The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

August Burger’s ballad “Lenore” of 1773),

Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabula, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contemplari: ne mens assuefacta hodiernae vitae minutiis se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus.—T. BURNE Archaeol. Phil. p. 68. 1

TRANSLATION: Meanwhile, I do not deny, it is sometimes pleasant to contemplate the image of a greater and better world in the mind as if in a picture, lest the mind, accustomed to the trivia of modern life, should shrink excessively and sink completely into petty musings. But at the same time one must be intent upon truth, and moderation must be observed, so that we may distinguish the sure from the unsure, day from night.

Ancyent Marinere

Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. ’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.

Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray.

Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze— On me alone it blew

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.

Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.

The sweet words Of Christian promise, words that even yet Might stem destruction, were they wisely preached, Are muttered o‘er by men, whose tones proclaim How flat and wearisome they feel their trade: Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent To deem them falsehoods or to know their truth. Oh! blasphemous! the Book of Life is made A superstitious instrument, on which We gabble o’er the oaths we mean to break; For all must swear—all and in every place, College and wharf, council and justice-court; All, all must swear, the briber and the bribed, Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest, The rich, the poor, the old man and the young; All, all make up one scheme of perjury, That faith doth reel; the very name of God Sounds like a juggler’s charm; and, bold with joy, Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, (Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism, Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, Drops his blue-fringéd lids, and holds them close, And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven, Cries out, ‘Where is it?’ Thankless too for peace,

We send our mandates for the certain death Of thousands and ten thousands! Boys and girls, And women, that would groan to see a child Pull off an insects leg, all read of war, The best amusement for our morning meal!

Stand forth! be men! repel an impious foe, Impious and false, a light yet cruel race, Who laugh away all virtue, mingling mirth With deeds of murder;

As if a Government had been a robe, On which our vice and wretchedness were tagged Like fancy-points and fringes, with the robe Pulled off at pleasure. Fondly these attach A radical causation to a few Poor drudges of chastising Providence, Who borrow all their hues and qualities From our own folly and rank wickedness,

And hark! the Nightingale begins its song, ‘Most musical, most melancholy’ bird! A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought! In Nature there is nothing melancholy.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; O! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old!

TRANSLATION: I readily believe that in the totality of things there are more invisible than visible natures. But who shall recount to us the family of all these things? and their degrees and relationships and distinctive signs and their individual functions? What do they do? What places do they inhabit? The human mind has always solicited knowledge of these matters but has never attained it. Meanwhile, I do not deny, it is sometimes pleasant to contemplate the image of a greater and better world in the mind as if in a picture, lest the mind, accustomed to the trivia of modern life, should shrink excessively and sink completely into petty musings. But at the same time one must be intent upon truth, and moderation must be observed, so that we may distinguish the sure from the unsure, day from night.