather inartistic in his\\nundisguised haste to convey us to t he sesth etica lly nec essary y\\nregion. In some half-dozen stanzasT^eginning wit5 ^^he", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "lii INTRODUCTION\\nship was cleared, [sic we find ourselves crossing the Line\\nand driven far toward the Southern Pole. Beyond a few\\nbroad indications thus vouchsafed, Coleridge very astutely\\ntakes pains to avoid anything like geography. We reach\\nthat silent sea into which we are the first that ever burst,\\nand that is sufficient for imaginative ends. It is enough\\nthat the world, as known to actual navigators, is left behind,\\nand a world which the poet is free to colonize with the\\nwildest children of his dreaming brain, has been entered.\\nForthwith, to all intents and purposes, we may say, in the\\nwords of Goethe, as rendered by Shelley:\\nThe bounds of true and false are passed\\nLead us on, thou wandermg gleam.\\nThenceforth we cease to have any direct relations with the\\nverifiable. Natural law is suspended; standards of proba-\\nbility have ceased to exist. Marvel after marvel is accepted\\nby us, as by the Wedding-Guest, with the unquestioning\\nfaith of a three years child. We become insensibly\\nacclimatized to this dreamland. Nor is it the chaotic,\\nanarchic, incoherent world of arabesque romance, where\\nthe real and unreal by turns arbitrarily interrupt and sup-\\nplant each other, and are never reconciled at heart. On\\nthe contrar}^, here is no inconsistency, for with the con-\\nstruction of this dream -realm nothing except the natural\\nand the probable could be inconsistent. Here is no danger\\nof the intellect or the reason pronouncing an adverse judg.\\nment, for the venue has been changed to a court where the\\njurisdiction of fantasy is supreme. Thus far, then, the\\nLogic of the Incredible is perfect, and the result, from\\nthe view point of art, magnificent. But at last we quit\\nthis consistently, unimpeachably, most satisfactorily impos-\\nsible world; we are restored to the world of common expe-\\nrience; and when so restoring us, the poet makes his first\\nand only mistake. For the concluding miracle, or rather", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS liii\\nbrace of miracles the apparition of the angelic forms\\nstanding over the corpses of the crew, and the sudden pre-\\nternatural sinking of the ship take place just when we\\nhave returned to the province of the natural and regular, to\\nthe sphere of the actual and the known; just when, floating\\ninto harbour, we sight the well-remembered kirk on the rock,\\nand the steady weathercock which the moonlight steeps in\\nsilentness. A dissonant note is struck at once. We have\\nleft a world where prodigies were normal, and have returned\\nto one where they are monstrous. But prodigies still pur-\\nsue us with unseasonable pertinacity, and our feeling is\\nsomewhat akin to that of the Ancient Mariner himself,\\nwhose prayer is that he may either ^be awake or may\\nsleep away \\\\_sic We would fain either surrender uncon-\\nditionally to reality, or remain free, as naturalized citizens\\nof a self-governing dreamland.\\nWilliam Watson, Excursions in Criticism\\nColeridge s Superiiaturahsm.\\nHe has wiitten some of the most poetical poetry in the\\nlanguage, and one poem, the Ancient Mariner, not only\\nunparalleled but unapproached in its kind, and that kind\\nof the rarest. It is marvellous in its mastery over that\\ndelightfully fortuitous inconsequence that is the adamantine\\nlogic of dreamland. Coleridge has taken the old ballad\\nmeasure and given to it, by an indefinable charm wholly\\nhis own, all the sweetness, all the melody and compass of a\\nsymphony. And how picturesque it is in the proper sense\\nof the word. I know nothing like it. There is not a\\ndescription in it. It is all picture. Descriptive poets gen-\\nerally confuse us with multiplicity of detail we cannot see\\ntheir forest for the trees but Coleridge never errs in this\\nway. W^ith instinctive tact he touches the right chord of\\nassociation, and is satisfied, as we also are. I should\\nfind it hard to explain the singular charm of his diction,", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "liv INTRODUCTION\\nthere is so much nicety of art and purpose in it, whether\\nfor music or meaning. Nor does it need any explanation,\\nfor we all feel it. The words seem common words enough,\\nbut in the order of them, in the choice, variety, and posi-\\ntion of the vowel-sounds they become magical. The most\\ndecrepit vocable in the language throws away its crutches\\nto dance and sing at his piping. I cannot think it a per-\\nsonal peculiarity, but a matter of universal experience, that\\nmore bits of Coleridge have embedded themselves in my\\nmemory than of any other poet who delighted my youth\\nunless I should except the sonnets of Shakespeare. This\\nargues perfection of expression. Let me cite an example\\nor two\\nThe sun s rim dips, the stars rush out,\\nAt one stride comes the dark\\nWith far-heard whisper through the dark [sic\\nOff shot the spectre barque.\\nOr take this as a bit of landscape\\nBeneath j on birch with silver bark\\nAnd boughs so pendulous and fair,\\nThe brook falls scattered down the rock,\\nAnd all is mossy there.\\nIt is a perfect little picture and seems so easily done. But\\ntry to do something like it. Coleridge s words have the\\nunashamed nakedness of Scripture, of the Eden of diction\\nere the voluble serpent had entered it. This felicity of\\nspeech in Coleridge s best verse is the more remarkable\\nbecause it was an acquisition. His earlier poems are apt\\nto be turgid, in his prose there is too often a languor of pro-\\nfuseness, and there are pages where he seems to be talking\\nto himself and not to us. When he is well inspired, as\\nin his best poetry he commonly is, he gives us the very\\nquintessence of perception, the clearly crystallized precipi-\\ntation of all that is most precious in the ferment of impres-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS Iv\\nsion after the impertinent and obtrusive particulars have\\nevaporated from the memory. It is the pure visual ecstasy\\ndisengaged from the confused and confusing material that\\ngave it birtli. It seems the very beatitude of artless sim-\\nplicity, and is the most finished product of art. I know\\nnothing so perfect in its kind since Dante.\\nLo^yELL, Literary and Political Addresses: Coleridge.\\nThe Ancient Mariner, as also, in its measure, Christabel,\\nis a romantic poem, impressing us by bold invention, and\\nappealing to that taste for the supernatural, that longing for\\nle frisson, a shudder, to which the romantic school in Ger-\\nmany, and its derivations in England and France, directly\\nministered. In Coleridge, personally, this taste had been\\nencouraged by his odd and out-of-the-way reading in the\\nold-fashioned literature of the marvellous books like\\nPurchas s Pilgrims, early voyages like Hakluyt s, old\\nnaturalists and visionary moralists, like Thomas Burnet,\\nfrom whom he quotes the motto of The Ancient Mariner,\\nFacile credo, 2:)lures esse natur as invisihiles quam visihiles in\\nrenim universitate, etc. Fancies of the strange things\\nwhich may very well happen, even in broad daylight, to\\nmen shut up alone in ships far off on the sea, seem to have\\noccurred to the human mind in all ages with a peculiar\\nreadiness, and often have about them, from the story of the\\nstealing of Dionysus downwards, the fascination of a cer-\\ntain dreamy grace, which distinguishes them from other\\nkinds of marvellous inventions. This sort of fascination\\nThe Ancient Mariner brings to its highest degree it is the\\ndelicacy, the dreamy grace, in his presentation of the mar-\\nvellous, which makes Coleridge s work so remarkable. The\\ntoo palpable intruders from a spiritual world in almost all\\nghost literature, in Scott and Shakespeare even, have a kind\\nof crudity or coarseness. Coleridge s power is in the very\\nfineness with which, as by some really ghostly finger, he", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "Ivi INTRODUCTION\\nbrings home to our inmost sense his inventions, daring as\\nthey are the skeleton ship, the polar spirit, the inspiriting\\nof the dead corpses of the ship s crew. The Rhyme of the\\nAncient Mariner has the plausibility, the perfect adaptation\\nto reason and the general aspect of life, which belongs to\\nthe marvellous, when actually presented as a part of a\\ncredible experience in our dreams. Doubtless, the mere\\nexperience of the opium-eater, the habit he must almost\\nnecessarily fall into of noting the more elusive phenomena\\nof dreams, had something to do with that: in its essence,\\nhowever, it is connected with a more purely intellectual\\ncircumstance in the development of Coleridge s X- oetic gift.\\nSome one once asked William Blake, to whom Coleridge has\\nmany resemblances, when either is at his best (that whole\\nepisode of the re-inspiriting of the ship s crew in The Ancient\\nMariner being comparable to Blake s well-known design of\\ntlie Morning Stars singing together whether he had ever\\nseen a ghost, and was surprised when the famous seer, who\\nought, one would think, to have seen so many, answered\\nfrankly, Only once! His spirits, at once more delicate,\\nand so much more real, than any ghost the burden, as\\nthey were the privilege, of his temperament like it, were\\nan integral element in his everyday life. And the differ-\\nence of mood expressed in that question and its answer, is\\nindicative of a change of temper in regard to the super-\\nnatural which has passed over the whole modern mind.\\nIt is this finer, more delicately marvellous supernatural-\\nism, fruit of his more delicate psychology, that Coleridge\\ninfuses into romantic adventure, itself also then a new or\\nrevived thing in English literature; and with a fineness of\\nweird effect in The Ancient Mariner, unknown in those older,\\nmore simple, romantic legends and ballads. It is a flower\\nof mediseval or later German romance, growing up in the\\npeculiarly compounded atmosphere of modern psychological\\nspeculation, and putting forth in it wholly new qualities.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "JUDGMENTS AND APPRECIATIONS Ivii\\nThe quaint prose commentary, whicli runs side by side with\\nthe verse of The Ancient Mariner, illustrates this a com-\\nposition of quite a different shade of beauty and merit from\\nthat of the verse wJiich it accompanies, connecting this, the\\nchief poem of Coleridge, with his philosophy, and empha-\\nsizing therein that psychological interest of whicli I have\\nspoken, its curious soul-lore.\\nIt is Coleridge s one great complete work, the one really\\nfinished thing, in a life of many beginnings. Christabel\\nremained a fragment. In The Ancie}(t Mariner this unity\\nis secured in part by the skill with which the incidents of\\nthe marriage feast are made to break in dreamily from time\\nto time upon the main story. And then, how pleasantly,\\nhow reassuringly, the whole nightmare story itself is made\\nto end, among the clear fresh sounds and lights of the bay,\\nwhere it began, with\\nThe mooii-Ught steeped iii silentness,\\nThe steady weather-cock.\\nWalter Pater, Appreciations Coleridge.\\nLike a great shadow moving noiselessly over the widest\\nsweep of mountain and plain, a pillar of cloud or like the\\nflight of indescribable fleecy hosts of winged vapours spread-\\ning their impalpable influence like a breath, changing the\\nface of the earth, subduing the thoughts of men, yet nothing^\\nand capable of no interpretation such was the great poem\\ndestined to represent in the world of poetry the effect which\\nthese mystic cloud-agencies have upon the daylight and the\\nsky.\\nWhen the tale has reached its height of mystery and\\nemotion, a change ensues; gradually the greater spell is\\nremoved, the spirits depart, the strain softens with a\\nweird yet gentle progress the ship comes slowly and\\nsmoothly, without a breeze, back to the known and visible.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "Iviii INTKODUCTION\\nAs the voyage approaches its conclusion, ordinary instru-\\nmentalities appear once more. There is first the rising of\\nthe soft, familiar wind, like a meadow gale in spring, then\\nthe blessed vision of the lighthouse-top, the hill, the kirk,\\nall those well-known realities which gradually relieve the\\nabsorbed excitement of the listener, and favour his slow\\nreturn to ordinary daylight. And then comes the ineffable,\\nhalf-childish, half-divine simplicity of those soft moral-\\nizings at the end, so strangely different from the tenor of\\nthe tale, so wonderfully perfecting its visionary strain.\\nAfter all, the poet seems to say, after this weird excursion\\ninto the very deepest, awful heart of the seas and mysteries,\\nhere is your child s moral, a tender little half -trivial senti-\\nment, yet profound as the blue depths of heaven\\nHe prayeth best, who loveth best\\nAll things both great and small\\nFor the dear God who loveth us,\\nHe made and loveth all.\\nThis unexpected gentle conclusion brings our feet back\\nto the common soil with a bewildered sweetness of relief\\nand soft quiet after the prodigious strain of mental excite-\\nment Avhich is like nothing else we can remember in poetry.\\nThe effect is one rarely produced, and which few poets have\\nthe strength and daring to accomplish, sinking from the\\nhighest notes of spiritual music to the absolute simplicity\\nof exhausted nature. Thus we are set down on the soft\\ngrass, in a tender bewilderment, out of the clouds. The\\nvisionary voyage is over, we are back again on the mortal\\nsoil from which we started; but never more, never again,\\ncan the visible and invisible bear to us the same meaning.\\nFor once in our lives, if never before, we have passed the\\nborders of the unseen.\\nMrs. Oliphant, Literary History of England.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS lix\\nVII. SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS\\nThe foregoing pages are intended, not merely to serve as\\nan introduction to The Ancient Mariner, but also to embody\\nsuggestions as to method in the study of literature. Young\\nstudents beginning the study of literature are apt, as is\\nnatural, to lack the sense of relation; they consider the\\nparticular poem or novel they are studying as a final and\\ntotal production, quite apart from anything else, and exist-\\ning in and for itself. The biography of the author is, at\\nits best, a mere narrative of events, and at its worst, simply\\na string of anecdotes. And his other works are so many\\nother literary productions, having no necessary relation to\\nthe man who wrote them or to each other. Such a concep-\\ntion of a novel or poem I believe to be not uncommon\\nwith young people, in spite of the fact that manifestly\\nthe outcome of any study under these conditions can be only\\ncramping, and in the end pernicious, as leading to false\\nmethods and wrong results.\\nTo correct the mistaken conception of the meaning of\\nbiography, I have in my sketch of Coleridge s life in-\\nsisted tacitly on the importance of a clearly defined point\\nof view. The biography of a poet becomes significant\\nin so far as we see in the events of his life the causes\\nor the results of his personality, his habit of mind, his\\ntemperament, his genius. The personality is the main\\nthing; to that events are incidental, and they are signifi-\\ncant in so far as they help us to understand the person-\\nality. For if we do not know the man, we cannot read\\naright the full meaning of his work. Thus, in my narra-\\ntive of Coleridge s life, my choice of details has been\\ndetermined in every instance by the desire to set forth\\nthe man who wrote The Ancient Mariner. It is the poet\\nwhom I have thrown into relief, rather than the critic,\\nthe philosopher, or the religious teacher. For it was pre-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "Ix INTRODUCTION\\neminently as the dreamer that Coleridge was able to write\\nthe poem.\\nSo, too, in approaching the study of the poem, I thought\\nit advisable to make use of the historical method. The\\nwork of appreciation, surely not the least important part\\nof the study of poetry, I leave to the students themselves,\\nunder the guidance of the recognized critics, whose judg-\\nments and impressions I cite. Appreciation, important\\nas it is, is apt to be misleading and unsound, if not\\nreenforced by a knowledge of such facts about the poem\\nas are within our reach. These facts are supplied, first,\\nby a thorough understanding of the man himself, as re-\\nvealed in his biography, and, secondly, by a study of the\\nsources of the poem, its antecedents, and its place in litera-\\nture, literature, that is, regarded not as the sporadic\\nexpression of this or that man s ideas, but as a continuous\\ndevelopment. What the end of the study of literature\\nshould be, whether it should be pleasure or truth, whether\\nthe method should be impressionistic and appreciative, or\\ndogmatic, or historical and scientific, I do not intend to\\ndiscuss here. My purpose is simply, by suggesting the use\\nof the historical method, supplemented by appreciation,\\nto point the way to the understanding and enjoyment of\\nliterature.\\nThe historical method I have used in its widest scope\\nin Section IV. and this section I have written primarily\\nfor teachers. This the pupils may omit until they are\\nthoroughly familiar with the poem. The pupils may be\\nasked to read Sections I. and V. before beginning the study\\nof the poem itself. Then the poem should be read through\\naloud, and, if possible, at one sitting on this first reading\\nno attention need be paid to the notes. The poem should\\nthen be read with reference to the story; once the pupils\\nhave the narrative in mind, they may turn to Section\\nIII. to see where the poet found his narrative, and", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS Ixi\\nso learn what use he made of his materials. Here the\\nteacher may point out that in just the same way Shake-\\nspeare borrowed the plots of many of his plays. The pupils\\nshould note the difference between the crude material and\\nthe finished poem. The teacher should point out that,\\nalthough we see the unfused elements on the one side and\\nthe fine gold on the other, no critical alchemy has ever\\ndiscovered the process of transmutation. No one holds\\nthe philosopher s stone of poetry but the poet himself; it\\nis this undiscoverable power which constitutes his genius.\\nAfter this comparison between materials and poem, the\\npupils sliould study the poem in detail with the help of the\\nnotes. Then they should be asked to give their opinions\\non The Ancient Mariner. Not until they have mastered\\nthe poem for themselves, should they be allowed to read the\\ncriticisms One lesson that the young student of literature\\nshould learn early is to form his own independent judgment\\non what he reads. To borrow one s opinions before reading\\nfor oneself weakens the critical fibre and savors of intel-\\nlectual dishonesty. If there is time, a good plan would be\\nto have the pupils give their opinions of the criticisms cited,\\nand to debate, from their own point of view, the dicta of\\nthe critics. Anything is helpful which enables young\\npeople to give the reason for their own opinion, and leads\\nthem out into intellectual independence.\\nAfter this thoroughgoing study of the poem, the introduc-\\ntion may be read as a whole, by way of summing up results.^\\n1 If time serves, the student should read as ilkistrating the other\\nwork of Coleridge s poetic prime, Kubla Khan, Christabel, Lewli,\\nLove, Ballad of the Bark Ladie, and for the sake of contrast with The\\nAncient Mariner, part at least of The Three Graces. Of his other\\nwork might be read 77?^ JSolian Harp, Frost at Midnight, Lines to\\nWordsworth, Pains of Sleep, and the splendid Ode to Dejection. To\\nthese might be added some of Wordsworth s poems in the Lyrical\\nBallads, The Thorn, We are Seven, and especially the Lines written\\na few miles above Tintern Abbey.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "Ixii INTRODUCTION\\nThe Ancient Mtwiner, then, regarded from this point of\\nview, may serve as a kind of introduction to the study of\\nliterature. One hint now as to the method of studying the\\npoem itself. Here the end and aim should be to let the poem\\nmake its appeal as poetry. Details of scansion should be\\ndwelt upon only in so far as they help in the right reading\\nof the verse. Grammatical construction should not be\\nstudied for its own sake; the teacher should discuss the\\nchoice of words and the make-up of the sentences solely\\nfrom the point of view of effect. What words are exact\\nin their picture-making power, such as force us to see\\nwhat the poet sees and precisely as he sees it? What\\nwords, on the other hand, are indeterminate, suggestive,\\nstimulating our own imaginations, so that we make the\\npicture for ourselves out of our own experience? How\\ndoes the form of the verse respond to the mood it ex-\\npresses? With more advanced students the teacher might\\nanalyze the music of the verse, touching upon the more\\ngeneral principles of tone-color, wherein a certain higher\\nexpressiveness is won by the quality of the consonant and\\nvowel sounds. The nature and number of such details as\\nI have here hinted at may be safely left to the discretion\\nof the teacher, provided that he have before him constantly\\nthe fundamental principle in the study of literature, that\\npoetry should be read to be appreciated and enjoyed; for\\na poem fails of being poetry in so far as it fails of com-\\nmunicating pleasure.\\nVIII. examikatio:n^ questions\\n1. Tell briefly the entire story of the The Ancient Mariner.\\n2. Relate in full one of the following episodes:\\na. The mariner and the wedding-guest,\\nh. The voyage until the albatross appears,\\nc. The albatross.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "EXAMINATION QUESTIONS Ixiii\\nd. The experiences of the mariners from the shooting of the\\nalbatross to the appearance of the spectre- ship.\\ne. The spectre-ship.\\nThe mariner s experiences until he blesses the creatures\\nof the great calm.\\ng. The navigation of tlie ship by the dead men.\\nh. The Two Voices.\\ni. The awakening from the trance.\\nj. The arrival in the home harbor.\\nk. The rescue of the mariner by the hermit and the pilot.\\nI. The fate of the ship.\\nm. The mariner s after experiences.\\n3. Discuss the poet s method of telling the story.\\n4. Restate briefly all the descriptions of landscape and country in the\\npoem.\\n5. Restate briefly all the descriptions of the sea.\\n6. Describe in detail\\na. The Ancient Mariner.\\nb. The ship driven by the storm-blast.\\nc. The sea in the regions of the south pole.\\nd. The calm.\\ne. The spectre-ship and her crew.\\nThe sea after the mariner alone survives.\\ng. The home harbor.\\n7. Discuss the poet s method of description.\\n8. What was the religion of the Ancient Mariner\\n9. What customs are referred or alluded to which no longer\\nexist\\n10. What indications are there as to the geography and the period of\\nthe poem\\nLI. Compare the gloss with the poem itself in substance.\\nL2. Hdw far does the gloss contribute to the effect of Hie Ancient\\nMariner as a whole\\nWhy is the motto from Burnet appropriate Explain fully.\\nWhat in the j)oem is strictly supernatural\\nDoes it seem real to you Why\\nDiscuss the form of the poem.\\nDiscuss the metre.\\nCompare The Ancient Mariner with an old ballad, for example,\\nSir Patrick Spens.\\nTell the story of the composition of the poem.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "Ixiv INTRODUCTION\\n20. What do you conceive to have been Wordsworth s share, both in\\ndirect contribution and in influence on Coleridge\\n21. What materials did the poet use in writing it\\n22. Is there anything similar to The Ancient Mariner in literature,\\neither in spirit or in form\\n23. What is the relation of the poem to the other literature of the time\\n24. What do you think was the poet s purpose in writing The Ancient\\nMariner f\\n25. What is the obvious moral of the poem\\n26. Are the moral and the purpose here the same\\n27. AVhat does the poem mean to you\\nIX. CHRONOLOGICAL SURVEY\\nI. LlFE^\\n1772. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, born in Ottery St. Mary, Devon,\\n21st October.\\n1781. Death of his father, 4th October.\\n1782. Entered at Christ s Hospital, 18th July.\\n1791. Discharged from Christ s Hospital, 7th September.\\nGoes into residence at Jesus College, Cambridge, October.\\n1793. Enlisted in King s Regiment of Light Dragoons, December.\\n1794. Discharged from the army, April.\\nVisit to Oxford and meeting with Southey, June.\\nPantisocracy, Autumn.\\nLeaves Cambridge finally, December,\\n1795. Settled at Bristol, lecturing and writing.\\nMarried to Sarah Fricker, 4tli October.\\n1796. First edition of poems published, April.\\nIssue of the Watchman, 1st March to 13th May.\\nBirth of Hartley Coleridge, 19th September.\\nSettled at Nether Stowey, December.\\n1797. Settlement of the Wordsworths at Alfoxden, July.\\nThe Ancient Mariner begun, 13th November.\\nFirst part of Christabel begun.\\n1 I have followed here substantially the Table in the Letters edited\\nby E. H. Coleridge.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "CHRONOLOGICAL SURVEY Ixv\\n1798. Accepts annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds from\\nJosiali and Thomas Wedgwood, January.\\nGoes to Germany, September.\\n1799. Returns from Germany, July.\\nBegins to write for Morning Post, December.\\n1800. Translation of Schiller s Wallenstein, Spring.\\nBirth of Derwent Coleridge, 14th September.\\nSecond part of Christabel, Autumn.\\n1802. Birth of Sara Coleridge, 23d December.\\n1804. Journey to Malta.\\n1806. Residence in Rome, January to May.\\nReturns to England, August.\\n1808. First lecture at Royal Institution, 12th January.\\n1809-10. The Friend.\\n1813. Production of Remorse at Drury Lane, 23d January.\\n1816. Settles with Mr. Gillman at Highgate, 16th April.\\n1834. Death, 25th July.\\nII. Works\\n1. Fall of Robespierre, 1794 (first act by Coleridge).\\n2. Moral and Political Lecture delivered at Bristol, 1795.\\n3. Conciones ad Populum, 1795.\\n4. The Plot discovered, in an address to the people against\\nministerial treason, 1795 (3 and 4 in Essays on His Own\\nTimes).\\n5. The Watchman. (Ten numbers, 1st March to 13th May, 1796.)\\n6. Poems on Various Subjects, 1796. (Three Sonnets by Charles\\nLamb.) Second edition in 1797, with poems by C. Lamb\\nand C. Lloyd. Third edition in 1803, omitting Lloyd s and\\nLamb s poems.\\n7. Destiny of Nations. (Originally contributed to Southey s Joan\\nof Arc republished under this title, with alterations, in 1828\\nand 1834. Original form in Cottle s Early Recollections,\\nAppendix.)\\n8. Ode to the Departing Year. (Cambridge Intelligencer, 31st\\nDecember, 1796, and separately, 1796.)\\n1 For this Table I am indebted in the main to the article on Coleridge\\nby Leslie Stephen, in the Dictionary of National Biography.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "Ixvi INTRODUCTION\\n9. The Ancient Mariner, in Lyrical Ballads, 1798.\\n10. Fears in Solitude (previously in Morning Post) France, an\\nOde (previously as Recantation in Morning Post) Frost at\\nMidnight; 1798.\\n11. Poems in Annual Anthology for 1800.\\n12. Wallenstein, 1800.\\n13. The Friend, a Literary, Moral, and Political Journal, exclud-\\ning personal and party topics and the events of the day; 27\\nparts, 1st June, 1809, to 15th March, 1810. Reissued 1812.\\nNew and greatly altered edition, 1818.\\n14. Remorse, a Tragedy, 1813 (three editions). Osorio, as written\\nin 1797, was published in 1873.\\n15. Essays on the Fine Arts in Felix Farley s Journal, 1814.\\n16. Christabel, with Kubla Khan and Pains of Sleep, 1816.\\n17. Sibylline Leaves (chiefly republications), 1817.\\n18. Zapolya, a Christmas Tale, 1817.\\n19. Biographia Literaria, 1817. Second edition with notes by\\nHenry Nelson and Sara Coleridge in 1847.\\n20. Aids to Reflection in the Formation of a Manly Character, etc.,\\n1825.\\n21. On the Constitution of Church and State, 1830.\\nPosthumously published were\\n1. Specimens of his Table Talk. By Henry Nelson Coleridge,\\n1835. Later republished with Omniana and Other Frag-\\nments, by T. Ashe, in 1884.\\n2. Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit. Edited by Henry Nelson\\nColeridge, 1840 with notes by Sara Coleridge, 1849.\\n3. Literary Remains. Edited by H. N. Coleridge Vols. I. and II.,\\n1836 Vols. III. and IV., 1838.\\n4. Essay on Method (from Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, dated\\nJanuary, 1818), 1845.\\n5. Notes and Lectures upon Shakespeare and some of the Old\\nDramatists. Edited by Sara Coleridge. 2 vols. 1849.\\n6. Notes upon English Divines. Edited by Derwent Coleridge.\\n2 vols. 1853.\\n7. Essays on His Own Times. Edited by Sara Coleridge. 3 vols.\\n1850. (Early pamphlets and contributions to the Morning\\nPost and Courier in prose and verse.)\\nJ", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "BIBLIOGRAPHY ixvii\\n8^ Lectures on Shakespeare, from notes by J. P. Collier, 1875.\\n9. Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare and other English Poets.\\nBrought together by T. Ashe, 1885.\\n10. Aninia Poetse, from the Unpublished Note-books of S. T. C.\\nEdited by E. H. Coleridge, 1895.\\n11. Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited by E. H. Cole-\\nridge. 2 vols. 1895.\\nCollected Editions\\nFirst collected edition of Poetical and Dramatic Works, published\\nby Coleridge himself, 1828.\\nRevised issue, 1829.\\nSecond edition, by H. N. Coleridge, 1834.\\nThe Poetical and Dramatic Works of S. T. C, with a life of the\\nauthor. London, 1836. 12mo.\\nAnother edition, with a Memoir. Edited by Sara and D.\\nColeridge. 3 vols. Boston, 185i.\\nAnother edition, founded on the author s latest edition of 1834,\\nwith many additional pieces now first included, and with a\\ncollection of various readings. Edited by R. H. Shepherd.\\n4 vols. London, 1877.\\nAnother edition. Poetical and Dramatic AVorks. 4 vols.\\nLondon, 1880. A reissue of the preceding, published by Mac-\\nmillan, with a sup]3lement to Vol. II.\\nThe Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Edited with a\\nBiographical Introduction by James Dykes Campbell. Lon-\\ndon and New York Macmillan and Co., 1893. Founded on\\nthe edition of 1829 as the last upon which Coleridge was\\nable to bestow personal care and attention.\\nThe Complete Works of S. T. Coleridge, with an introductory\\nessay upon his philosophical and theological opinions. Edited\\nby Professor Shedd. 7 vols. New l^ork, 1853.\\nX. BIBLIOGRAPHY\\nFor a thorough study of Coleridge the biography by J. Dykes\\nCampbell is indispensable published as a Memoir introductory to\\nthe Poetical Works of Coleridge, Macmillan, 1893; reissued as", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "Ixviii INTRODUCTION\\nSamuel Taylor Coleridge, a Narrative of the Events of His Life,\\n1894. Comprehensive biographies are those by H. D. Traill (Eng-\\nlish Men of Letters Series) and Hall Caine (Great Writers Series).\\nThe latter contains a full bibliography (up to 1887) compiled by\\nJ. P. Anderson of the British Museum. Briefer accounts are those\\nby Leslie Stephen in the Dictionary of National Biography also\\nwith bibliography and by Rossetti in Lives of the Famous Poets.\\nA scholarly and stimulating study of Coleridge as a poet is the\\nLife by Professor A. Brandl, translated by Lady Eastlake. For\\noriginal material one should turn to the Biographia Literaria, and\\nto the Letters of Coleridge (2 vols., 1895), selected especially to\\nillustrate the story of the writer s life.\\nContemporaries who have left records, portraits, sketches, remi-\\nniscences of Coleridge are Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Cottle,\\nHazlitt, Leigh Hunt, Gillman, Carlyon, Carlyle.\\nRecent essays which the student will find significant are those by\\nStopford Brooke, Golden Book of Coleridge, Theology in the Eng-\\nlish Poets Dowden, New Studies in Literature Swinburne, Essays\\nand Studies William Watson, Excursions in Criticism J C.\\nShairp, Studies in Poetry Pater, Appreciations Lowell, De-\\nmocracy and Other Addresses; Richard Garnett, Poetry of Cole-\\nridge; Mrs. Oliphant, Literary History of England, Vol. I.; Leslie\\nStephen, Hours in a Library, Vol. HI.; J. M. Robertson, New\\nEssays towards a Critical Method. Poole s Index may be consulted\\nfor magazine articles.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,\\nNow wherefore stopp st thou me", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nIN SEVEN PAETS\\nFacile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum\\nuniversitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit? et\\ngradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera? Quid agunt?\\nquae loca habitant? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium\\nhumanum, nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, uon diffiteor, quandoque in\\nanimo, tanquam in Tabula, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contem-\\nplari ne mens assuefacta hodiernae vitse minutiis se contrahat nimis, et\\ntota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea invigilandum\\nest, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus.\\nT. Burnet: Arch^ol. Phil,, p. 68.\\nARGUMENT\\nHow a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold\\nCountry towards the South Pole and how from thence she made her\\ncourse to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean and of the\\nstrange things that befell and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere\\ncame back to his own Country. [1798.]\\nPART THE FIRST\\nf\\nIt is an ancient Manner, An ancient\\nAMHest oppethoAeofthree. 3*1^76:1\\nBy thy long grey beard and glittering eye, lants bidden\\nNow wherefore stopp st thou me wedding-\\nfeast, and de-\\nThe Bridegroom s doors are opened wide,\\nAnd I am next of kin\\nThe guests are met, the feast is set\\nMay st hear the merry din.\\n1\\ntaineth one.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nHe holds him with his skinny hand,\\n10 There was a ship, quoth he.\\nHold off unhand me, grey-beard loon\\nEftsoons his hand dropt he.\\nThe wedding-\\nguest is spell-\\nbound by the\\neye of the old\\nsea-faring\\nman, and con-\\nstrained to\\nhear his tale.\\n15\\nHe holds him with his glittering eye\\nThe wedding-guest stood still.\\nAnd listens like a three-years child\\nThe Mariner hath his will.\\nThe wedding-guest sat on a stone\\nHe cannot chuse but hear\\nAnd thus spake on that ancient man,\\n20 The bright-eyed mariner.\\nThe ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,\\nMerrily did we drop\\nBelow the kirk, below the hill,\\nBelow the lighthouse top.\\nThe Mariner\\ntells how the\\nship sailed\\nsouthward\\nwith a good\\nwind and fair\\nweather, till\\nit reached the\\nline.\\nThe wedding-\\nguest heareth\\nthe bridal\\nmusic but the\\nmariner con-\\ntin ueth his\\ntale.\\n25 The Sun came up upon the left.\\nOut of the sea came he\\nAnd he shone bright, and on the right\\nWent down into the sea.\\nHigher and higher every day,\\n30 Till over the mast at noon\\nThe Wedding-Guest here beat his breast.\\nFor he heard the loud bassoon.\\nThe bride hath paced into the hall,\\nRed as a rose is she\\n35 Nodding their heads before her goes\\nThe merry minstrelsy.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "The bride hath paced into the hall\\nRed as a rose is she.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "PART THE FIRST\\nThe Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,\\nYet he cannot chuse but hear\\nAnd thus spake on that ancient man^\\n40 The bright-eyed Mariner.\\nAnd now the storm-blast came, and he\\nWas tyrannous and strong\\nHe struck with his o ertaking wings,\\nAnd chased us south along.\\n45 With sloping masts and dipping prow,\\nAs^who pursued with yell and blow\\nStill treads the shadow of his foe\\nAnd forward bends his head.\\nThe ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,\\n50 And southward aye we fled.\\nAnd now there came both mist and snow\\nAnd it grew wondrous cold\\nAnd ice, mast-high, came floating by.\\nAs green as emerald.\\n55 And through the drifts the snowy clifts\\nDid send a dismal sheen\\nNor shapes of men nor beasts we ken\\nThe ice was all between.\\nThe ice was here, the ice was there,\\n60 The ice was all around\\nIt cracked and growled, and roared and\\nhowled,\\nLike noises in a swound\\nAt length did cross an Albatross\\nThorough the fog it came\\nAs if it had been a Christian soul\\nWe hailed it in God s name.\\nThe ship\\ndrawn by a\\nstorm toward\\nthe south pole.\\nThe land of\\nice, and of\\nfearful\\nsounds, where\\nno living\\nthing- was to\\nbe seen.\\nTill a great\\nsea-bird,\\ncalled the\\nAlbatross,\\ncame through\\nthe snow-fog,\\nand was re-\\nceived with\\ngreat joy and\\nhospitality.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nIt ate the food it ne er had eat,\\nAnd round and round it flew.\\nThe ice did split with a thunder-fit\\n70 The hehnsman steered us through!\\nAnd lo the\\nAlbatross\\nproveth a bird\\nof good omen,\\nand followeth\\nthe ship as it\\nreturned\\nnorthward,\\nthrough fog\\nand floating\\n75\\nAnd a good south wind\\\\ sprung up behind\\nThe Albatross did foll^^ r\\nAnd every day, for food o*iipiS^|^\\nCame to the mariner s hollo\\nIn mist or cloud, on mast or phroud.\\nIt perched for jvesjfers nine\\nWhiles all the night, through fog-smoke whitp.\\nGlimmered the white Moon-shine.\\nThe ancient\\nMariner in-\\nhospitably\\nkilleth the\\npious bird of\\ngood omen.\\nGod save thee, ancient Mariner\\n80 From the fiends, that plague thee thus\\nWhy look st thou so With my cross-bow\\nI shot the Albatross.\\nPART THE SECOND.\\n85\\nThe Sun now rose upon the right\\nOut of the sea came he,\\nStill hid in mist, and on the left\\nWent down into the sea.\\nAnd the good south wind still blew behind.\\nBut no^sweet bird did follow.\\nNor any day for food or play\\nCame to the mariners hollo", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "PART THE SECOND\\nAnd I had done an hellish thing,\\nAnd it would work em woe\\nFor all averred, I had killed the bird\\nThat made the breeze to blow.\\n95 Ah wretch said they, the bird to slay.\\nThat made the breeze to blow\\nHis ship-\\nmates cry out\\nagainst the\\nancient Marl--\\nner, for kill-\\ning the bird of\\ngood luck.\\nleo\\nNor dim nor red, like God s own head,\\nThe glorious Sun n prist\\nThen all averred, I had killed the bird\\nThat brought the fog and mist.\\nTwas right, said they, such birds to slay.\\nThat bring the fog and mist.\\nBut when the\\nfog cleared\\noff, they\\njustify the\\nsame, and\\nthus make\\nthemselves\\naccomplices\\nin the crime.\\nThe fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,\\nThe furrow followed free\\n105 We were the first that ever burst\\nInto that silent sea.\\nDown dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,\\nTwas sad as sad could be;\\nAnd we did speak only to break\\n110 The silence of the sea\\nThe fair\\nbreeze con-\\ntinues the\\nship enters\\nthe Pacific\\nOcean and\\nsails north-\\nward, even\\ntill it reaches\\nthe Line.\\nThe ship hatli\\nsuddenly been\\nbecalmed.\\nAll in a hot^nd copper sky.\\nThe bloody Sun, at noon,\\nRight up above the mast did stand.\\nNo bigger than the Moon.\\n115 Day after day, day after day,\\nWe stuck, nor breath nor motion\\nAs idle as a painted ship\\nUpon a painted ocean.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nAnd the Al-\\nbatross begins\\nto be av\u00e2\u0082\u00ac\\nWater, water, every where,\\n120 And all the boards did shrink\\nWater, water, every where,\\nNor any drop to drink.\\nA spirit had\\nfollowed\\nthem one of\\nthe invisible\\ninhabitants of\\nthis planet,\\nneither de-\\nparted souls\\nnor angels\\nconcerning\\nAvhom the\\nlearned Jew,\\nJosephus,\\nand the Pla-\\ntonic Constan-\\ntinopolitan,\\nMichael Psel-\\nlus, may be\\nconsulted.\\nThey are very\\nnumerous,\\nand there is\\nno climate or\\nelement with-\\nout one or\\nmore.\\nThe ship-\\nmates, in\\ntheir sore dis-\\ntress, would\\nfain throw\\nthe whole\\nguilt on the\\nancient Mari-\\nner in sign\\nwhereof they\\nhang the dead\\nsea-bird round\\nhis neck.\\nThe very deep did rot Christ\\nThat ever this should be\\n125 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs\\nUpon the slimy sea.\\nAbout, about, in reel and rout\\nThe death-fires danced at night\\nThe water, like a witch s oils,\\n130 Burnt green, and blue and white.\\nAnd some in dreams assured were\\nOf the sx^irit that plagued us so\\nNine fathom deep he had followed us\\nFrom the land of mist and snow.\\n135 And every tongue, through utter drought.\\nWas withered at the root\\nWe could not speak, no more than if\\nWe had been choked with soot.\\nAh well a-day what evil looks\\n140 Had I from old and young\\nInstead of the cross, the Albatross\\nAbout my neck was hung.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "PART THE THIRD\\nPART THE THIRD.\\nThere passed a weary time. Each throat\\nWas parched, and glazed each eye.\\n145 A weary time a weary time\\nHow glazed each weary eye,\\nWhen looking westward, I beheld\\nA something in the sky.\\nAt first it seemed a little speck,\\n150 And then it seemed a mist\\nIt moved and moved, and took at last\\nA certain shape, I wist.\\nA speck, a mist, a shape, I wist\\nAnd still it neared and neared\\n155 As if it dodged a water-sprite.\\nIt plunged and tacked and veered.\\nThe ancient\\nMariner be-\\nholdeth a sign\\nin the element\\nafar off.\\nWith throats unslaked, with black lips baked,\\nWe could nor laugh nor wail\\nThrough utter drought all dumb we stood I\\n160 I bit^my arm, I sucked the blood.\\nAnd cried, A sail a sail\\nWith throats unslaked, with black lips baked\\nAgape they heard me call\\nGramercy! they for joy did grin,\\n165 And all at once their breath drew in.\\nAs they were drinking all.\\nSee See (I cried) she tacks no more\\nHither to work us weal\\nWithout a breeze, without a tide,\\n170 She steadies with upright keel I\\nAt its nearer\\napproach, it\\nseemeth liira\\nto be a ship\\nand at a dear\\nransom he\\nfreeth his\\nspeech from\\nthe bonds of\\nthirst.\\nA flash of joy.\\nAnd horror\\nfollows. For\\ncan it be a\\nship that\\ncomes onward\\nwithout wind\\nor tide", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nThe western wave was all a-flame.\\nThe day was well-nigh done\\nAlmost upon the western wave\\nEested the broad bright Sun\\n175 When that strange shape drove suddenly\\nBetwixt us and the Sun.\\nIt seemeth\\nhim but the\\nskeleton of a\\nsliip.\\nAnd straight the Sun was flecked with bars,\\n(Heaven s Mother send us grace\\nAs if through a dungeon-grate he peered\\n180 With broad and burning face.\\nAnd its ribs\\nare seen as\\nbars on the\\nface of the set-\\nting Sun.\\nThe spectre-\\nwoman and\\nher death-\\nmate, and no\\nother on\\nboard the\\nskeleton ship-\\nLike vessel,\\nlike crew\\nDeath and\\nLlFE-IN-\\nDeath have\\ndiced for the\\nship s crew,\\nand she (the\\nlatter) win-\\nneth the an-\\ncient Mariner.\\nAlas (thought I, and my heart beat loud)\\nHow fast she nears and nears\\nAre those lier sails that glance in the Sun,\\nLike restless gossameres\\n1\\n185 Are those lier ribs through which the Sun\\nDid peer, as through a grate\\nAnd is that W^onian all her crew\\nIs that a Death and are there two\\nIs Death that woman s mate\\n190 Her lips were red, lier looks were free.\\nHer locks were yellow as gold\\nHer skin was as white as leprosy,\\nThe Night-Mare Life-in-Death was she,\\nWho thicks man s blood with cold.\\n195 The naked hulk alongside came.\\nAnd the twain were casting dice\\nThe game is done I ve won I ve won\\nQuoth she, and whistles thrice.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "PART THE THIRD\\nThe Sun s rim dips the stars rush out\\n200 At one stride comes the Dark\\nWith far-heard whisper, o er the sea,\\nOff shot the spectre-bark.\\nNo twilight\\nwithiu the\\ncourts of the\\nsun.\\nWe listened and looked sideways up\\nFear at my heart, as at a cup,\\n205 My life-blood seemed to sip\\nThe stars were dim, and thick the night.\\nThe steersman s face by his lamp gleamed\\nwhite\\nFrom the sails the dew did drip\\nTill clomb above the eastern bar\\n210 The horned Moon, with one bright star\\nWithin the nether tip.\\nOne after one, by the star-dogged Moon,\\nToo quick for groan or sigh\\nEach turned his face with a ghastly pang,\\n215 And cursed me with his eye.\\nAt the rising\\nof the Moon,\\nOne after\\nanother,\\nFour times fifty living men,\\n(And I heard nor sigji nor groan)\\nWith heavy thump, a lifeless lump.\\nThey dropped down one by one.\\nHis shipmates\\ndrop down\\ndead\\n220 The souls did from their bodies fly,\\nThey fled to bliss or woe\\nAnd every soul, it passed me by.\\nLike the whizz of my ckoss-bow\\nBut LlFB-IN-\\nDeath begins\\nher work on\\nthe ancient\\nMariner.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "10\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nPART THE FOURTH\\nThe wedding-\\nguest feareth\\nthat a Spirit\\nis talking to\\nhim\\nI fp:ar thee, ancient Mariner\\n225 I fear thy skinny hand\\nAnd thou art long, and lank, and brown,\\nAs is the ribbed sea-sand.\\nBut the an-\\ncient Mariner\\nassureth him\\nof his bodily-\\nlife, and pro-\\nceedeth to\\nrelate his hor-\\nrible penance,\\nI fear thee and thy glittering eye,\\nAnd thy skinny hand, so brown.\\n230 Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest\\nThis body dropt not down.\\nAlone, alone, all, all alone,\\nAlone on a wide wide sea\\nAnd never a saint took pity on\\n235 My soul in agony.\\nHe despiseth\\nthe creatures\\nof the calm.\\nThe many men so beautiful\\nAnd they all dead did lie\\nAnd a thousand thousand slimy things\\nLived on and so did I.\\nAnd envieth\\nthat they\\nshould live,\\nand so many\\nlie dead.\\n240 I looked upon the rotting sea.\\nAnd drew my eyes away\\nI looked upon the rotting deck,\\nAnd there the dead men lay.\\nI looked to Heaven, and tried to pray;\\n245 But or ever a prayer had guslit,\\nA wicked whisper came, and made\\nMy heart as dry as dust.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "o r\\nO r+\\nc\\no\\n3 re\\n(r5 h.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "And never a saint took pity on\\nMy soul in agony.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3390", "width": "2013", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "PART THE FOURTH\\n11\\nI closed ]ny lids, and kept them close,\\nAnd the balls like pulses beat\\n250 For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the\\nsky __\\nLay like a load on my weary eye, l:^^{\\nAnd the dead were at my feet.\\n^t^\\nThe cold sweat melted from their limbs,\\nNor rot nor reek did they\\n255 The look with which they looked on me\\nHad never passed away.\\nAn orphan s curse would drag to Hell\\nA spirit from on high\\nBut oh more horrible than that\\n260 Is a curse in a dead man s eye\\nSeven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,\\nAnd yet I could not die.\\nThe moving Mooii went up the sky.\\nAnd no where did abide\\n265 Softly she was going up.\\nAnd a star or two beside\\nHer beams bemocked the sultry main.\\nLike April hoar-frost spread\\nBut where the ship s huge shadow lay,\\n270 The charmed water burnt alway\\nA still and awful red.\\nBeyond the shadow of the ship,\\nI watched the water-snakes\\nThey moved in tracks of shining white,\\n275 And when they reared, the elfish light\\nFell off in hoary flakes.\\nBut the curse\\nliveth for him\\nin the eye of\\nthe dead men.\\nIn his loneli-\\nness and fixed-\\nness he yearn-\\neth towards\\nthe journeying\\nM^r, and the\\nstars that still\\nsojourn, yet\\nstill move on-\\nward and\\neverywhere\\nthe hlue sky\\nbelongs to\\nthem, and is\\ntheir ap-\\npointed rest,\\nand their jia-\\ntive country\\nand their own\\nnatural\\nhomes, which\\nthey enter\\nunannounced,\\nas lords that\\nare certainly\\nexpected and\\nyet there is a\\nsilent joy at\\ntheir arrival.\\nBy the light of\\nthe Moon he\\nheholdeth\\nGod s crea-\\ntures of the\\ngreat calm", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "12\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nWithin the shadow of the ship\\nI watched their rich attire\\nBlue, glossy green, and velvet black,\\n280 They coiled and swam and every track\\nWas a flash of golden fire.\\nTheir beauty\\nand their\\nhappiness.\\nHe blesseth\\nthem in his\\nheart.\\nThe spell\\nbegins to\\nbreak.\\nr(j happy living things no tongue\\nTKeif beauty might declare\\nA spring of Joye gushed from my heart,\\n285 And I blessed them unaware\\nSure my kind saint took pity on me.\\nAnd I blessed them unaware.\\nThe selfsame moment I could pray\\nAnd from my neck so free\\n290 The Albatross fell off, and sank\\nLike lead into the sea.\\nPART THE FIFTH\\nOh sleep it is a gentle thing,\\nBeloved from pole to pole\\nTo Mary Queen the praise be given\\n295 She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,\\nThat slid into my soul.\\nBy grace ot\\nthe holy\\nMother, the\\nancient Mari-\\nner is re-\\nfreshed with\\nrain.\\nC^^\\nThe silly buckets on the deck.\\nThat had so long remained,\\nI dreamt that they were filled with dew\\n300 AnB^ when I awoke, it rained.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094iX^\\nMy lips were wet, my throat was cold.\\nMy garments all were dank\\nSure I had drunken in my dreams,\\nAnd still my body drank.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "PART THE FIFTH\\n13\\nf^\\\\\\n305 I moved, and could not feel my limbs\\nI was so light almost\\nI thought that I had died in sleep,\\nAnd was a blessed ghost.\\nAnd soon I heard a roaring wind\\n310 It did not come anear\\nBut with its sound it shook the sails,\\nThat were so thin and sere.\\nThe upper air burst into life\\nAnd a hundred fire-flags sheen,\\n315 To and fro they were hurried about\\nAnd to and fro, and in and out,\\nThe wan stars danced between.\\nAnd the coming wind did roar more loud,\\nAnd the sails did sigh like sedge\\n320 And the rain poured down from one black\\ncloud\\nThe Moon was at its edsje.\\nThe thick black cloud was cleft, and still\\nThe Moon was at its side\\nLike waters shot from some high crag,\\n325 The lightning fell with never a jag,\\nA river steep and wide.\\nHe hearetli\\nsounds and\\nseeth strange\\nsights and\\ncommotions\\nin the sky and\\nthe element.\\nThe loud wind never reached the ship.\\nYet now the ship moved on\\nBeneath the lightning and the moon\\n330 The dead men gave a groan.\\nThe bodies ol\\nthe ship s\\ncrew are in-\\nspired, and\\nthe ship\\nmoves on", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "14\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nThey groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,\\nNor spake, nor moved their eyes\\nIt had been strange, even in a dream,\\nTo have seen those dead men rise.\\n335 The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;\\nYet never a breeze upblew\\nThe mariners all gan work the ropes.\\nWhere they were wont to do\\nThey raised their limbs like lifeless tools\\n340 We were a ghastly crew.\\nThe body of my brother s son\\nStood by me, knee to knee\\nThe body and I pulled at one rope.\\nBut he said nought to me.\\nBut not by\\nthe souls of\\nthe men, nor\\nby dfemons\\nof earth or\\nmiddle air,\\nbut by a\\nblessed troop\\nof angelic\\nspirits, sent\\ndown by the\\ninvocation of\\nthe guardian\\nsaint.\\n345 I fear thee, ancient Mariner\\nBe calm, thou Wedding-Guest\\nTwas not those souls that fled in pain.\\nWhich to their corses came again.\\nBut a troop of spirits blest\\n350 For when it dawned they dropped their\\narms,\\nAnd clustered round the mast;\\nSweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths.\\nAnd from their bodies passed.\\nAround, around, flew each sweet sound,\\n355 Then darted to the Sunj \\\\i u..^\\nSlowly the sounds came back again.\\nNow mixed, now one by one.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "But why drives on that ship so fast,\\nWithout or wave or wind", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "PART THE FIFTH\\n15\\nSometimes a-droi^ping from the sky\\nI heard the sky-lark sing\\n360 Sometimes all little birds that are,\\nHow they seemed to fill the sea and air\\nWith their sweet jargoning\\nAnd now twas like all instruments,\\nNow like a lonely flute\\n305 And now it is an angel s song,\\nThat makes the Heavens be mute.\\nIt ceased yet still the sails made on\\nA pleasant noise till noon,\\nA noise like of a hidden brook\\n370 In the leafy month of June,\\nThat to the sleeping woods all night\\nSingeth a quiet tune.\\nTill noon we quietly sailed on.\\nYet never a breeze did breathe\\n375 Slowly and smoothly went the ship,\\nMoved onward from beneath.\\nUnder the keel nine fathom deep.\\nFrom the land of mist and snow,\\nThe spirit slid and it was he\\n380 That made the ship to go.\\nThe sails at noon left off their tune.\\nAnd the shii^ stood still also.\\nThe Sun right up above the mast.\\nHad fixed her to the ocean\\n385 But in a minute she gan stir,\\nWith a short uneasy motion\\nBackwards and forwards half her length,\\nWith a short uneasy motion.\\nThe lonesome\\nspirit from\\nthe south-pole\\ncarries on the\\nship as far as\\nthe line, in\\nobedience to\\nthe angelic\\ntroop, but still\\nrequireth\\nvengeance.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "16\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nThe Polar\\nSpirit s\\nfellow\\ndsemons, the\\ninvisible in-\\nhabitants of\\nthe element,\\ntake part in\\nhis wrong\\nand two of\\nthem relate,\\none to the\\nother, that\\npenance long\\nand heavy for\\nthe ancient\\nMariner hath\\nbeen accorded\\nto the Polar\\nSpirit, who\\nreturneth\\nsouthward.\\nThen like a pawing horse let go,\\n390 She made a sudden bound\\nIt flung the blood into my head,\\nAnd I fell down in a swound.\\nHow long in that same fit I lay,\\n1 have not to declare\\n395 But ere my living life returned,\\nI heard and in my soul discerned\\nTwo VOICES in the air.\\nIs it he quoth one, Is this the man\\nBy him who died on cross,\\n400 With his cruel bow he laid full low\\nThe harmless Albatross.\\nThe spirit who bideth by himself\\nIn the land of mist and snow,\\nHe loved the bird that loved the man\\n405 Who shot him with his bow.\\nThe other was a softer voice.\\nAs soft as honey -dew\\nQuoth he, The man hath penance done,\\nAnd penance more will do.\\nPART THE SIXTH\\nFIRST VOICE\\n410 But tell me, tell me speak again,\\nThy soft response renewing\\nWhat makes the ship drive on so fast\\nWhat IS the ocean doing", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "PART THE SIXTH\\n17\\nSECOND VOICE\\nStill as a slave before his lord,\\n415 The OCEAN hath no blast\\nHis great bright eye most silently\\nUp to the Moon is cast\\nlU\\ny^\\nly\\nix-\\nIf he may know which way to go\\nFor she gmdes him smooth or grim.\\n420 See, brother, see how graciously\\nShe looketh down on him.\\nFIRST VOICE\\nBut why drives on that ship so fast.\\nWithout or wave or wind\\nSECOND VOICE\\nThe air is cut away before,\\n425 And closes from behind.\\nFly, brother, fly more high, more high\\nOr we shall be belated\\nFor slow and slow that ship will go.\\nWhen the Mariner s trance is abated.\\nThe Mariner\\nhath been cast\\ninto a trance\\nfor the angelic\\npower causeth\\nthe vessel to\\ndrive north-\\nward faster\\nthan human\\nlife could en-\\ndure.\\n430 I woke, and we were sailing on\\nAs in a gentle weather\\nTwas night, calm night, the Moon was high\\nThe dead men stood together:\\nAll stood together on the deck,\\n435 For a charnel-dungeon fitter\\nAll fixed on me their stony eyes,\\nThat in the Moon did glitter.\\nThe super-\\nnatural\\nmotion is re-\\ntarded the\\nMariner\\nawakes, and\\nhis penance\\nbegins anew.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "1^^\\nThe curse is\\nfinally ex-\\npiated.\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nThe pang, the curse, with which they died.\\nHad never passed away\\n440 I conld not draw my eyes from theirs,\\nNor turn them up to pray.\\nAnd now tliis spell was snapt once more\\nI viewed the ocean green,\\nAnd looked far forth, yet little saw\\n445 Of what had else been seen\\nLike one, that on a lonesome road\\nDoth walk in fear and dread,\\nAnd having once turned round walks on,\\nAnd turns no more his head\\n450 Because he knows, a frightful fiend\\nDoth close behind him tread.\\nBut soon there breathed a wind on me,\\nNor sound nor motion made:\\nIts path was not upon the sea,\\n455 In ripple or in shade.\\nIt raised my hair, it fanned my cheek\\nLike a meadow-gale of spring\\nIt mingled strangely with my fears.\\nYet it felt like a welcoming.\\n460 Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,\\nYet she sailed softly too\\nSweetly, sweetly blew the breeze\\nOn me alone it blew.\\nAnd the an-\\ncient Mariner\\nbeholdeth his\\nnative\\ncountry.\\nOh dream of joy is this indeed\\n465 The light-house top I see\\nIs this the hill is this the kirk\\nIs this mine own countree", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "u\\nn\\nf\\nh\\ny", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": ";.f ?:^.^-^:\u00c2\u00a3^.a^?a^;p^", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "PART THE SIXTH\\n19\\n470\\nWe drifted o er the harbour-bar,\\nAnd I with sobs did pray\\nlet me be awake, my God\\nOr let me sleep alway.\\n475\\nThe harbour-bay was clear as glass,\\nSo smoothly it was strewn\\nAnd on the bay tlie moonlight lay,\\nAnd the shadow of the moon.\\ni^^\\nf\\nThe rock shone bright, the kirk no less,\\nThat stands above the rock\\nThe moonlight steeped in silentness\\nThe steady weathercock.\\n480 And the bay was white with silent light, The angelic\\nTill rising from the same, tlil dead\\nFull many shapes, that shadows Avere, bodies,\\nIn crimson colours came.\\nA little distance from the prow\\n485 Those crimson shadows were\\nI turned my eyes upon the deck\\nOh, Christ what saw I there\\nEach corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,\\nAnd, by the holy rood\\n490 A man all light, a seraph-man.\\nOn every corse there stood.\\nThis seraph-band, each waved his hand\\nIt was a heavenly sight I\\nThey stood as signals to the land,\\n495 Each one a lovely light\\nAnd appear in\\ntheir own\\nforms of light.\\nW\\nd\\nk^\\na^", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "20 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nThis seraph-band, each waved his hand,\\nNo voice did they impart\\nNo voice but oh the silence sank\\nLike music on my heart.\\n500 But soon I heard the dash of oars,\\nI heard the Pilot s cheer\\nMy head was turned perforce away,\\nAnd I saw a boat appear.\\nThe Pilot and the Pilot s boy,\\n505 I heard them coming fast\\nDear Lord in Heaven it was a joy\\nThe dead men could not blast.\\nI saw a third I heard his voice\\nIt is the Hermit good\\n510 He singeth loud his godly hymns\\nThat he makes in the wood.\\nHe ll shrieve my soul, he ll wash away\\nThe Albatross s blood.\\nPART THE SEVENTH\\nthe Wood,\\nThe Hermit of This Hermit good lives in that wood\\n515 Which slopes down to the sea.\\nHow loudly his sweet voice he rears\\nHe loves to talk with marineres\\nThat come from a far countree.\\nHe kneels at morn, and noon and eve\\n620 He hath a cushion plump\\nIt is the moss that wholly hides\\n^r^ J^ .^__ The rotted old oak-stump.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "PART THE SEVENTH 21\\nThe skiff-boat neared I heard them talk,\\nWhy this is strange, I trow\\n25 Where are those lights so many and fair,\\nThat signal made but now\\nStrange, by my faith the Hermit said Approacheth\\nAnd they answered not our cheer the ship with\\nThe planks looked warped! and see those ^^o^^er.\\nsails,\\n30 How thin they are and sere\\nI never saw aught like to them,\\nUnless perchance it were\\nBrown skeletons of leaves that lag\\nMy forest-brook along\\ni35 When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,\\nAnd the owlet whoops to the wolf below,\\nThat eats the she-wolf s young.\\nDear Lord it hath a fiendish look\\n(The Pilot made reply)\\ni40 I am a-f eared. Push on, push on\\nSaid the Hermit cheerily.\\nThe boat came closer to the ship,\\nBut I nor spake nor stirred\\nThe boat came close beneath the ship,\\nM5 And straight a sound was heard.\\nUnder the water it rumbled on, The ship sud-\\nStill louder and more dread\\nIt reached the ship, it split the bay j\\nThe ship went down like lead.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "22\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nThe ancient\\nMariner is\\nsaved in tlie\\nPilot s boat.\\n550 Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,\\nWhich sky and ocean smote,\\nLike one that hath been seven days drowned\\nMy body lay afloat\\nBut swift as dreams, myself I found\\n555 Within the Pilot s boat.\\nUpon the whirl, where sank the ship,\\nThe boat spun round and round\\nAnd all was still, save that the hill\\nWas telling of the sound.\\n560 I moved my lips the Pilot shrieked\\nAnd fell down in a fit\\nThe holy Hermit raised his eyes,\\nAnd prayed where he did sit.\\nI took the oars the Pilot s boy,\\n565 Who now doth crazy go,\\nLaughed loud and long, and all the while\\nHis eyes went to and fro.\\nHa, ha quoth he, full plain I see.\\nThe Devil knows how to row.\\nTlie ancient\\nMariner ear-\\nnestly en-\\ntreateth the\\nHermit to\\nshrieve him\\nand the pen-\\nance of life\\nfalls on him.\\n570 And now, all in my own countree,\\nI stood on the firm land\\nThe Hermit stepped forth from the boat,\\nAnd scarcely he could stand.\\n0 shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!\\n575 The Hermit crossed his brow.\\nSay quick, quoth he, I bid thee say\\nWhat manner of man art thou", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "J\\nip^\\nFAUT THE SEVENTH\\nForthwith this frame of mine was wrenched\\nWith a woeful agony,\\n580 Which forced me to begin my tale\\nAnd then it left me free.\\n23\\nSince then, at an uncertain hour.\\nThat ag^ny returns\\nAnd till my ghastly tale is told,\\n585 This heart within me burns. jC^\\nI pass, like nigh^ from land to land\\nI have strange power of speech\\nThat moment that his face I see,\\nI know^ the man that must hear me\\n590 To him my tale I teach.\\n(jj What loud uproar bursts from that door\\nThe wedding-guests are there\\nBiit in the garden-bower the bride\\nAnd bride-maids singing are\\n595 And hark the little vesper bell.\\nWhich biddeth me to prayer\\nAnd ever and\\nanon through-\\nout his future\\nlife an agony\\nconstraineth\\nhim to travel\\nfrom laud to\\nland,\\nK\\nWedding-Guest this soul hath been\\nAlone on a wide wide sea\\nSo lonely twas, that God himself\\n600 Scarce seemed there to be.\\nsweeter than the marriage-feast,\\nTis sweeter far to me,\\nTo walk together to the kirk\\nWith a goodly company\\n0.^\\n^1", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "24\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER\\nAnd to teach,\\nby his own ex-\\nample, love\\nand reverence\\nto all things\\nthat God made\\nand loveth.\\n605 To walk together to the kirk,\\nAnd all together pray,\\nWhile each to his great Father bends,\\nOld men, and babes, and loving friends,\\nAnd youths and maidens gay\\n610 Farewell, farewell but this I tell\\nTo thee, thou Wedding-Guest\\nHe prayeth well, who loveth well\\nBoth man and bird and beast.\\nHe prayeth best, who loveth best\\n615 All things both great and small\\n}j For the dear God who loveth us.\\nHe made and loveth all.\\nThe Mariner, whose eye is bright.\\nWhose beard with age is hoar,\\n620 Is gone and now the Wedding-Guest\\nTurned from the bridegroom s door.\\nHe went like one that hath been stunned,\\nAnd is of sense forlorn\\nA sadder and a wiser man,\\n625 He rose the morrow morn.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "NOTES\\nTHE TEXT\\nBegun in 1797, The Ancient Mariner was finished in March, 1798,\\nif the following note in Dorothy Wordsworth s Journal refers, as\\nis probable, to this poem. March 23, 1798 Coleridge dined\\nwith us. He brought his ballad finished.\\nThe Ancient Mariner was first printed anonymously as the open-\\ning poem in the first edition of Lyrical Ballads m 1798 with the\\ntitle, The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere, in Secen Parts. It was\\nintroduced by the Advertisement which Wordsworth later expanded\\ninto his famous prefaces, and by the Argument. In the second\\nedition of Lyrical Ballads, 1800, the title was changed to The\\nAncient Mariner; A Poet s Reverie.^ The Argument was differ-\\nently phrased, and the text was much altered. Extreme archaisms\\nof spelling and phrase were eliminated, and grotesque details of\\nmere horror were struck out. The text of 1798 with the variants\\nof 1800 is printed in Appendix B, p. 53. The poem was reprinted\\nin the Lyrical Ballads, 1802 and 1805, with the omission of the\\nArgument. Its next appearance was in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, with\\na few changes of text and the addition of the motto from Burnett\\nand the marginal gloss. After this there were no changes of\\nimportance.\\nThe text here printed is taken from the edition of Coleridge s\\nPoetical Works published in 1829, the last upon which he Avas\\nable to bestow personal care and attention.\\n1 Charles Lamb remarks in a letter to Wordsworth (January, 1801)^ I\\nam sorry that Coleridge has chdstened his Ancient Marinere, a Poet s\\nReverie it is as bad as Bottom the Weaver s declaration that he is not a\\nlion, but only the scenical representation of a lion. What new idea is\\ngained by this title but one subversive of all credit which the tale should\\nforce upon us of its truth!\\n25", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "26 NOTES\\nTranslation of the Motto from Burnett\\nI readily believe that in the universe are more invisible beings\\nthan visible. But who will expound to us the nature of them all,\\nand their ranks and relationships and distinguishing character-\\nistics and the functions of each What is it they perform What\\nregions do they inhabit? Ever about the knowledge of these\\nthings circles the thought of man, never reaching it. jNIeanwhile\\nit is pleasant, I must confess, sometimes to contemplate in the\\nmind, as in a picture, the image of this greater and better world\\nthat the mind, accustomed to the little things of daily life, may\\nnot be narrowed overmuch and lose itself in trivial reflections.\\nBut meanwhile must we diligently seek after truth, maintaining\\njust measure, that we may distinguish things certain from uncer-\\ntain, day from night.\\nTHE POEM\\nRime. In its more familiar meaning, a word answering in\\nsound to another word. Here used in the sense of a met-\\nrical composition, a tale in verse. Rime, derived from\\nAnglo-Saxon rtm, is the proper spelling of the word more\\ncommonly written rhyme. The form rhyme, alternating\\nwith rhinie, first used about the middle of the sixteenth\\ncentury, arose from its confusion with the Greek word\\nrhythm.\\nThe marginal notes or gloss. Added, according to Words-\\nworth, as a gratuitous afterthought. Such glosses are\\nfrequently supplied by editors of texts, such as the old\\nballads, etc.i These notes should be read through once\\ncontinuously, independently of the poem, as a single total\\ncomposition.\\n1-4 The four-line stanza, made up of alternating four-stress and\\nthree-stress verses, is the typical stanza form of the poem\\nand also in the old ballads it is the form most frequently\\nemployed. The measure, although typically iambic (the\\niambic foot consists of one unaccented syllable followed by\\n1 It is interesting to note that Shelvocke s Voyage is accompanied by a\\ngloss. Edition, 1726.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "NOTES 27\\nan accented), admits many variations. The first line, with\\na secondary accent on Mariner, and the fourth are\\nstrictly iambic in the second and third lines notice that\\nthe first foot is anapaestic (two unaccented syllables fol-\\nlowed by an accented). i\\n1 It is. The time of the action is not fixed. The poem is at\\nonce without definite geographical background and with-\\nout date. Are there any indications in the poem of the\\nmariner s nationality or of the period\\nAncient. Note the suggestively indeterminate value of the\\nphrase. The seafarer is not merely old in years his story\\ncomes down to us out of an earlier time. The phrase car-\\nries with it suggestions of old, unhappy, far-off things\\nit creates at once an atmosphere.\\nMariner. In the text of 1798, Marinere. The form is retained\\nin 1. 517. Notice that the stress of the verse falls on the\\nlight last syllable. A mark of the genuine ballad manner\\nis the frequent retention of the Middle English accent on\\nthe final syllable in words like countrie, rivere, and its as-\\nsumption by words which never properly had it, such as\\nlady, harper, etc. (Beers, English Romanticism, p. 272\\nCf. And Ifeir, I feir, my deir master\\nThat we will cum to harme. Sir Patrick Spens.\\nGuMMERE, Old English Ballads, p. 145. Cf. post, 11. 467,\\n^1-8, and 11. 20, 517. Also, Ballad of the Dark Ladie.\\n2 Stoppeth. This early form of the third person singular is\\nnot so archaic as to be puzzling or grotesque, yet on the\\nother hand it intensifies the atmosphere of antiquity which\\nColeridge throws about the poem.\\nOne of three. Some see in the number of wedding-guests a\\nmystical significance. Three happens, also, to be the rime-\\nword of the stanza.\\n3 By thy long grey beard. Coleridge was not satisfied merely\\nwitli adopting the old-fashioned, popular forms of art, but\\nhe added to them all sorts of strange features of his own.\\n1 For an explanation and illustration of the various metrical feet, see\\nColeridge s Metrical Feet, Lesson/or a Boy. Written in 1803.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "28 NOTES\\nThe Ancient Mariner, for example, swears [it is, however,\\nthe wedding-guest] by his grey beard as if he were a\\nTurk. Brandl, p. 204.\\nGlittering eye. It is a common notion that a peculiar light\\nor gleam in the eye marks a luan possessed. It is no ordi-\\nnary sailor, then, who stops the wedding-guest, and his\\nstory will be a strange one. It is in keeping with the di-\\nrectness in the march of the story that the description of\\nthe mariner is made wholly incidental to the narrative.\\n5-9 The outlandish ness of the mariner and his story is empha-\\nsized by the contrast with this picture of home-keeping\\nhappiness and comfortable festivity.\\n7 The guests are met, the feast is set. Note the internal\\nrime, a verse-form frequent in the ballad metre.\\n9 Skinny hand. Another indirect descriptive stroke. Notice\\nhow the poet fixes on the salient and suggestive details.\\n10 There was a ship. Note the immediateness, not to say\\nbareness, of the narrative there are no preliminaries,\\nno elaborate introduction. The ship is flashed upon us\\nentire and complete, though unadorned by any descriptive\\ntouches and thus unannounced and coming from nowhere,\\nit opens vistas of infinite possibilities.\\n11 Loon. Originally, stupid fellow, clown. Cf. Macbeth, The\\ndevil damn thee black, thou cream-fac d loon. As used\\nby the wedding-guest, it is simply an opprobrious epithet,\\nlike dolt, fool, etc.\\n12 Eftsoons. At once, forthwith.\\n13-16 This stanza was furnished by Wordsworth.\\n21 The ship was cheered, etc. It is hardly necessary further to\\ncall attention to the swiftness of the narrative.\\n22 Merrily did we drop. Instead of an iambic or an anapsestic\\nfoot, we have here a dactyl. Notice how in the light move-\\nment of the dactyl the sound of the verse echoes the sense.\\n23 Kirk. Is this any clue to the geography of the poem Or\\nis it only a general name for church? Cf. post, 1. 603.\\nWhat was the religion of the Ancient Mariner Collect\\nthe indications of it throughout the poem.\\nBelow the kirk, below the hill, etc. Note the successive\\ndisappearance of landmarks as the ship stands out to sea.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "NOTES 29\\n25 The Sun came up upon the left. In what direction was the\\nship sailing?\\n28 Went down into the sea. With no pause in the narrative,\\nthey are now in mid-ocean.\\n30 Over the mast at noon. Where is the ship now?\\n32 Bassoon. During Coleridge s residence in Stowey his friend\\nPoole reformed the church choir, and added a bassoon to\\nits resources. Mrs. Sanford {T. Poole and Ids Friends, i.\\n247) happily suggests that this was the very original and\\nprototype of the loud bassoon whose sound moved the\\nwedding-guest to beat his breast. Campbell, Coleridge s\\nPoetical Works, p. 597.\\n35 Nodding their heads. Cf. Ballad of the Dark Ladie:\\nBut first the nodding minstrels go\\nWith music meet for lordly bowers.\\nAlso the Monodij on a Tea Kettle, written while Coleridge\\nwas still at Christ s Hospital\\nNodding their heads in all the pomp of woe.\\n30 Minstrelsy. Who were the minstrels originally And just\\nwhat does the poet mean here by minstrelsy\\nDrawn in the gloss is changed by Campbell into driven.\\nColeridge, I have no doubt, wrote driven, but in very\\nsmall characters on the narrow margin of the Lyrical\\nBallads the word was misprinted drawn, and the mistake\\nwas overlooked then and after. The two words, written\\nor printed, are not easily distinguishable. Campbell,\\np. 597. In the Argument, as Dr. Garnett points out, the\\nphrase is How a ship was driven by storms.\\n41 Storm-blast. Here the personification is very different from\\nthe eighteenth-century manner of printer s devil per-\\nsoniiication, the easy magic of an initial capital, which\\nreached its culmination in such a phrase as Inoculation,\\nheavenly maid, descend With something of the sim-\\nplicity and the might of imagination of early peoples, the\\nmariner personifies the forces of nature, endowing them\\nwith intelligence and will. In this, Coleridge departs from\\nhis prototype, the old ballad, in which figures of speech\\nin any artistic and intentional sort are rare.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "30 NOTES\\n45-50 Notice here a new stanza form. It is unlike any other\\nsix-line stanza in the poem.\\n47 Treads the shadow. The ship is now so far south that it has\\nthe sun behind it and moving still soutliward it pursues\\nits own shadow.\\n50 Aye. Observe the pronunciation.\\nCf. Vain Philosophy s aye-babbhng spring. Aeolian Harp.\\n61 And now there came both mist and snow. With the details\\nhere it is interesting to compare the following data from\\nthe log of Captain Thomas James Strange and dangerous\\nvoyage in his intended Discovery of the Northwest\\nPassage into the South Sea London, 1633, a book which\\nColeridge may very possibly have seen a copy of it was in\\nthe Bristol Library, of which Coleridge was a regular\\nfrequenter.\\nAll day and all night, it snowed hard; The nights are\\nvery cold so that our rigging freezes it prooved very\\nthicke foule weather, and the next day, by two a Clocke in\\nthe morning, we found ourselves incompassed about with\\nIce We had Ice not farre off about us, and some pieces\\nas high as our Top-mast-head The seventeenth we\\nheard the rutt against a banke of Ice that lay on the\\nShoare. It made a hoUOw and hideous noyse, like an over-\\nfall of water, which made us to reason amongst ourselves\\nconcerning it, for we were not able to see about us, it being\\ndarke night and foggie The Ice crackt all over the\\nBay, with a fearful! noyse These great pieces that came\\na grounde began to breake with a most terrible thundering\\nnoyse This morning we came to saile, steer-\\ning betwixt great pieces of Ice that were a grounde in 40\\nfad., and twice as high as our Top-mast-head.\\nThere are many similar expressions, but here, jDerhaps, are\\nmore than enough to show that the correspondences are\\nnot accidental, especially as most of the contemporary\\nArctic explorers measured their icebergs by fathoms and\\nnot by their masts. Athenceum, March 15, 1890.\\nCf 1. 53 And ice, mast-high, came floating by.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "NOTES 81\\nProfessor Brandl says The poet s extensive reading about\\ndistant countries and seas stood him in good stead. In\\nthe Destiny of Nations he had adopted the History of\\nGreenland by Crantz in describing the drifting field of ice,\\nwhere the white bear liowls in agony. Here in the\\nAncient Mariner he transposed the scene to the South\\nPole, with snowy cliffs and ice mast-high, as green as\\nemerald, and fearful cracking and splitting sounds.\\nColeridge, p. 201.\\n55 And through the drifts. Compare Tennyson\\nBeyond the lodge the city lies,\\nBeneath its drift of smoke. Talking Oak.\\nDrifts is used by Coleridge then in the sense of driving\\nclouds of mist and snow.\\nClifts. A form of cliffs. Cf Dry den\\nI view the coast old Enuius once admired\\nWhere clifts on either side their points display.\\n56 Sheen. Lustre.\\n57 Nor shapes of men, etc. For a striking parallel see the pas-\\nsage from Shelvocke, Appendix A, p. 50.\\nKen. See, descry. In this sense, archaic.\\n62 Swound. Swoon. An obsolete form.\\n63 Albatross. A web-footed sea-bird of the petrel family. Al-\\nbatrosses inhabit the southern seas at large, and the whole\\nPacific ocean, but not the northern Atlantic. Some of\\nthem are the largest known sea-birds, and all are noted for\\ntheir powers of flight, sailing for hours, and in any direc-\\ntion with reference to the wind, without visible movement\\nof the wings. From their habit of following ships for\\ndays together without resting, albatrosses are regarded\\nwith feelings of attachment and superstitious awe by\\nsailors, it being considered unlucky to kill one. Cen-\\ntwy Dictionary. In English Note Books Hawthorne men-\\ntions his visit to the Warwick Museum, where he saw\\nan albatross huge beyond imagination. And he adds,\\nI do not think that Coleridge could have known the size\\nof the fowl when he caused it to be hung round the neck\\nof his Ancient Mariner.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "32 NOTES\\nThe episode of the albatross was suggested by Wordsworth,\\nwho borrowed it from Shelvocke s Voyages. The bird\\nthere mentioned was black and was considered of ill-omeii\\nbecause of his color. This detail of the color, which played\\nan important part with Shelvocke and his men, Coleridge\\nignores altogether, possibly, as Dr. Garnett suggests, because\\nhe may never have seen the book, or else for artistic rea-\\nsons. The fact that the bird was from his color naturally\\nconsidered of ill-omen greatly extenuates the slayer s\\noffence. With this element omitted, then, the mariner\\nis the more blameworthy, and more deserving of the\\nspectral persecution.\\n64 Thorough. The early form of through.\\nThe fog. Notice how in this and the preceding stanzas the\\npoet keeps the attention fixed on the condition of sea and\\nweather, after the first mention of the mist and snow.\\n65 Christian soul. In what sense is soul here used? Does the\\npoet conceive the spirit of man as embodied and made\\nvisible in the bird? Or is soul simply another term for\\nhuman being, person Compare our familiar turn of\\nspeech, She was a good soul. For the context to this\\npassage refer to 1. 57.\\n66 Hailed. Here in the sense of ivelcomed.\\n67 Eat. An old form of the past participle no longer in good\\nuse. As an illustration of the extent to which Coleridge\\nimproved upon the first form of the poem, contrast this\\nfelicitous line with the verse in the 1798 edition,\\nThe Mariueres gave it biscuit-worms\\n69 Thunder-fit. A shock or noise resembling thunder. Here fit\\napproaches its original meaning of struggle.\\n71 A good south wind, etc. The ship is now sailing north the\\npoint at wdiicli it changed its course is not marked specifi-\\ncally. This method of implying action by dealing im-\\nmediately with the results is characteristic of the ballad\\nmanner. We are given the inference we must supply the\\npremises. The knight rides out a-hunting, and by and\\nby his riderless horse comes home, and that is all", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "NOTES 33\\nToom [empty] hame cam the saddle\\nBut never cam he. Beers, p. 275.\\nThe action itself is taken for granted.\\n74 Mariner s. So in the editions of 1798, 1800, 1829. In the\\nNew Edition of 1852 the form is plural, mariners\\n75 In mist or cloud. The ice is broken, but the weather has not\\nyet cleared. The continued presence of the fog and mist\\nhas a special significance with reference to the albatross.\\nCf. 11. 97-102.\\n76 Vespers. Evensong: here, metaphorically, for evenings.\\nPossibly it is a plural built up on vesper, the evening star,\\nand hence the evening.\\n79 God save thee, etc. Notice how the appearance of the mariner\\nis suggested indirectly yet vividly by indicating its effect\\non the wedding-guest.\\n80 Plague. The word with us in the sense of tease has come to\\nhave a trivial suggestion. We should take it in the older\\nmeaning of harass, trouble. Cf. Macbeth\\nWe but teach\\nBloody instructions, which being taught return\\nTo plague the inventor.\\n81 Cross-bow. How far is this a clue to the period of the poem\\nThe Cross-bow was used by the English soldiers chiefly\\nat sieges of fortified places, and on ship-board, in battles\\nupon the sea. Strutt, Sports and Pastimes.\\n79-82 The closing stanza of the first part strikes the key-note of\\nthe poem. The mariner s crime is stated explicitly, and\\nsuggested is the long spectral persecution.\\n83 -86 Notice the virtual repetition of an earlier stanza (11. 25-\\n28), yet with essential variation. The details here reen-\\nforce the indication in 1. 71 as to the direction in which\\nthe ship is sailing. These repetitions of phrase are charac-\\nteristic of the ballad manner. Cf. Mari/ Hamilton:\\nO Marie, put on your robes o black,\\nOr else your robes o brown,\\nFor ye maun gang wi me the night,\\nTo see fair Ediubro town.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "34 NOTES\\nI winna put on my robes o black,\\nNor yet my robes o brown\\nBut I ll put on my robes o white,\\nTo shine through Edinbro town.\\nGUMMERB, p. 159.\\n85 Still hid in mist. Note the continued insistence on this detail.\\n87-90 Again the virtual repetition, yet with change. Here the\\nvariation introduced is the contrast of the mariner s present\\nloneliness with the former companionship of the albatross.\\n91-96 This six-line stanza, rimed differently from stanza 45-50,\\nis the type of the six-line stanza used in the poem the\\nfirst, third, and fifth verses are unrimed, the second and\\nfourth are rimed, and the sixth repeats the rime-word of\\nthe fourth.\\n97 Nor dim nor red. Now the fog and the mist have cleared\\naway the albatross, then, was associated in the mariner s\\nmind with foul weather. Notice that the comma after\\nred has, as it were, the force of but.\\n98 Uprist, rose. An old form. Cf. Chaucer\\nFloures fresshe, honouren ye this day\\nFor, when the sunne uprist, then wol ye sprede.\\n104 The furrow followed free. In SihylUne Leaves the line was\\nchanged to read, The furrow streamed off free. In a\\nfootnote Coleridge remarked In the former edition the\\nline was The furrow followed free but I had not been\\nlong on board a ship before I perceived that this was the\\nimage as seen by a spectator from the shore, or from\\nanother vessel. From the ship itself the Wake appears\\nlike a brook flowing off from the stern. When Coleridge\\nwrote The Ancient Mariner he had never been at sea. By\\n1817 he had crossed to Germany and he had made a long\\nvoyage to INIalta. In the Collected Works of 1 828 the ear-\\nlier and unquestionably more musical line was restored.\\nThese changes suggest the interesting question as to how\\nfar a poet is justified in sacrificing fidelity of observation\\nto metrical effect.\\n106 That silent sea. It is not until this point that the really\\nmiraculous begins. The tricks and fantasies of super-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "NOTES 35\\nnaturalism are meaningless and powerless save in alliance\\nwith the mysterious powers of human nature [cf. the cita-\\ntion from Newman, post^ p. 36], and, failing this, not all\\nthe realistic circumstance in the world can give them life\\nor meaning. And where this alliance between the evil\\nwithin and the unknown powers without is less marked,\\nthe care wherewith a great romancer prepares the way for\\nthe supernatural, so that it comes as the bodily fulfill-\\nment of an unbodied fear, is well seen in the palmary\\ninstance of The Ancient Mariner. The skeleton ship, with\\nthe spectre-woman and her death-mate, is ushered in by all\\nthe silences and wonders of a tropical sea, by loneliness and\\ndreams. Raleigh, The English Novel, p. 223. Compare\\nthe citation from Watson, ante, pp. li-liii.\\n113 Right above the mast. Where is the ship now\\nIll No bigger than the Moon. Is it possible that the poet did\\nnot know the apparent diameter of the moon to be greater\\nthan that of the sun Poe, Marginalia. It is possible.\\nIt is possible as well that the poet did know that the appar-\\nent diameter of the moon is greater than that of the sun,\\nand by a stroke of art, appealed not to what is true but to\\nwhat people commonly suppose to be true. We know the\\nsun to be actually many times larger than the moon, and\\nunless we observe closely, we naturally infer that of course\\nthe sun looks larger. Hence the simile, appealing to the\\nfamiliar though untrue, is more effective than if it adhered\\nto a truth but little known.\\n125 Slimy things. In these monsters he [Coleridge] seems to\\nhave taken particular interest, and to have consulted vari-\\nous zoological works for the note-book of this date con-\\ntains long paragraphs upon the alligators, boas, and\\ncrocodiles of antediluvian times. Brandl, p. 202.\\n127 About, about, etc. Possibly an echo of Macbeth\\nThe weird sisters, haud in hand,\\nPosters of the sea and land,\\nThus do go about, about\\nThrice to thine, and thrice to mine,\\nAnd thrice again, to make up nine.\\nPeace! the charm s wound up,", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "36 NOTES\\nReel. A lively dance, consisting of various circling or inter-\\ntwining figures.\\nRout. A troop, a band, a company.\\n128 Death-fires. Electrical appearances about the rigging of ships,\\nsupposed to presage death.\\nCf Mighty armies of the dead\\nDance like death-fires round her tomb.\\nOde on the Departing Year.\\n132 Spirit. Note especially the gloss. The spirit was a\\ndemon, that is, one of the invisible inhabitants of\\nthis planet, neither departed souls, nor angels. In the\\ngloss to 11. 393 ff., the two spirits are characterized as the\\nPolar Spirit s fellow-demons. Cf. also the gloss to 11.\\n345 ff. It is interesting to note what Cardinal J^ewman\\nheld as to the existence of angels and demons. In the first\\nchapter of his Apologia, he says I viewed them [the\\nangels], not only as the ministers employed by the\\nCreator in the Jewish and Christian dispensations\\nbut as carrying on the Economy of the Visible AVorld.\\nI considered them as the real causes of motion, light, and\\nlife, and of those elementary principles of the physical\\nuniverse, which suggest to us the notion of cause\\nand effect, and of what are called the laws of nature\\nI say of the Angels, Every breath of air and ray of\\nlight and heat, every beautiful prospect, is, as it were,\\nthe skirts of their garments, the waving of the robes of\\nthose whose faces see God. Again, I ask what would be\\nthe thoughts of a man who, when examining a flower, or\\na herb, or a pebble, or a ray of light suddenly dis-\\ncovered that he was in the presence of some powerful\\nbeing who was hidden behind the visible thing he was\\ninspecting, who, though concealing his wise hand, was\\ngiving them their beauty, grace, and perfection, as being\\nGod s instrument for the purpose Also, besides\\nthe hosts of evil spirits, I considered there was a middle\\nrace, 8ai/xoi/ta, neither in heaven, nor in hell partially\\nfallen, capricious, wayward noble or crafty, benevolent\\nor malicious, as the case might be. It is on a similar", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "NOTES 37\\nbelief or conception, a kind of pantheism, that Coleridge\\nconstructs the snpernaturalism of his poem.\\n133 Nine. Perhaps chosen for its mystical significance. Cf.\\nvespers nine. See also the verses from Macbeth, ante,\\np. 35.\\n139 Well-a-day. A variation of wellaway an exclamation of\\ngrief or sorrow. It is often found in the old ballads.\\n141 Instead of the cross, etc. The meaning here is not clear.\\nIt may be that the mariner, as a Catholic, wore a cross\\nabout his neck, and that his fellow seamen removed this\\ncross, and hung upon him instead, the albatross. Or, the\\npassage may contain an allusion to a mediaeval custom.\\nIn the Middle Ages, Jews, lepers, heretics, etc., were obliged\\nto wear some conspicuous mark of infamy: the Jews\\nhad a large wheel, or ring, of colored cloth, sewn on the\\ngarment; the lepers wore a special dress; and heretics\\nwere marked with two crosses, of different color from their\\nclothes, sewn upon the breast. Hence the wearing of some\\nspecial kind of cross might perhaps in the period repre-\\nsented in the poem have been imposed upon offenders as a\\npunishment; and the mariner may mean here that instead\\nof the cross of infamy, the sailors hung about his neck\\nthe albatross, as a more appropriate mark of his ignominy.\\nThat the bird was meant to be the token of his guilt as well\\nas a mere punishment seems to be borne out by the gloss to\\nthe passage. Finally, it is possible that Coleridge had in\\nmind a blending of all this, or, on the other hand, that he\\nintended no allusion to any custom, but simply hit upon\\nthe incident as a picturesque and impressive detail.\\n143-148 Notice that in this stanza it is the second and sixth\\nverses which are rimed, and the fourth verse repeats the\\nrime-word of the second.\\n152 I wist. Preterit of the verb, loit, to know, become aware.\\nCf. the phrase, to wit, i.e., namely, and the French\\nequivalent, a saooir.\\n149-156 Note the precision of observation, the specific quality of\\nthe phrasing, and the suggestion of the sense by the sound\\nof the verse.\\n157-161 Here is a stanza form not before used in the poem.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "38 NOTES\\nThe fourth verse is made to rime with the third, and the\\nfifth rimes with the second.\\n164 Gramercy. From grand merci literally, many thanks. An\\ninterjection expressing thankfulness, sometimes mingled\\nwith surprise.\\nThey for joy did grin. Coleridge remarks I took the\\nthought of grinning for joy from my companion s remark\\nto me, when we had climbed to the top of Plinlimmon,\\nand were nearly dead with thirst. We could not speak\\nfrom the constriction, till we found a little puddle under\\na stone. He said to me You grinned like an idiot\\nHe had done the same. Table Talk, May 31, 1830.\\n166 As they were drinking, i.e., as ifthej were, etc.\\n168 Weal. Originally, wealth, prosperity here, well-being. It\\nis used at present chiefly in phrases, as, weal or woe,\\ncommon weal, public weal, etc.\\n169 Without a breeze, etc. Some had in dreams been assured of\\nthe spirit that was pursuing them (Cf. 11. 131 ff.); here\\nis the first immediate and undoubted manifestation of\\nsupernatural agencies.\\n170 Steadies. A nautical term to remain in an upright position.\\n178 Heaven s Mother. What does this ejaculation imply with\\nregard to the mariner Cf 1. 294.\\n184 Gossameres. A fine filmy substance, consisting of cobweb\\nformed by various small spiders. It is seen in stubble-\\nfields and on low bushes, and also floating in the air in\\ncalm, clear weather, especially in autumn. Threads of\\ngossamer are often spun out into the air, several yards in\\nlength, till catching a breeze, they lift the spider and carry\\nit on a long aerial voyage. Century Dictionary. The\\nold legend says, that these are the remains of the Virgin\\nMary s winding-sheet, which fell from her when she was\\ntranslated. George, Ancient Mariner. Cf. the French\\nterm for gossamer, Jil de la vierge. In literature, the\\ngossamer is the symbol of lightness and in substantiality.\\nCf. Romeo and Juliet:\\nA lover may bestride the gossamer\\nThat idles in the wanton summer air,\\nAnd yet not fall; so light is vanity.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "NOTES 39\\n185 Her ribs. What is implied in this Cf. The naked hulk,\\n1. 195.\\n188 A Death. A figure of death, a skeleton.\\n190-194 This is the only five-line stanza in which the first verse\\nis rimed.\\n187-197. The symbolism here hardly needs explanation.\\n193 Life-in-Death. For a significant allusion to this verse, cf. the\\nEpitaph which Coleridge composed the year before his\\ndeath\\n0, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.\\nThat he who many a year with toil of breath\\nFound death in life, may here find life in death!\\n196 Twain. An archaic form of two.\\n197 The obvious misprint in Sibylline Leaves and in the edition\\nof 1829 The game is done I ve, I ve w^on is here\\ncorrected\\n200 At one stride comes the dark. Between the tropics there is\\nno twilight. As the sun s last segment dips down, and\\nthe evening gun is fired, the constellations appear arrayed.\\nMarginal note by Coleridge, quoted by Dr. Garnett. Cf. es-\\npecially the gloss. Also Kipling\\nAn the dawn comes up like thunder outer China\\ncrost the Bay! Manclalay.\\n203-211 Note the nine-line stanza, the only one in the poem.\\n201-210 Among some papers of Coleridge dated variously from\\n1806, 1807, and 1810, there exists undated, the following-\\nrecast of these lines\\nWith never a whisper on the main\\nOff shot the spectre ship\\nAnd stifled words and groans of j)ain\\nMix do\u00e2\u0080\u009eeach\u00e2\u0084\u00a2-\u00c2\u00bb.t^ P-\\nAnd we look d round, and we look d up,\\nAnd fear at our hearts, as at a cup,\\nThe Life-blood seem d to sip\\nThe sky was dull, and dark the night,\\nThe helmsman s face by his lamp gleam d bright,\\nFrom the sails the dews did drip\\nTill olomb above the Eastern Bar,\\nThe horned moon, with one bright star\\nWithin its nether tip. Campbell, p. 598.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "40 NOTES\\n212 The star-dogged Moon. Tt is a common superstition among\\nsailors that something evil is about to happen whenever a\\nstar dogs the moon. Manuscript note by Coleridge.\\nCampbell remarks, But no sailor ever saw a star within\\nthe nether tip of a horned moon.\\n220 The souls did from their bodies fly, etc. For a similar con-\\nception of the soul as having form, compare Rossetti\\nAnd the souls mounting up to God\\nWent by her like thin flames.\\nThe Blessed Damozel.\\n226-7 For the two last lines of this stanza, I am indebted to\\nMr. Wordsworth. Tt was on a delightful walk from\\nNether Stowey to Dulverton, with him and his sister,\\nin the Autumn of 1797, that this Poem was planned, and\\nin part composed. Coleridge s note.\\n245 Or ever. Before ever.\\n284 A spring of love gushed from my heart. Lamb wrote to\\nSouthey in November, 1798, If you wrote that review in\\nthe Critical Review, I am sorry you are so sparing of praise\\nto the Ancient Marinere. So far from calling it as you do,\\nwith some wit, but more severity, a Dutch Attempt, etc.,\\nI call it a right English attempt, and a successful one, to\\ndethrone German sublimity. You have selected a passage\\nfertile in unmeaning miracles, but have passed by fifty\\npassages as miraculous as the miracles they celebrate. I\\nnever so deeply felt the pathetic as in that part,\\nA spring of love gusli d from my heart,\\nAnd I bless d them unaware.\\nIt stung me into high pleasure through sufferings.\\nIf the poem has a purpose, and that purpose is to teach the\\nsaving power of love, the lesson set forth in the closing-\\nstanzas, then that lesson is unmistakably foreshadowed\\nhere. Here, too, is the culmination of the mariner s\\nsufferings which resulted from the spectral persecution\\nand here is the turning-point in the action of the poem.\\n289 So free. In the sense of thus freed.\\nNotice that in all this Fourth Part, the part where the feel-\\ning is intensest, the diction is simplest, calling for the", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "NOTES 41\\nleast comment. The supreme mark of real intensity and\\nperfect sincerity is perfect simplicity.\\n292 Sleep. Cf. Chrlstabd:\\nFor she belike hath druuken deep\\nOf all the blessedness of sleep.\\nTo the mystery of sleep and the haunting influence of\\ndreams Coleridge was peculiarly sensitive.\\nCf. Christahel:\\nBut though my slumber was gone by,\\nThis dream it would not pass away\\nIt seems to live upon mine eye!\\nand\\nWith such perplexity of mind\\nAs dreams too lively leave behind.\\nCf. also SomelMng Childish, hut very Natural:\\nSleep stays not, though a monarch bids\\nSo I love to wake ere break of day\\nFor though my sleep be gone,\\nYet while tis dark, one shuts one s lids.\\nAnd still dreams on.\\nHis special sensitiveness was undoubtedly due in part to\\nopium. Later, when the habit had mastered him, sleep\\nwas no longer exquisite delight, no longer a blessing, but\\nrather torture. In a letter he exclaims, Pray for me, my\\ndear friend, that I may not pass such another night as the\\nlast. When I am awake and retain my reasoning powers,\\nthe pang is gnawing but I am, except for a fitful moment\\nor two, tranquil it is the howling wilderness of sleep that\\nI dread.\\nCf The Pains of Sleep\\nThe night s dismay\\nSaddened and stunned the coming day.\\nSleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me\\nDistemper s worst calamity.\\nHere in The Ancient Mariner Life-in-Death is a Night-\\nmare, and it is interesting to recall that the whole poem\\nhad as its starting-point a dream. Indeed the work of\\nColeridge s poetic prime, The Ancient Mariner, Kuhla\\nKhan, and Christahel, is as\\nA dream remembered in a dream.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "42 NOTES\\n297 Silly. Originally, fortunate, blessed, then innocent, then\\nweak, impotent and useless, as here; finally, simple,\\nfoolish.\\n298 So. In the sense of thus. Cf 1. 289.\\n302 Dank. Damp, saturated with cold moisture. Cf. Henry IV,\\nPart I Dank as a dog.\\n308 Blessed ghost. A spirit in heaven. Ghost originally meant\\nthe breath, the soul of man. This meaning is XDreserved\\nfor us in the phrase, to give up the ghost. In the sense\\nof spirit, as the poet uses the word here, we have the word\\nin the phrase, the Holy Ghost. Our common use to-day\\nlimits the word to spectre, apparition.\\n312 Sere. Or sear. Dry. Usually applied to vegetation.\\n314 Fire-flags. Flashes or gleams of lightning.\\nSheen. Here an adjective modifying fire-flags. Cf 1. 56, for\\nthe noun-form of the word.\\n319 Sedge. Rushes, flags, tall grasses.\\n335 ft The navigation of the ship by the dead men was suggested\\nby AVordsworth.\\n354 Around, around, flew each sweet sound. So acutely sensitive\\nare the mariner s perceptions that the sounds in which\\nthe angelic spirits take form he can almost see as they\\ndart to the sun.\\n358-372 This recall of home sounds, of pleasant country ways, of\\nthe voices of birds and woods and brooks, is inexjDressibly\\naffecting. As in a dream or transport, the mariner escapes\\nfrom immediate reality, and the music of the spirit-troop\\nis a glimpse into heaven.\\n395 Living life. In distinction from what other life? Cf. bodily\\nlife, gloss to 1. 230. The idea is reen forced by the phrase,\\nin my soul, 1. 396.\\n399 By Him who died on cross. From this affirmation it would\\nseem that the demons were in the service of God and the\\nlieavenly powers.\\n407 Honey-dew. Ci.KuhlaKhan:\\nFor be on honey clew hath fed\\nAnd drunk the milk of Paradise.\\nThe name is properly applied to the sugary secretion\\nfrom the leaves of plants, occurring most frequently in hot", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "NOTES 43\\nweather. It usually appears as small glistening drops, but\\nif particularly abundant may drip from the leaves in con-\\nsiderable quantity, when it has been called manna.\\nScience, ITT, 737.\\n414 Still as a slave. Cf Coleridge s Osorio\\nO woman!\\nI have stood sileut like a slave before thee.\\n416 His great bright eye. The figure here may have been sug-\\ngested by a stanza of Sir John Davies\\nFor lo the sea that fleets about the laud,\\nAnd Hke a girdle clips her solid waist,\\nMusic and measure both doth understand\\nFor his great chrystal eye is always cast\\nUp to the moon, and on her fixed fast.\\nOrchestra or A Poem on Dancing.\\nDavies poem was licensed in 1593 and published in 1596.\\nTrance, in marginal note 422. If Coleridge read Captain\\nJames Voyage, the following passage was probably not\\nwithout its suggestion For mine owne part, I give no\\ncredit to them at all [i.e. the fables told by some Port-\\ningales, that shoidd have come this way out of the South\\nSea and as little to the vicious, and abusive wits of later\\nPortingals and Spaniards who never speak of any difficul-\\nties as shoalde water, Ice, nor sight of land but as if they\\nhad been brought home in a dreame or engine.\\n446-451 In the essay on Witches, and Other Night Fears, Lamb\\nremarks Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimaeras dire\\nstories of Celaeno and the Harpies may reproduce them-\\nselves in the brain of superstition but they were there be-\\nfore. They are transcripts, types the archetypes are in\\nus, and eternal. How else should the recital of that, which\\nwe know in a waking sense to be false, come to affect us at\\nall? Is it that we naturally conceive terror from such\\nobjects, considered in their capacity of being able to inflict\\nupon us bodily injury? O, least of all! These terrors\\nare of older standing. They date beyond body or, with-\\nout the body, they would have been the same. All the", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "44 NOTES\\ncruel, tormenting, defined devils in Dante are they\\none. half so fearful to the spirit of a man, as the simple idea\\nof a spirit unembodied following him Like one that on\\na lonesome road [here he quotes the stanza]. That the\\nkind of fear here treated of is purely spiritual that it is\\nstrong in proportion as it is objectless upon earth that it\\npredominates in the period of sinless infancy are difficul-\\nties, the solution of which might afford some probable\\ninsight into our ante-mundane condition, and a peep at\\nleast into the shadow land of preexistence.\\n465 The light-house top, etc. Notice that these details are enum-\\nerated here in reverse order from 11. 23-4.\\n467 Own countree. A form common in the old ballads.\\n470 let me be awake. I.e. may this prove to be actual and\\nreal. Or, if it be a dream, let me dream on forever.\\n472 ff. Notice the mariner s extreme sensitiveness to all impres-\\nsions. He discriminates among tones in color and light\\nso acute are his senses that even the very absence of sound\\nhas a positive value, smiting upon his nerves actively. Cf.\\nThe moonlight steeped in silentness white with silent\\nlight; the silence sank like music on my heart.\\n489 Rood. Cross.\\n490 A man all light, a seraph-man. Seraphs are the burning\\nor flaming angels, consisting of or like fire, and associated\\nwith the ideas of light, ardor, and purity. Century Dic-\\ntionary.\\nCf JMilton The flaming seraph, fearless, though alone.\\nAlso Pope The rapt seraph that adores and burns.\\n507 Blast. A striking use of the word.\\n512 Shrieve. An old form of shrive. To receive a confession\\nfrom a penitent and grant absolution.\\n524 Trow. Believe, think.\\n532 Note here the run-on verse, carrying over into the next\\nstanza. Even wdthin the stanza the i-un-on verse is a\\nrare occurrence in ballad metre. Gummere, p. 353.\\n535 The ivy-tod. The ivy-bush.\\n612 ff., He prayeth well, who loveth well, etc. With these lines we\\ncome upon the perplexing question of the purpose or the\\nmoral of the poem. On this point Coleridge himself re-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "NOTES 45\\nmarked Mrs. Barbauld once told me that she admired\\nthe Ancient Mariner very much, but that there were two\\nfaults in it it was improbable, and had no moral. As for\\nthe probability, I owned that that might admit some ques-\\ntion but as to the want of a moral, I told her that in my\\nown judgment the poem had too much; and that the only\\nor chief fault, if I might say so, was the obtrusion of the\\nmoral sentiment so openly on the reader as a principle or\\ncause of action in a work of such pure imagination. It\\nought to have had no more moral than the Arabian Nights\\ntale of the merchant s sitting down to eat dates by the side\\nof a well, and throwing the shells aside, and lo a genie\\nstarts up, and says he must kill the aforesaid merchant he-\\ncause one of the date shells had, it seems, put out the eye\\nof the genie s son. Tahle Talk, May 31, 1830.\\nThat Coleridge had little sympathy with the moral is fur-\\nther shown in his note on the concluding lines of his poem.\\nThe Raven, in which he handles the same theme as that of\\nThe Ancient Mariner^, the revenge executed by lesser crea-\\ntures for injuries done them by man. To the closing line\\nof the poem, Revenge was sweet, Coleridge added in\\nthe Sibylline Leaves the lines\\n[We must not thiuk so, but forget and forgive,\\nAnd what Heaven gives life to, we ll still let it live!]\\nThe couplet expresses the same sentiment as the conclusion\\nof The Ancient Mariner. But against these lines, on the\\nmargin of a copy of Sibylline Leaves, Coleridge wrote\\nAdded thro cowardly fear of the Goody What a Hol-\\nlow, where the Heart of Faith ought to be, does it not be-\\ntray this alarm concerning Christian morality, that will\\nnot permit even a Raven to be a Raven, nor a Fox a Fox,\\nbut demands conventicular justice to be inflicted on their\\nunchristian conduct, or at least an antidote to be annexed.\\nWe may further note that one of the most pe^ sistent fea-\\ntures of the German literature of the romantic revival [the\\nGerman movement influenced the English] perhaps its\\ngreatest blemish is its fondness for the obvious moral.\\nThis really springs from a double sense first a love of the", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "46 NOTES\\ncopy book maxim as the inspiring idea of a poem, and sec-\\nondly, a love of obviousness that prevents the artist from\\nletting facts speak for themselves, and leads him constantly\\nto trespass on the domain of the moral aphorist. If such\\nwas the temper of the time, it may be that Coleridge made\\nconcessions to it more or less unconsciously.\\nOn the other hand, the lesson of The Ancient Mariner, the les-\\nson of love and sympathy for the lesser creatures, is taught in\\nColeridge s lines To a Young Ass, and the sentiment finds\\nexpression in many of his other early poems. Again, Are\\nnot cattle and plants, he asks, permeated through and\\nthrough with the Divinity who has created all things to form\\none harmonious whole Finally, and this is the weightiest\\ntestimony in support of his fundamental and conscious\\nseriousness of purpose in The Ancient Mariner, he wrote in\\nthe Biographia Literaria that no private feeling should pre-\\nvent his publishing his autobiography if continued reflec-\\ntion should strengthen my present belief, that my history\\nwould add its contingent to the enforcement of one impor-\\ntant truth, to wit, that we must not only love our neigh-\\nbors as ourselves, but ourselves likewise as our neighbors\\nand that we can do neither unless w^e love God j^bove\\nSoth Chap. XXIV.\\nSome critics maintain that The Ancient Mariner is an allegory,\\nand they try to read into it subtle and far-sought meanings.\\nBut the poem has its meaning in the measure with which\\nit is able to impress each reader for himself with its power\\nand beauty, and to stir and quicken him for he should re-\\nmember what Coleridge himself tells us, that poetry has\\nfor its immediate object pleasure, not truth. The highest\\npoetry is written primarily, not to inculcate a lesson, but\\nto open to the human spirit the inexhaustible treasure of\\nthe loveliness and the wonders of the world before us.\\n1 W. W. Greg, English Translations of Lenore, Modern Quarterly of\\nLanguage and Literature. August, 1899.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX A\\nRELATIVE TO THE COMPOSITION AND SOURCES\\nOF THE POEM\\nOn the composition of The Ancient Mariner Wordsworth has\\nleft the following note\\nIn the antumn of 1797, he [Coleridge], my sister, and myself,\\nstarted from Alfoxden pretty late in the afternoon, with a view to\\nvisit Linton, and the Valley of Stones near to it; and as our united\\nfunds were very small, we agreed to defray the expense of\\nthe tour by writing a poem, to be sent to the New Monthly\\nMagazine. Accordingly we set off, and proceeded, along the\\nQuantock Hills, towards Watchet and in the course of this walk\\nwas planned the poem of the Ancient Mariner, founded on a\\ndream, as Mr. Coleridge said, of his friend J\\\\lr. Cruikshank. Much\\nthe greatest part of the story was Mr. Coleridge s invention,\\nbut certain parts I suggested for example, some crin^\u00c2\u00a7-vc.s to be\\ncommitted which should bring upon the Old NavigtuLor, as Cole-\\nridge afterwards delighted to call him, the spectral persecution, as\\na consequence of that crime and his own wanderings. I had been\\nreading in Shelvocke s Voyages, a day or two before, that, while\\ndoubling Cape Horn, they frequently saw albatrosses in that lati-\\ntude, the largest sort of sea fowl, some extending their wings\\ntwelve or thirteen feet. Suppose, said I, you represent him as\\nhaving killed one of these birds on entering the South Sea, and\\nthat the tutelary spirits of these regions take upon them to avenge\\nthe crime. The incident was thought fit for the purpose, and\\nadopted accordingly. I also suggested the navigation of the ship\\nby the dead men, but do not recollect that I had anything more to\\ndo with the scheme of the poem. The gloss wdth which it was\\nsubsequently accompanied was not thought of by either of us at\\nthe time, at least not a hint of it was given to me, and I have no\\ndoubt it was a gratuitous after-thought. AVe began the composi-\\n47", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "48 APPENDIX A\\ntion together on that to me memorable evening: I furnished two\\nor three lines at the beginning of the poem, in particular\\nAnd hsteu d like a three years child\\nThe Mariner had his will.\\nThese trifling contributions, all but one, which Mr. C. has with\\nunnecessary scrupulosity recorded, slipped out of his mind, as well\\nthey might. As we endeavoured to proceed conjointly (I speak of\\nthe same evening), our respective manners proved so widely differ-\\nent, that it would have been quite presumptuous in me to do any-\\nthing but separate from an undertaking upon which I could only\\nhave been a clog. The Ancient Mariner grew and grew till\\nit became too important for our first object, which was limited to\\nour expectation of five pounds and we began to think of a volume\\nwhich was to consist, as Mr. Coleridge has told the world, of\\npoems chiefly on supernatural subjects, taken from common life,\\nbut looked at, as much as might be, through an imaginative me-\\ndium. Femvick Note, Alemoirs of William Wordsworth, London,\\n1851, vol. I, pp. 107-8.\\nWordsworth s note, stating the facts about the composition of\\nThe Ancient Mariner, should be supplemented by Coleridge s ac-\\ncount of the literary significance of the poem\\nDuring the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neigh-\\nbours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal\\npoints of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader\\nby a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of\\ngiving the interest of novelty by the modifying colours of im-\\nagination. The sudden charm, which accidents of light and shade,\\nwhich moonlight or sunset, diffused over a known and familiar\\nlandscape, appeared to represent the practicability of combining\\nboth. These are the poetry of nature. The thought suggested\\nitself (to which of us I do not recollect) that a series of poems\\nmight be composed of two sorts. In the one, the incidents and\\nagents were to be, in part at least, supernatural and the excel-\\nlence aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affections\\nby the dramatic truth of such emotions, as would naturally accom-\\npany such situations, supposing them real. And real in this\\nsense they have been to every human being who, from whatever\\nsource of delusion, has at any time believed himself under super-\\nnatural agency. For the second class, subjects were to be chosen", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX A 49\\nfrom ordinary life the characters and incidents were to be such\\nas will be found in every village and its vicinity where there is a\\nmeditative and feeling mind to seek after tlieni, or to notice them\\nwhen they present themselves.\\nIn this idea originated the plan of the Lyrical Ballads in wliich\\nit was agreed that my endeavours should be directed to persons\\nand characters supernatural, or at least romantic yet so as to\\ntransfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance\\nof truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that\\nwilling suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes\\npoetic faith. Mr. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was to propose\\nto himself as his object, to give the charm of novelty to things of\\nevery day, and to excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural,\\nby awakening the mind s attention from the lethargy of custom,\\nand directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world\\nbefore us an inexhaustible treasure, but for which, in consequence\\nof the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, we have eyes, yet see\\nnot, ears that hear not, and hearts that neither feel nor understand.\\nWith this view I wrote the Ancient Mariner, and was prepar-\\ning, among other poems, the Dark Ladie, and the Christabel, in\\nwhich I should have more nearly realized my ideal than I had\\ndone in my first attempt. But Mr. Wordsworth s industry had\\nproved so much more successful, and the number of his poems so\\nmuch greater, that my compositions, instead of forming a balance,\\nappeared rather an interpolation of heterogeneous matter. J\\\\Ir.\\nWordsworth added two or three poems written in his own char-\\nacter, in the impassioned, lofty, and sustained diction which is\\ncharacteristic of his genius. In this form the Lyrical Ballads were\\npublished. BiograpUa Literaria, Chap. XIV.\\nFurther details are contained in the following letter by the Rev.\\nAlexander Dyce to H. N. Coleridge\\nWhen my truly honoured friend Mr. Wordsworth was last in\\nLondon, soon after the appearance of De Quincey s papers in Tait s\\nMagazine, he dined with me in Gray s Inn, and made the follow-\\ning statement, which, I am quite sure, I give you correctly\\nThe Ancient Mariner was founded on a strange dream, which\\na friend of Coleridge had, who fancied he saw a skeleton ship, with\\nfigures in it. We had both determined to write some poetry for a\\nmonthly magazine, the profits of which were to defray the ex-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "50 APPENDIX A\\npenses of a little excursion we were to make together. The\\nAncient Mariner was intended for this periodical, but was too\\nlong. I had very little share in the composition of it, for I soon\\nfound that the style of Coleridge and myself would not assimilate.\\nBesides the lines (in the fourth part),\\nAnd thou art long, and lank, and brown,\\nAs is the ribbed sea-sand,\\nI wrote the stanza (in the first part),\\nHe holds him with his glittering eye\\nThe Wedding-Guest stood still,\\nAnd listens like a three years child\\nThe Mariner hath his will,\\nand four or five lines more in different parts of the poem, which I\\ncould not now point out. The idea of \u00e2\u0096\u00a0shooting an albatross loas\\nmine; for 1 had been reading Sheh^ocke s Voyages, wJiich probably Col-\\neridge never saio. I also suggested the reanimation of the dead\\nbodies, to work the ship. Note to The Ancient Mariner in New\\nEdition of Poems, 1852.\\nThe book referred to by Wordsworth is A Voyage Round the\\nWorld By the Way of the Great South Sea, Performed in the Years\\n1719, 20, 21, 22, in the Speedwell of London, etc.. By Captain\\nGeorge Shelvocke, etc., London, 1726. The significant passages\\nare as follows\\nFrom the latitude of 40 deg. [south] to the latitude of 52\\ndeg. 30 min. [south] we had a sight of continual shoals of seals\\nand penguins, and were constantly attended by Pintado birds,\\nabout the bigness of a pigeon. These were accompanied by\\nAlbitrosses, the largest sort of sea-fowls, some of them extending\\ntheir wings 12 or 13 foot. pp. 59-60.\\nThe cold is certainly much more insupportable in these, than\\nin the same latitudes to the Northward; for, although we were\\npretty much advanced in the summer season, and had the days\\nvery long, yet we had continual squals of sleet, snow and rain, and\\nthe heavens were perpetually hid from us by gloomy dismal clouds.\\nIn short, one would think it impossible that any living thing-\\ncould subsist in so rigid a climate and, indeed, we all observed,\\nthat we had not the sight of one fish of any kind, since we were\\ncome to the Southward of the streights of le Mair, nor one sea-", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX A 51\\nbird, except a disconsolate black Albitross, who accompanied us for\\nseveral days, hovering about us as if he had lost himself, till Ilat-\\nley, (my second Captain) observing, in one of his melancholy fits,\\nthat this bird vv^as always hovering near us, imagin d, from his\\ncolour, that it might be some ill omen. That which, 1 suppose,\\ninduced him the more to encourage his superstition, was the con-\\ntinued series of contrary tempestuous winds, which had oppress d\\nus ever since we had got into this sea. But be that as it would,\\nhe, after some fruitless attempts, at length, shot the Albitross, not\\ndoubting (perhaps) that we should have a fair wind after it. I\\nmust own, that this navigation is truly melancholy, and was the\\nmore so to us, who were by ourselves without a companion, which\\nwould have somewhat diverted our thoughts from the reflection of\\nbeing in such a remote part of the world. pp. 72-3.\\nStill another source from which Coleridge probably drew in-\\ncidents and suggestions for his poem is the Epistle of Paulinus,\\nBishop of Nola, in the latter half of the fourth century, addressed\\nby him to Micarius the vice-prefect of Rome. The letter tells the\\nstory of a vessel laden with corn, which having been stranded on\\nthe coast of Lucania, had been rescued from the perils of the deep\\nby the Almighty himself. The ship, which had been wrecked near\\nSardi iia, had been deserted by all the crew, except an old man\\nwho was left at the pump. The old man, who knew nothing of\\nwhat had happened, felt the vessel pitching and rolling, and com-\\ning up from the hold found there was no object in view but the sea\\nand the sky. The feeling of loneliness increased the terror which\\nthe perils that surrounded him naturally inspired. Six whole days\\nand nights he passed without breaking bread and longing-\\nonly for death to close the dreary scene. But the Lord gave him\\nnew life with the food of His word. When he roused himself\\nto work the ship, he saw that angelic hands were busj^ about his\\ntask. Nothing was left for the mariner to do but to sit admiring\\nw^hile his labour was forestalled by invisible hands. Some-\\ntimes indeed it was vouchsafed to him to behold an armed band\\none may suppose of heavenly soldiers who kept their w^atches on\\nthe deck and acted in all points as seamen. What crew indeed but\\na crew of angels was worthy to work that vessel which was steered\\nby the Pilot of the world? At the helm, sat our dear Lord. At\\nlength the ship made an end of its course on the Lucanian shore.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "52 APPENDIX A\\nInspired by the Lord, some fishermen put forth from land;\\nthey were in two small boats, and seeing the ship in the offing,\\nwere in the utmost terror and attempted to fly. With loud\\nand repeated shouts the old man called them back they took\\ncounsel with each other, and, the Lord inspiring them, they\\nunderstood they might approach the vessel without fear. They\\nfinally towed the vessel into the harbor. Gentlemen s Magazine,\\nOct. 1853.\\nColeridge s possible indebtedness to Captain James Voyage is\\nset forth in the Notes on the poem (ante, p. 30) for further details\\nsee Brandl, Coleridge, pp. 197-204.\\nOn the study of sources Coleridge himself set little value.\\nIn the Preface to Christabel he says, There is amongst us a set of\\ncritics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and image is\\ntraditional who have no notion that there are such things as\\nfountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would\\ntherefore charitably derive every rill they behold flowing, from a\\nperforation made in some other man s tank.\\nThe scientific method in the study of literature needs here no\\nvindication. We have only to remember that its ultimate value\\nlies in imparting a knowledge which enables us to apprehend in\\nsome measure the wonders of the undiscoverable and transcendent\\nj)0wer we call genius.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B\\nThe Text of 1798\\nTHE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,\\nIN SEVEN PAETS^\\nARGUMENT\\nHow a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to\\nthe cold Country towards the South Pole and how from thence\\nshe made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific\\nOcean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what\\nmanner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.\\nIt is an ancyent Marinere,^\\nAnd he stoppeth one of three\\nBy thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye\\nNow wherefore stoppest me\\nThe Bridegroom s doors are open d wide\\nAnd I am next of kin\\nThe Guests are met, the Feast is set,\\nMay st hear the merry din.\\n1 In 1800, the title was changed to The Ancient Mariner, A Poet s\\nReverie.\\n2 The Argument In 1800 read: How a Ship having first sailed to the\\nEquator, was driven by Storms, to the cold Country towards the South\\nPole how the Ancient Mariner, cruelly, and in contempt of the laws of\\nhospitality, killed a Sea-bird and how he was followed by manj- strange\\nJudgements and in what manner he came back to his own Country.\\n3 In the text of 1800, most of the extreme archaisms in spelling, words,\\nand phrases, disappeared. Ancyent became Ancient, ne breath ne\\nmotion (1. 112) was changed to 7ior breath \u00c2\u00abor motion withouten\\nwind (1. 161) became without a breeze, etc. The more important\\nchanges in the text are given in the footnotes.\\n53", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "54 APPENDIX B\\nBut still he holds the wedding-guest\\n10 There was a Ship, quoth he\\nNay, if thou st got a laughsome tale,\\nMarinere come with me.\\nHe holds him with his skinny hand,\\nQuoth he, there was a Ship\\n15 Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon\\nOr my Staff shall make thee skip.\\nHe holds him with his glittering eye\\nThe wedding guest stood still\\nAnd listens like a three year s child\\n20 The Marinere hath his will.\\nThe wedding guest sate on a stone,\\nHe cannot chuse but hear:\\nAnd thus spake on that ancyent man,\\nThe bright-eyed Marinere.\\n25 The Ship was cheer d, the Harbour clear d\\nMerrily did we drop\\nBelow the Kirk, below the Hill,\\nBelow the Light-house top.\\nThe Sun came up upon the left,\\n30 Out of the Sea came he\\nAnd he shone bright, and on the right\\nWent down into the Sea.\\nHigher and higher every day.\\nTill over the mast at noon\\n35 The wedding-guest here beat his breast,\\nFor he heard the loud bassoon.\\nThe Bride hath pac d into the Hall,\\nRed as a rose is she\\nNodding their heads before her goes\\n40 The merry Minstralsy.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 55\\nThe wedding-guest he beat his breast,\\nYet he cannot chuse but hear\\nAnd thus spake on that ancyent Man,\\nThe bright-eyed Marinere.\\n45 Listen, Stranger Storm and Wind,i\\nA Wind and Tempest strong\\nFor days and weeks it play d us freaks\\nLike Chaff we drove along.\\nListen, Stranger Mist and Snow,\\n50 And it grew wond rous cauld\\nAnd Ice mast-high came floating by\\nAs green as Emerauld.\\nAnd thro the drifts the snowy clifts\\nDid send a dismal sheen\\n55 Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken\\nThe Ice was all between.\\nThe Ice was here, the Ice was there,\\nThe Ice was all around\\nIt crack d and growl d, and roar d and howl d\\n60 Like noises of a swound.^\\nAt length did cross an Albatross,\\nThorough the Fog it came\\nAnd an it were a Christian Soul,\\nWe hail d it in God s name.\\n111.45-50 Listen, Stranger! etc. Instead of this aud the five lines\\nfollowing, there was\\nBut now the Northwind came more fierce,\\nThere came a Tempest strong\\nAnd Southward still for days and weeks\\nLike chaff we drove along.\\nAnd now there came both Mist and Snow,\\nAnd it grew wondrous cold\\n21. 60 A Avild and ceaseless sound.\\nColeridge afterward returned to the reading of 1798.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "36 APPENDIX B\\n(j5 The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms,\\nAnd round and round it flew\\nThe Ice did split with a Thunder-fit\\nTlie Hehnsman steer d us thro\\nAnd a good south wind sprung up behind,\\n70 The Albatross did follow\\nAnd every day for food or play\\nCame to the Marinere s hollo\\nIn mist or cloud on mast or shroud\\nIt perch d for vespers nine,\\n75 Whiles all the night thro fog smoke-white\\nGlimmer d the white moon-shine.\\nGod save thee, ancyent Marinere\\nFrom the fiends that plague thee thus\\nWhy look st thou so with my cross bow\\n80 I shot the Albatross.\\nII\\nThe Sun came up upon the right,\\nOut of the Sea came he\\nAnd broad as a weft upon the left\\nWent down into the Sea.\\n85 And the good south wind still blew behind,\\nBut no sweet Bird did follow\\nNe any day for food or play\\nCame to the Marinere s hollo\\nAnd T had done an hellish thing\\n90 And it would work em woe\\nFor all averr d, I had kili d the Bird\\nThat made the Breeze to blow.\\n1 1. 75 Fog smoke-white. Corrected in the Errata to fog-smoke white.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 57\\nNe dim ne red, like God s own head,\\nThe glorious Sun uprist\\n95 Then all averr d, I had kill d the Bird\\nThat brought the fog and mist,\\nTwas right, said they, such birds to slay\\nThat bring the fog and mist.\\nThe breezes blew, the white foam flew,\\n100 The furrow follow d free\\nWe were the first that ever bui st\\nInto that silent Sea.\\nDow^n dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,\\nTwas sad as sad could be\\n105 And we did speak only to break\\nThe silence of the Sea.\\nAll in a hot and copper sky\\nThe bloody sun at noon,\\nRight up above the mast did stand,\\n110 No bigger than the moon.\\nDay after day, day after day,\\nWe stuck, ne breath ne motion,\\nAs idle as a painted Ship\\nUpon a painted Ocean.\\n115 Water, water, every where\\nAnd all the boards did shrink\\nWater, water, every where,\\nNe any drop to drink.\\nThe very deeps did rot O Christ\\n120 That ever this should be\\nYea, slimy things did crawl with legs\\nUpon the slimy Sea.\\nAbout, about, in reel and rout\\nThe Death-fires danc d at night\\n125 The water, like a witch s oils,\\nBurnt o-reen and blue and white.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "58 APPENDIX B\\nAnd some in dreams assured were\\nOf the Spirit that plagued us so\\nNine fathom deep he had follow d us\\n130 From the Land of Mist and Snow.\\nAnd every tongue thro utter drouth\\nAVas wither d at the root;\\nWe could not speak no more than if\\nWe had been choked with soot.\\n135 Ah wel-a-day what evil looks\\nHad I from old and young\\nInstead of the Cross the Albatross\\nAbout my neck was hung.\\nIll\\nI saw a something in the Sky\\n140 No bigger than my fist\\nAt first it seem d a little speck\\nAnd then it seem d a mist\\nIt mov d and mov d, and took at last\\nA certain shape, I wist.\\n145 A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist\\nAnd still it ner d and ner d\\nAnd, an it dodg d a water-sprite,\\nIt plung d and tack d and veer d.\\nWith throat unslack d, with black lips bak d\\n150 Ne could we laugh, ne wail\\nThen while thro drouth all dumb they stood\\nI bit my arm and suck d the blood\\nAnd cry d, A sail a sail\\n111. 139-140. I saw a something in the sky. lu place of this and the\\nfollowing line, tliis stanza was inserted\\nSo past a weary time each throat\\nWas parch d and glaz d each eye,\\nWhen, looking westward, I beheld\\nA something in the sky.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 59\\nWith throat unslack d, with black lips bak d\\n155 Agape they hear d me call\\nGramercy they for joy did grin\\nAnd all at once their breath drew in\\nAs they were drinking all.\\nShe doth not tack from side to side\\n160 Hither to work us weal\\nWithouten wind, withouten tide\\nShe steddies with upright keel.\\nThe western wave was all a flame,\\nThe day was well nigh done\\n165 Almost upon the western wave\\nRested the broad bright Sun\\nAVhen that strange shape drove suddenly\\nBetwixt us and the Sun.\\nAnd strait the Sun was fleck d with bars\\n170 (Heaven s mother send us grace)\\nAs if thro a dungeon grate he peer d\\nWith broad and burning face.\\nAlas (thought I, and my heart beat loud)\\nHow fast she neres and neres\\n175 Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun\\nLike restless gossameres?\\nAre those her naked ribs, which fleck d\\nThe sun that did behind them peer?\\nAnd are those two all, all the crew,\\n180 That woman and her fleshless Pheere?\\nHis bones were black with mau}^ a crack.\\nAll black and bare, T ween\\n1 1. 177. Those, corrected in Errata to these.\\n211. 177-180. Instead of this stanza was the following\\nAre those her Ribs, thro which the Sun\\nDid peer, as thro a grate?\\nAnd are these two all, all her crew,\\nThat Woman, and her Mate?", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "60 APPENDIX B\\nJet-black and bare, save where with rust\\nOf mouldy damps and charnel crust\\n185 They re patch d with purple and green.\\nHer lips are red, her looks are free,\\nHer locks are yellow as gold\\nHer skin is as white as leprosy.\\nAnd she is far liker Death than he\\n190 Her flesh makes the still air cold.\\nThe naked Hulk alongside came\\nAnd the Twain were playing dice\\nThe Game is done I ve won, I ve won\\nQuoth she, and whistled thrice.\\n195 A gust of wind sterte up behind\\nAnd whistled thro his bones\\nThro the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mout\\nHalf-whistles and half-groans.\\nWith never a whisper in the Sea\\n200 Off darts the Spectre-ship\\nWhile clombe above the Eastern bar\\nThe horned Moon, with one bright Star\\nAlmost atween the tips.\\nOne after one by the horned Moon\\n205 (Listen, O Stranger! tome)\\nEach turn d his face with a ghastly pang\\nAnd curs d me with his ee.\\nFour times fifty living men.\\nWith never a sigh or groan,\\n210 With heavy thump, a lifeless lump\\nThey dropp d down one by one.\\nTheir souls did from their bodies fly,\\nThey fled to bliss or woe\\nAnd every soul it passed me by,\\n215 Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 61\\nIV\\nI fear thee, ancyent Marinere\\nI fear thy skinny hand\\nAnd thou art long and lank and brown\\nAs is the ribb d Sea-sand.\\n220 I fear thee and thy glittering eye\\nAnd thy skinny hand so brown\\nFear not, fear not, thou wedding guest\\nThis body dropt not down,\\nAlone, alone, all all alone\\n225 Alone on the wide wide Sea\\nAnd Christ would take no pity on\\nMy soul in agony.\\nThe many men so beautiful.\\nAnd they all dead did lie\\n230 And a million million slimy things\\nLiv d on and so did I.\\nI look d upon the rotting Sea,\\nAnd drew my eyes away\\nI look d upon the eldritch deck,\\n235 And there the dead men lay.\\nI look d to Heaven, and try d to pray\\nBut or ever a prayer had gusht,\\nA wicked whisper came and made\\nMy heart as dry as dust.\\n240 I clos d my lids and kept them close.\\nTill the balls like pulses beat\\nFor the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky\\nLay like a load on my weary eye.\\nAnd the dead were at my feet.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "62 APPENDIX B\\n245 The cold sweat melted from their limbs,\\nNe rot, lie reek did they\\nThe look with which they look d on me.\\nHad never passed away.\\nAn orphan s cnrse would drag to Hell\\n250 A spirit from on high\\nBut O more horrible than that\\nIs the curse in a dead man s eye\\nSeven days, seven nights I saw that curse,\\nAnd yet I could not die.\\n255 The moving Moon went up the sky\\nAnd no where did abide\\nSoftly she was going up\\nAnd a star or two beside\\nHer beams bemock d the sultry main\\n260 Like morning frosts yspread\\nBut where the ship s huge shadow lay.\\nThe charmed water burnt alway\\nA still and awful red.\\nBeyond the shadow of the ship\\n265 I watch d the water-snakes\\nThey mov d in tracks of shining white\\nAnd when they rear d, the elfish light\\nFell off in hoary flakes.\\nWithin the shadow of the ship\\n270 I watch d their rich attire\\nBlue, glossy green, and velvet black\\nThey coil d and swam; and every track\\nWas a flash of golden fire.\\nO happy living things no tongue\\n275 Their beauty might declare\\nA spring of love gusht from my heart,\\nAnd I bless d them unaware\\nSure my kind saint took pity on me,\\nAnd I bless d them unaware.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 63\\n280 The self-same moment I could pray\\nAnd from my neck so free\\nThe Albatross fell off, and sank\\nLike lead into the sea.\\nsleep, it is a gentle thing\\n285 Belov d from pole to pole\\nTo Mary-queen the praise be yeven\\nShe sent the gentle sleep from heaven\\nThat slid into my soul.\\nThe silly buckets on the deck\\n290 That had so long remain d,\\n1 dreamt that they were fill d with dew\\nAnd when I awoke it rain d.\\nMy lips were wet, my throat was cold.\\nMy garments all were dank\\n295 Sure I had drunken in my dreams\\nAnd still my body drank.\\nI mov d and could not feel my limbs,\\nI was so light, almost\\nI thought that I had died in sleep,\\n300 And was a blessed Ghost.\\nThe roaring wind it roar d far off.\\nIt did not come anear\\nBut with its sound it shook the sails\\nThat were so thin and sere.\\n305 The upper air bursts into life.\\nAnd a hundred fire-flags sheen\\nTo and fro they are hurried about\\nAnd to and fro, and in and out\\nThe stars dance on between.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "64 APPENDIX B\\n310 The coming wind doth roar more loud\\nThe sails do sigh, like sedge\\nThe rain pours down from one black cloud\\nAnd the Moon is at its edge.\\nHark hark the thick black cloud is cleft,\\n315 And the Moon is at its side\\nLike waters shot from some high crag,\\nThe lightning falls with never a jag\\nA river steep and wide.\\nThe strong wind reach d the ship it roar d\\n320 And dropp d down, like a stone\\nBeneath the lightning and the moon\\nThe dead men gave a groan\\nThey groan d, they stirr d, they all uprose,\\nNe sj)ake, ne mov d their eyes\\n325 It had been strange, even in a dream\\nTo have seen those dead men rise.\\nThe helmsmen steerd, the ship mov d on\\nYet never a breeze up-blew\\nThe Marineres all gan work the ropes,\\n330 Where they were wont to do\\nThey rais d their limbs like lifeless tools\\nWe were a ghastly crew.\\nThe body of my brother s son\\nStood by me knee to knee\\n335 The body and I pull d at one rope,\\nBut he said nought to me\\nAnd I quak d to think of my own voice\\nHow frightful it would be\\nThe day-light dawn d they dropp d their arms\\n340 And cluster d round the mast\\nSweet sounds rose slowly thro their mouths\\nAnd from their bodies pass d.\\ni]l. 337, 338 omitted.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 65\\nAround, around, flew each sweet sound,\\nThen darted to the sun\\n345 Slowly the sounds came back again\\nNow niix d, now one by one.\\nSometimes a dropping from the sky\\nI heard the Lavrock sing\\nSometimes all little birds that are\\n350 How they seem d to fill the sea and air\\nWith their sweet jargoning,\\nAnd now twas like all instruments,\\nNow like a lonely flute\\nAnd now it is an angel s song\\n355. That makes the heavens be mute.\\nIt ceas d yet still the sails made on\\nA pleasant noise till noon,\\nA noise like of a hidden brook\\nIn the leafy month of June,\\n360 That to the sleeping woods all night\\nSingeth a quiet tune.\\nListen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest i\\nMarinere thou hast thy will\\nFor that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make\\n365 My body and soul to be still.\\nNever sadder tale was told\\nTo a man of woman born\\nSadder and wiser thou wedding-guest\\nThou lt rise to morrow morn.\\n370 Never sadder tale was heard\\nBy a man of woman born\\nThe Marineres all return d to work\\nAs silent as beforne.\\n1 11. 362-377. These four stanzas omitted.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "66 APPENDIX B\\nThe Marineres all gan pull the ropes,\\n375 But look at me they n old\\nThought I, I am as thin as air\\nThe} cannot me behold.\\nTill noon we silently sail d on\\nYet never a breeze did breathe\\n380 Slowly and smoothly went the ship\\nMov d onward from beneath.\\nUnder the keel nine fathom deep\\nFrom the land of mist and snow\\nThe spirit slid and it was He\\n385 That made the Ship to go.\\nThe sails at noon left off their tune\\nAnd the Ship stood still also.\\nThe sun right up above the mast\\nHad fix d her to the ocean\\n390 But in a minute she gan stir\\nWith a short uneasy motion\\nBackwards and forwards half her length\\nWith a short uneasy motion.\\nThen, like a pawing horse let go,\\n395 She made a sudden bound\\nIt flung the blood into my head,\\nAnd I fell into a swound.\\nHow long in that same fit I lay,\\nI have not to declare\\n400 But ere my living life return d,\\nI heard and in my soul discern d\\nTwo voices in the air,\\nIs it he? quoth one, Is this the man?\\nBy him who died on cross,\\n405 With his cruel bow he lay d full low\\nThe harmless Albatross.\\nU tF\u00c2\u00a9.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 67\\nThe spirit who bideth by himself\\nIn the land of mist and snow,\\nHe lov d the bird that lov^d the man\\n410 Who shot him with liis bow.\\nThe other was a softer voice,\\nAs soft as honey-dew\\nQuoth he the man hath penance done.\\nAnd penance more will do.\\nVI\\nFirst Voice.\\n415 But tell me, tell me speak again,\\nThy soft response renewing\\nWhat makes that ship drive on so fast?\\nWhat is the Ocean doing\\nSecond Voice.\\nStill as a Slave before his Lord,\\n420 The Ocean hath no blast\\nHis great bright eye most silently\\nUp to the moon is cast\\nIf he may know which way to go,\\nFor she guides him smooth or grim.\\n425 See, brother, see how graciously\\nShe looketh down on him.\\nFirst Voice.\\nBut why drives on that ship so fast\\nWithouten wave or wind\\nSecond Voice.\\nThe air is cut away before,\\n430 And closes from behind.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "68 APPENDIX B\\nFly, brother, fly more high, more high,\\nOr we shall be belated\\nFor slow and slow that ship will go,\\nWhen the Mariiiere s trance is abated.\\n435 I woke, and we were sailing on\\nAs in a gentle weather\\nTwas night, calm night, the moon was high\\nThe dead men stood together.\\nAll stood together on the deck,\\n440 For a charnel-dnngeon fitter\\nAll fix d on me their stony eyes\\nThat in the moon did glitter.\\nThe pang, the curse, with which they died,\\nHad never pass d away\\n445 I could not draw my een from theirs\\nNe turn them up to pray.\\nAnd in its time the spell was snapt,\\nAnd I could move my een\\nI look d far-forth, but little saw\\n450 Of what might else be seen.\\nLike one, that on a lonely road\\nDoth walk in fear and dread,\\nAnd having once turn d round, walks on\\nAnd turns no more his head\\n455 Because he knows, a frightful fiend\\nDoth close behind him tread.\\nBut soon there breath d a wind on me,\\nNe sound ne motion made\\nIts path was not upon the sea\\n460 In ripple or in shade.\\nIt rais d my hair, it fann d my cheek,\\nLike a meadow-gale of spring\\nIt mingled strangely with my fears,\\nYet it felt like a welcoming.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B\\n465 Swiftly, svviftl}^ flew the ship,\\nYet she sail d softly too\\nSweetly, sweetly blew the breeze\\nOn me alone it blew.\\ndream of joy is this indeed\\n470 The light-house top I see\\nIs this the Hill Is this the Kirk\\nIs this mine own countree\\nWe drifted o er the Harbour-bar,\\nAnd I with sobs did pray\\n475 O let me be awake, my God\\nOr let me sleep alway\\nThe harbour-bay was clear as glass,\\nSo smoothly it was strewn\\nAnd on the bay the moon light lay,\\n480 And the shadow of the moon.\\nThe moonlight bay was white all o er,i\\nTill rising from the same,\\nFull many shapes, that shadows were,\\nLike as of torches came.\\n485 A little distance from the prow\\nThose dark-red shadows were\\nBut soon I saw that my own flesh\\nWas red as in a glare.\\n1 turn d my head in fear and dread,\\n490 And by the holy rood.\\nThe bodies had advanc d, and now\\nBefore the mast they stood.\\nThey lifted up their stiff right arms.\\nThey held them straight and tight\\n1 1. 481-502. These five stanzas omitted.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "70 APPENDIX B\\n495 And each right-arm burnt like a torch,\\nA torch that s borne upright.\\nTheir stony eye-balls giitter d on\\nIn the red and smoky light.\\nI pray d and turn d my head away\\n500 Forth looking as before.\\nThere was no breeze upon the bay,\\nNo wave against the shore.\\nThe rock shone bright, the kirk no less\\nThat stands above the rock\\n505 The moonlight steep d in silentness\\nThe steady weathercock.\\nAnd the bay was white with silent light.\\nTill rising from the same\\nFull many shapes, that shadows were,\\n510 In crimson colours came.\\nA little distance from the prow\\nThose crimson shadows were\\nI turn d my eyes upon the deck\\nO Christ what saw I there?\\n515 Each corse lay fiat, lifeless and flat\\nAnd by the Holy rood\\nA man all light, a seraph-man,\\nOn every corse there stood.\\nThis seraph-band, each wav d his hand\\n520 It was a heavenly sight\\nThey stood as signals to the land.\\nEach one a lovely light\\nThis seraph-band, each wav d his hand,\\nNo voice did they impart\\n525 No voice but O the silence sank,\\nLike music on my Jieart.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 71\\nEftsones I heard the dash of oars,\\nI heard the pilot s cheer\\nMy head was turn d perforce away\\n530 And I saw a boat appear.\\nThen vanish d all the lovely lights\\nThe bodies rose anew\\nWith silent pace, each to his place,\\nCame back the ghastly crew.\\n535 The wind, that shade nor motion made,\\nOn me alone it blew.\\nThe pilot, and the pilot s boy\\nI heard them coming fast\\nDear Lord in Heaven it wdH a joy,\\n540 The dead men could not blast.\\nI saw a third I heard his voice\\nIt is the Hermit good\\nHe singeth loud his godly hymns\\nThat he makes in the wood.\\n545 He ll shrieve my soul, he ll wash away\\nThe Albatross s blood.\\nVII\\nThis Hermit good lives in that wood\\nWhich slopes down to the Sea.\\nHow loudly his sweet voice he rears\\n550 He loves to talk with Marineres\\nThat come from a far Contree.\\nHe kneels at morn and noon and eve\\nHe hath a cushion plump\\nIt is the moss, that wholly hides\\n555 The rotted old Oak-stump.\\n1 11. 531-536. This stanza omitted.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "72 APPENDIX B\\nThe Skiff-boat ne rd I heard them talk,\\nWhy, this is strange, I trow\\nWhere are those lights so many and fair\\nThat signal made but now\\n560 Strange, by my faith the Hermit said\\nAnd they answer d nob our cheer.\\nThe planks look warp d, and see those sails\\nHow thin they are and sere\\nI never saw aught like to them\\n565 Unless perchance it were\\nThe skeletons of leaves that lag\\nMy forest brook along\\nWhen the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,\\nAnd the Owlet whoops to the wolf below\\n570 That eats the she-wolf s young.\\nDear Lord it has a fiendish look\\n(The Pilot made reply)\\nI am a-fear d. Push on, push on\\nSaid the Hermit cheerily.\\n575 The Boat came closer to the Ship,\\nBut I ne spake ne stirr d\\nThe Boat came close beneath the Ship,\\nAnd strait a sound was heard\\nUnder the water it rumbled on,\\n580 Still louder and more dread\\nIt reach d the Ship, it split the bay;\\nThe Ship went down like lead.\\nStunn d by that loud and dreadful sound.\\nWhich sky and ocean smote\\n585 Like one that hath been seven days drown d\\nMy body lay afloat\\nBut, swift as dreams, myself I found\\nWithin the Pilot s boat.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "ArPENBIX B 73\\nUpon the whirl, where sank the Ship,\\n590 The boat spun round and round\\nAnd all was still, save that the hill\\nWas telling of the sound.\\nI mov d my lips the Pilot shriek d\\nAnd fell down in a fit.\\n595 The Holy Hermit rais d his eyes\\nAnd pray d where he did sit.\\nI took the oars the Pilot s boy.\\nWho now doth crazy go,\\nLaugh d loud and long, and all the while\\n600 His eyes went to and fro,\\nHa ha quoth he full plain I see,\\nThe devil knows how to row.\\nAnd now all in mine own Countree\\nI stood on the firm land\\nG05 The Hermit stepp d forth from the boat,\\nAnd scarcely he could stand.\\nO shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man\\nThe Hermit cross d his brow\\nSay quick, quoth he, I bid thee say\\n610 What manner man art thou\\nForthwith this frame of mine was wrench d\\nWith a woeful agony.\\nWhich forc d me to begin my tale\\nAnd then it left me free.\\n615 Since then at an uncertain hour,\\nNow of times and now fewer,\\nThat anguish comes and makes me tell\\nMy ghastly aventure.\\n111. 615-618. Instead of this stauza was the following:\\nSince then at an uncertain hour\\nThat agony returns\\nAnd till my ghastly tale is told\\nThis heart within nie burns.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "74 APPENDIX B\\nI pass, like night, from land to land\\n620 I have strange power of speech\\nThe moment that his face 1 see\\nI know the man that must hear me\\nTo him my tale I teach.\\nWhat loud uproar bursts from that door\\n625 The Wedding-guests are there\\nBut in the Garden-bower the Bride\\nAnd* Bride-maids singing are\\nAnd hark the little Vesper-bell\\nWhich biddeth me to prayer.\\n630 O Wedding-guest this soul hath been\\nAlone on a wide wide sea\\nSo lonely twas, that God himself\\nScarce seemed there to be.\\nO sweeter than the Marriage-feast,\\n635 Tis sweeter far to me\\nTo walk together to the Kirk\\nWith a goodly company.\\nTo walk together to the Kirk\\nAnd all together pray,\\n640 While each to his great father bends,\\nOld men, and babes, and loving friends,\\nAnd Youths, and Maidens gay.\\nFarewell, farewell but this I tell\\nTo thee, thou wedding-guest\\n645 He prayeth well who loveth well,\\nBoth man and bird and beast.\\nHe prayeth best who loveth best,\\nAll things both great and small\\nFor the dear God, who loveth us,\\n650 He made and loveth all.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX B 75\\nThe Marinere, whose eye is bright,\\nWhose beard with age is hoar,\\nIs gone and now the wedding-guest\\nTurn d from the bridegroom s door.\\n655 He went, like one that hath been stunn d\\nAnd is of sense forlorn\\nA sadder and a wiser man\\nHe rose the morrow morn.", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "1\\\\AP^f^^", "height": "3380", "width": "2060", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3380", "width": "2060", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3395", "width": "2107", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3578", "width": "2284", "jp2-path": "rimeofancientmar03cole_0180.jp2"}}