Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,

And the Moon is at its side :

Like waters shot from some high crag,

The lightning falls with never a jag

A river steep and wide.

The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd
And dropp'd down, like a stone!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:

It had been strange, even in a dream

To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steerd, the ship mov'd on ; Yet never a breeze up-blew ;

The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,

Where they were wont to do:

They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools

We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son
Stood by me knee to knee :

The body and I pull'd at one rope,

But he said nought to me—

And I quak'd to think of my own voice

How frightful it would be!

The day-light dawn'd-they dropp'd their arms,

And cluster'd round the mast:

Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths

And from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,

Then darted to the sun :

Slowly the sounds came back again

Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes a dropping from the sky

I heard the Lavrock sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are

How they seem'd to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning,

And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song

That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceas'd yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,
That to the fleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune.

Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!

"Marinere! thou hast thy will :

"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make

To a man of woman born:

Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard

By a man of woman born :

The Marineres all return'd to work

As silent as beforne.

The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,

But look at me they n'old:

Thought I, I am as thin as air—

They cannot me behold.

Till noon we silently sail'd on

Yet never a breeze did breathe : Slowly and smoothly went the ship Mov'd onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep
From the land of mist and snow

The spirit slid: and it was He
That made the Ship to go.

The sails at noon left off their tune
And the Ship stood still also.

The sun right up above the mast
Had fix'd her to the ocean:

But in a minute she 'gan stir

With a short uneasy motion

Backwards and forwards half her length

With a short uneasy motion.