La croce bianca

Era la notte di Halloween. Avevo sempre adorato quell’atmosfera spettrale, fatta di maghi e streghe, che con i loro poteri magici potevano tramutare il mondo in qualcosa che non era. Anche la mia fantasia spesso lo faceva, mi dicevo, mentre guidavo sotto una pioggia torrenziale e l’acqua imperversava come un torrente sul parabrezza. Però, riflettevo, la mia fantasia non aveva il potere di fare avverare i miei sogni, che restavano tali, nitidi e perfetti, distinti dalla realtà.

Accadde all’improvviso, una luce più forte delle altre che mi abbagliò, e lo schianto fu un sordido rumore nelle mie orecchie, mentre perdevo conoscenza.

Quando aprii gli occhi, ero stordita e frastornata e sentivo il sangue colarmi sul viso e scendere giù per il collo. Cercai di muovermi e non so quale forza guidò la mia mano verso lo sportello dell’auto. Dovetti premere più volte sulla levetta, prima di riuscire a spingerlo via e sentire l’aria ghiaccia sulle mie ferite. Non c’era nessun rumore, a parte la pioggia, solo un silenzio spettrale come quello delle favole magiche alle quali stavo pensando prima che tutto diventasse nulla.

Riuscii faticosamente a tirarmi fuori dall’auto e mi accasciai a terra. La testa mi girava e ogni tanto la vista mi si annebbiava. Se nessuno era nei paraggi, come quel silenzio suggeriva, avrei fatto meglio ad alzarmi per cercare aiuto. Ero dolorante, dappertutto, e il pensiero di tirarmi su non riusciva a trasmettersi alle mie gambe.

Non so quanto tempo rimasi lì, ma so che ad un certo punto sentii delle voci. Non riuscivo a capire quello che dicevano e provai a tirar su la testa per vedere se ci fosse qualcuno vicino a me. “Non è tardi, maledizione!”, pensavo. “Qualcuno che andrà ad una festa ci sarà in giro...”.

Alla fine scorsi delle macchie blu che si muovevano in lontananza. Erano loro, quelle voci. Provai ad urlare, ma la mia voce era assente, quasi come se non volesse dissacrare il silenzio, già rotto da quel mormorare che mi aveva dissolto dal mio torpore. Decisi che dovevo alzarmi per chiedere aiuto e stavolta riuscii a tirarmi in piedi. Mi appoggiai alla mia auto distrutta per riprendermi dallo sforzo e cercai con gli occhi il movimento di quegli uomini. Li vidi, che imboccavano una piccola strada a destra di quella principale dov’ero io, e mi incamminai, passo dopo passo, dietro di loro, incerta di riuscire a farmi scorgere da loro.

Riuscii a scivolare tre volte, quando il piede malfermo si appoggiava alla fanghiglia formatasi sulla strada. La pioggia lavava via il sangue. Potevo vederlo sull’asfalto. Ne stavo perdendo molto e le forze a tratti venivano meno. Eppure era l’unica chance che avevo di chiedere aiuto e non volevo perdermela.

Arrancando riuscii a raggiungerli e mi accorsi che la fortuna mi aveva aiutato, perchè si erano fermati. Che strano! Sembravano marinai. Marinai malconci, più di me, con i vestiti laceri e ferite che sanguivano. Non poteva essere vero, cosa ci facevano dei marinai che sembravano dei naufraghi, nel pieno centro di una città che distava chilometri dal mare. Un’idea mi tolse dall’impiccio di dare una giustificazione a quel mistero: era la notte delle streghe, dei maghi e dei vampiri. E perchè no? Magari erano novelli seguaci di Ulisse all’inseguimento della maga Circe... “Aiutatemi, per favore”, provai a chiamarli. Ma nessuno si girava, sembravano non sentirmi. La pioggia non poteva annullare il suono della mia voce! Gridai più forte, mentre le mie gambe recuperavano le forze per correre dietro di loro, coprendo la distanza.

Li raggiunsi e tremai quando provai ad appoggiare la mano sulla spalla di uno di loro per richiamare l’attenzione. Sembrava non sentirmi, eppure io riuscivo a toccarlo, sentivo la sua pelle sotto la camicia fradicia di pioggia. Poi ne superai alcuni e mi volsi a guardarli. Impallidii. I loro erano volti bianchi come cadaveri. Non poteva essere un travestimento. Un uomo degno di tale nome, di fronte a me, conciata in quel modo, avrebbe cessato la messinscena e mi avrebbe soccorso. Ma loro no, guardavano dritti e sperduti in un mondo nel quale io non c’ero. Corsi avanti, tra di loro, guardandomi intorno, guardandomi dietro, scrutando tra quegli sguardi per individuarne uno, almeno uno, che fosse umano. Sporchi di sangue e fango peggio di come potevo esserlo io, con gli occhi quasi completamente bianchi, e la bocca che si muoveva seguendo il ritmo di una strana litania della quale non capivo le parole. Correvo tra di loro, sbattevo contro quei corpi che erano l’unica cosa reale loro rimasta, e giunsi infine in capo a quella processione.

Lo vidi da dietro. Camminava innanzi agli altri di tre metri. La sua voce era possente e scandiva parole che però non capii all’inizio. Sembrava inglese, e solo dopo un po’ capii che era un inglese antico. Lo raggiunsi e lo bloccai.

Quegli occhi. Non li scorderò mai. Erano di un grigio bellissimo, profondissimi, ma di ghiaccio. Il freddo che da loro mosse mi si piantò nel petto. Capii di aver osato oltre ciò che mi poteva essere concesso. Mi illusi che la mia condizione potesse essere una scusante. Lo guardai, quasi supplicandolo di ascoltare ciò che io avevo da dirgli.

Aveva un viso bellissimo, incornciato da una barba grigia. Non doveva essere vecchio, ma dagli occhi si intuiva che aveva vissuto abbastanza. Sulla sua camicia bianca spuntava una collana d’argento con una croce di madreperla bianca, dove era inciso un albatros e spiccavano due lettere: “IF”, "SE".

Non feci in tempo a sussurrargli una preghiera di aiuto, che l’uomo si allontanò, riprendendo la marcia. Restai lì, finchè tutto il fiume di marinai mi scorse intorno. Restai lì, mentre quel fiume che mi aveva appena superato si aprì e la figura di quello che doveva essere il loro capitano si intravide al centro. Restai lì, mentre il capitano estrasse una balestra da un fodero che portava sulle spalle. Restai lì, fino a che la freccia non mi colpì al cuore e caddi a terra, perdendo nuovamente i sensi.

Quando mi risvegliai la pioggia era cessata. Ero in un letto d’ospedale e un medico si avvicinò proprio nel momento in cui aprii gli occhi.

«Non si muova, ha avuto un grave incidente qualche giorno fa. E’ stata in coma farmacologico. Ora sta meglio. Non parli, ci racconterà tutto quando sarà in grado di farlo. Il parabrezza della sua auto si è rotto e un pezzo le si è conficcato a livello del petto. Per fortuna siamo riusciti a salvarla. Volevo darle questa... la indossava al momento dell’incidente e credo le abbia salvato la vita. Credo abbia deviato il vetro quel tanto che è bastato a ferirla in modo serio, ma non irrimediabile.»

Mi mise qualcosa in mano e uscì. Non capivo, non riuscivo a ricordare molto, ma avevo nei miei occhi ancora fissata l’immagine di quel capitano, la balestra, la freccia... ero fuori dall’auto...

Sollevai la mano e in essa vidi la collana d’argento con la croce di madreperla bianca. Riconobbi l’albatros e la scritta “IF” al centro, "SE". Guardai meglio e vidi che in realtà c’erano due strofe incise, ma solo “IF” era ancora visibile. "SE" cosa?

Mi sforzai e lessi:

And every tongue, through utter drought, 

Was withered at the root; 

We could not speak, no more than if 

We had been choked with soot. 

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks 

Had I from old and young! 

Instead of the Cross, the Albatross 

About my neck was hung. 

Erano dunque quelle le due strofe che i marinai cantavano come litanie quella sera?
Qual era il loro significato?

Qualche giorno dopo uscii dall’ospedale. Mi era rimasta la curiosità di quei versi. Mi ero convinta che fossero un rituale antico e magico che quella notte si era in qualche modo ripetuto per cacciar via qualche maledizione. L’albatros stesso mi rimandava a reminiscenze scolastiche, ma la mia mente non andava oltre.

Finalmente, la trovai. Trovai la maledizione che aveva reso i suoi occhi di ghiaccio. 
Quello che non trovai più, fu quel capitano. Se n’era andato per sempre, in quella notte di pioggia, con la sua maledizione impressa su una croce bianca, a ricordo del cuore di un albatros.

Riassunto

http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_ballata_del_vecchio_marinaio

La ballata del vecchio marinaio racconta l'avventura straordinaria di un uomo di mare. È divisa in sette parti.

I parte Un vecchio marinaio trattiene l'invitato di una festa nuziale con il racconto della sua incredibile avventura in mare. Inizialmente riluttante, il giovane viene sedotto dallo sguardo incantatore del vecchio narratore. Il suo racconto ripercorre, quindi, le vicende della nave del marinaio che, spintasi oltre l'equatore verso l'Antartide, rimane intrappolata tra i ghiacci e la tempesta. Il posarsi di un albatros sulla nave viene accolto come un presagio favorevole dall'equipaggio, che lo rifocilla. Il volatile sembra, infatti, portatore di una brezza che consente alla nave di liberarsi dalla stretta del ghiaccio. Inaspettatamente, però, il marinaio uccide l'uccello con un colpo di balestra, insofferente per la difficile situazione.

II parte L'equipaggio dapprima rimprovera il marinaio per l'inopportunità del misfatto, ma successivamente approva il crudele gesto, perché coincidente con il miglioramento delle condizioni atmosferiche. È questo manifesto assenso a renderli moralmente complici del delitto. Le condizioni atmosferiche, però, precipitano: vento del tutto assente, sole cocente, acque ferme ed arroventate. L'equipaggio, sofferente per la sete, incolpa il marinaio per la propria disgrazia e gli appende al collo, al posto della croce, l'albatros che aveva abbattuto.

III parte All'imbrunire, il marinaio e il resto della ciurma scorgono una nave fantasma in lontananza. Al suo avvicinarsi, distinguono come passeggeri solo due donne impegnate in una partita a dadi: Morte (Death) e Morte-in-Vita (Life-in-Death). L'una vince la vita della ciurma, l'altra quella del Marinaio, che considerava più preziosa. Scende, così, bruscamente la notte. L'equipaggio, agonizzante, maledice con lo sguardo il marinaio, reo della loro sventura e, uno dopo l'altro, in duecento esalano l'ultimo respiro.

IV parte Il marinaio, al contrario dei suoi compagni, sopravvive per sette giorni e sette notti nel rimorso per l'uccisione dell'albatros, solo e disgustato dell'acqua che lo circonda. Ad un tratto scorge dei serpenti marini che si agitano nell'acqua, splendenti di colori spettacolari. Mosso da un improvviso sentimento d'amore, benedice le creature marine. Dio, impietosito dal gesto d'affetto del marinaio, termina il suo castigo: l'albatros si stacca dal suo collo e si inabissa, le stelle ritornano a muoversi e il vento a spirare.

V parte Il marinaio è allietato dal sonno e da una pioggia ristoratrice. Durante la notte un gruppo di angelici spiriti penetra i corpi morti dei marinai e ognuno torna a svolgere la propria mansione sulla nave. All'alba tutte le anime si raccolgono intorno all'albero maestro e intonano al cielo un angelico canto. Nel frattempo la nave procede sulla rotta,mossa dall'azione dello "spirito del polo sud" che improvvisamente cambia rotta facendo cadere il marinaio , che perde i sensi. Nello stordimento, sente due voci indistinte.

VI parte Il dialogo tra queste due voci spiega il moto della nave in assenza del vento: l'aria, chiudendosi dietro la nave, la fa avanzare. Al risveglio, il marinaio si trova nel suo paese natale, in cui riconosce la chiesa, la baia, la rupe.

VII parte Mentre la nave affonda, l'uomo è soccorso da un battello, in cui si trova l'eremita, al quale il marinaio prova forte desiderio di raccontare il suo trascorso. Una volta rivelato il suo vissuto, l'uomo si sente sollevato dall'agonia a cui le vicende l'avevano portato. Intraprende, così, il suo viaggio nel mondo per narrare la sua edificante storia. Il marinaio consiglia l'invitato alle nozze di pregare per tutte le creature della natura perché amate da Dio. Quest'ultimo si ritira quindi in una profonda riflessione.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

PART THE FIRST. It is an ancient Mariner,  And he stoppeth one of three.  “By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,  Now wherefore stoppest thou me?  “The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,   And I am next of kin;  The guests are met, the feast is set:  May'st hear the merry din.”  He holds him with his skinny hand,  “There was a ship,” quoth he.   “Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!”  Eftsoons his hand dropt he.  He holds him with his glittering eye   The Wedding-Guest stood still,  And listens like a three years child:   The Mariner hath his will.  The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:  He cannot choose but hear;  And thus spake on that ancient man,  The bright-eyed Mariner. The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,   Merrily did we drop  Below the kirk, below the hill,  Below the light-house top.  The Sun came up upon the left,  Out of the sea came he!  And he shone bright, and on the right  Went down into the sea.  Higher and higher every day,  Till over the mast at noon—  The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,  For he heard the loud bassoon.  The bride hath paced into the hall,  Red as a rose is she;  Nodding their heads before her goes  The merry minstrelsy.  The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,  Yet he cannot choose but hear;  And thus spake on that ancient man,  The bright-eyed Mariner.  And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he  Was tyrannous and strong:  He struck with his o'ertaking wings,  And chased south along.  With sloping masts and dipping prow,  As who pursued with yell and blow  Still treads the shadow of his foe  And forward bends his head,  The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,  And southward aye we fled.  And now there came both mist and snow,   And it grew wondrous cold:  And ice, mast-high, came floating by,  As green as emerald.  And through the drifts the snowy clifts  Did send a dismal sheen:  Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken  The ice was all between.  The ice was here, the ice was there,  The ice was all around:  It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,   Like noises in a swound!  At length did cross an Albatross:  Thorough the fog it came;  As if it had been a Christian soul,  We hailed it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had eat,  And round and round it flew.  The ice did split with a thunder-fit;  The helmsman steered us through!  And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow,  And every day, for food or play,  Came to the mariners' hollo!  In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,  It perched for vespers nine;  Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,  Glimmered the white Moon-shine'.  “God save thee, ancient Mariner!  From the fiends, that plague thee thus! Why look'st thou so?” -- With my cross-bow  I shot the Albatross.  The ancient PART THE SECOND The Sun now rose upon the right:  Out of the sea came he,  Still hid in mist, and on the left  Went down into the sea.  And the good south wind still blew behind  But no sweet bird did follow,  Nor any day for food or play  Came to the mariners' hollo!  And I had done an hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe:  For all averred, I had killed the bird  That made the breeze to blow.  Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow ! 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.  The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,  The furrow followed free:  We were the first that ever burst  Into that silent sea.  Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,  'Twas sad as sad could be;  And we did speak only to break  The silence of the sea!  All in a hot and copper sky,  The bloody Sun, at noon,  Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon.  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.  About, about, in reel and rout  The death-fires danced at night;  The water, like a witch's oils,  Burnt green and blue and white.  And some in dreams assuréd were  Of the Spirit that plagued us so:  Nine fathom deep he had followed us  From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought,  Was withered at the root;  We could not speak, no more than if  We had been choked with soot.  Ah! well a-day! what evil looks  Had I from old and young!  Instead of the Cross, the Albatross  About my neck was hung.  PART THE THIRD There passed a weary time. Each throat   Was parched, and glazed each eye.  A weary time! a weary time!  How glazed each weary eye,  When looking westward, I beheld  A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck,  And then it seemed a mist:  It moved and moved, and took at last  A certain shape, I wist.  A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared;  As if it dodged a water-sprite,  It plunged and tacked and veered With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,  We could not laugh nor wail;  Through utter drought all dumb we stood!  I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,  And cried, A sail! a sail!  With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,  Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin,  And all at once their breath drew in,  As they were drinking all.  See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!  Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide,  She steadies with upright keel!  The western wave was all a-flame  The day was well nigh done!  Almost upon the western wave  Rested the broad bright Sun;  When that strange shape drove suddenly  Betwixt us and the Sun.  And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,  (Heaven's Mother send us grace!)   As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,  With broad and burning face.  Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)  How fast she nears and nears!  Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,   Like restless gossameres!  Are those her ribs through which the Sun  Did peer, as through a grate?  And is that Woman all her crew?  Is that a DEATH? and are there two?   Is DEATH that woman's mate?  Her lips were red, her looks were free,  Her locks were yellow as gold:  Her skin was as white as leprosy,  The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,  Who thicks man's blood with cold.  The naked hulk alongside came,  And the twain were casting dice;  “The game is done! I've won! I've won!”  Quoth she, and whistles thrice.  The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:  At one stride comes the dark;  With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. Off shot the spectre-bark. We listened and looked sideways up!  Fear at my heart, as at a cup,  My life-blood seemed to sip!  The stars were dim, and thick the night,  The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;  From the sails the dew did drip-- Till clombe above the eastern bar  The hornéd Moon, with one bright star  Within the nether tip. One after one, by the star-dogged Moon  Too quick for groan or sigh,  Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,  And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men,  (And I heard nor sigh nor groan)  With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,   They dropped down one by one.  The souls did from their bodies fly,   They fled to bliss or woe!  And every soul, it passed me by,  Like the whiz of my cross-bow!  PART THE FOURTH “I fear thee, ancient Mariner!  I fear thy skinny hand!  And thou art long, and lank, and brown,  As is the ribbed sea-sand.  “I fear thee and thy glittering eye,  And thy skinny hand, so brown—”  Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!  This body dropt not down.  Alone, alone, all, all alone,  Alone on a wide wide sea!  And never a saint took pity on  My soul in agony.  The many men, so beautiful!  And they all dead did lie:  And a thousand thousand slimy things  Lived on—and so did I.  I looked upon the rotting sea,  And drew my eyes away;  I looked upon the rotting deck,  And there the dead men lay. I looked to Heaven, and tried to pray:  But or ever a prayer had gusht,  A wicked whisper came, and made  My heart as dry as dust.  I closed my lids, and kept them close,  And the balls like pulses beat;  For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky  Lay like a load on my weary eye,  And the dead were at my feet.  The cold sweat melted from their limbs,  Nor rot nor reek did they:  The look with which they looked on me  Had never passed away.       An orphan's curse would drag to Hell  A spirit from on high;   But oh! more horrible than that  Is a curse in a dead man's eye!  Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,  And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky,  And no where did abide:  Softly she was going up,  And a star or two beside.  Her beams bemocked the sultry main,  Like April hoar-frost spread;  But where the ship's huge shadow lay,  The charmed water burnt alway  A still and awful red.  Beyond the shadow of the ship,  I watched the water-snakes:  They moved in tracks of shining white,  And when they reared, the elfish light  Fell off in hoary flakes.  Within the shadow of the ship  I watched their rich attire:  Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,  They coiled and swam; and every track  Was a flash of golden fire.  O happy living things! no tongue  Their beauty might declare:  A spring of love gushed from my heart,  And I blessed them unaware:  Sure my kind saint took pity on me,  And I blessed them unaware.  The selfsame moment I could pray;  And from my neck so free  The Albatross fell off, and sank  Like lead into the sea.  PART THE FIFTH Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,  Beloved from pole to pole!    To Mary Queen the praise be given!  She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,  That slid into my soul.  The silly buckets on the deck,  That had so long remained,  I dreamt that they were filled with dew;  And when I awoke, it rained.  My lips were wet, my throat was cold,  My garments all were dank;  Sure I had drunken in my dreams,   And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs:  I was so light—almost  I thought that I had died in sleep,  And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind:  It did not come anear;  But with its sound it shook the sails,  That were so thin and sere.  The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen,  To and fro they were hurried about!  And to and fro, and in and out,  The wan stars danced between.  And the coming wind did roar more loud,  And the sails did sigh like sedge;  And the rain poured down from one black cloud;  The Moon was at its edge.  The thick black cloud was cleft and still  The Moon was at its side:  Like waters shot from some high crag,  The lightning fell with never a jag,  A river steep and wide.  The loud wind never reached the ship,  Yet now the ship moved on!  Beneath the lightning and the Moon  The dead men gave a groan.  They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,  Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;  It had been strange, even in a dream,  To have seen those dead men rise.  The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;  Yet never a breeze up-blew;  The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,  Where they were wont to do:   They raised 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 pulled at one rope,  But he said nought to me.  “I fear thee, ancient Mariner!”  Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!  'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,  Which to their corses came again,  But a troop of spirits blest:  For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,  And clustered round the mast;  Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,  And from their bodies passed.  Around, around, flew each sweet sound,  Then darted to the Sun;  Slowly the sounds came back again,  Now mixed, now one by one.  Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing;  Sometimes all little birds that are,  How they seemed 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 ceased; yet still the sails made on  A pleasant noise till noon,  A noise like of a hidden brook  In the leafy month of June,  That to the sleeping woods all night  Singeth a quiet tune.  Till noon we quietly sailed on,  Yet never a breeze did breathe:  Slowly and smoothly went the ship,  Moved 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 fixed her to the ocean:  But in a minute she 'gan stir,  With a short uneasy motion—  Backwards and forwards half her length  With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go,  She made a sudden bound:  It flung the blood into my head,  And I fell down in a swound.  How long in that same fit I lay,  I have not to declare;  But ere my living life returned,  I heard and in my soul discerned  Two voices in the air.  “Is it he?” quoth one, “Is this the man?  By him who died on cross,  With his cruel bow he laid full low,  The harmless Albatross.  “The spirit who bideth by himself  In the land of mist and snow,  He loved the bird that loved the man  Who shot him with his bow.”  The other was a softer voice,  As soft as honey-dew:  Quoth he, “The man hath penance done,   And penance more will do.” PART THE SIXTH FIRST VOICE.  But tell me, tell me! speak again,  Thy soft response renewing—  What makes that ship drive on so fast?  What is the Ocean doing? SECOND VOICE.  Still as a slave before his lord,  The Ocean hath no blast;  His great bright eye most silently  Up to the Moon is cast—  If he may know which way to go;  For she guides him smooth or grim  See, brother, see! how graciously  She looketh down on him.  FIRST VOICE.  But why drives on that ship so fast,  Without or wave or wind?  SECOND VOICE.  The air is cut away before,  And closes from behind.  Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high  Or we shall be belated:  For slow and slow that ship will go,  When the Mariner's trance is abated.  I woke, and we were sailing on  As in a gentle weather:  'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;  The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck,  For a charnel-dungeon fitter:  All fixed on me their stony eyes,  That in the Moon did glitter.  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.  And now this spell was snapt: once more  I viewed the ocean green.   And looked far forth, yet little saw  Of what had else been seen—  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.  But soon there breathed a wind on me,  Nor sound nor motion made:   Its path was not upon the sea,  In ripple or in shade.  It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek  Like a meadow-gale of spring—  It mingled strangely with my fears,  Yet it felt like a welcoming.  Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,  Yet she sailed softly too:  Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—  On me alone it blew.   Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed  The light-house top I see?  Is this the hill? is this the kirk?  Is this mine own countree!  We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,  And I with sobs did pray—  O let me be awake, my God!  Or let me sleep alway.  The harbour-bay was clear as glass,  So smoothly it was strewn!   And on the bay the moonlight lay,  And the shadow of the Moon.  The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,  That stands above the rock:  The moonlight steeped in silentness  The steady weathercock.  And the bay was white with silent light,  Till rising from the same,  Full many shapes, that shadows were,  In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow  Those crimson shadows were:  I turned my eyes upon the deck—  Oh, Christ! what saw I there!  Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,  And, by the holy rood!  A man all light, a seraph-man,  On every corse there stood.  This seraph band, each waved his hand:  It was a heavenly sight!  They stood as signals to the land,  Each one a lovely light:  This seraph-band, each waved his hand,  No voice did they impart—  No voice; but oh! the silence sank   Like music on my heart.  But soon I heard the dash of oars;  I heard the Pilot's cheer;  My head was turned perforce away,  And I saw a boat appear.   The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy,  I heard them coming fast:  Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy  The dead men could not blast.  I saw a third—I heard his voice:  It is the Hermit good!  He singeth loud his godly hymns  That he makes in the wood.  He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away  The Albatross's blood.   PART THE SEVENTH This Hermit good lives in that wood  Which slopes down to the sea.  How loudly his sweet voice he rears!  He loves to talk with marineres  That come from a far countree.  He kneels at morn and noon and eve—  He hath a cushion plump:  It is the moss that wholly hides  The rotted old oak-stump.  The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,   “Why this is strange, I trow!  Where are those lights so many and fair,  That signal made but now?”  “Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said—  “And they answered not our cheer!   The planks looked warped! and see those sails,  How thin they are and sere!  I never saw aught like to them,  Unless perchance it were  “Brown skeletons of leaves that lag  My forest-brook along;  When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,  And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,  That eats the she-wolf's young.”  “Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look—   (The Pilot made reply)  I am a-feared”—“Push on, push on!”  Said the Hermit cheerily.  The boat came closer to the ship,  But I nor spake nor stirred;  The boat came close beneath the ship,  And straight a sound was heard.  Under the water it rumbled on,  Still louder and more dread:  It reached the ship, it split the bay;  The ship went down like lead Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,  Which sky and ocean smote,  Like one that hath been seven days drowned  My body lay afloat;  But swift as dreams, myself I found  Within the Pilot's boat Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,  The boat spun round and round;  And all was still, save that the hill  Was telling of the sound.  I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked  And fell down in a fit;  The holy Hermit raised his eyes,  And prayed where he did sit.  I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,  Who now doth crazy go,  Laughed loud and long, and all the while  His eyes went to and fro.  “Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I see,  The Devil knows how to row.”  And now, all in my own countree,  I stood on the firm land!  The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,  And scarcely he could stand.  O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!”  The Hermit crossed his brow.  “Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say—  What manner of man art thou?”  Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched  With a woeful agony,  Which forced me to begin my tale;  And then it left me free.  Since then, at an uncertain hour,  That agony returns;  And till my ghastly tale is told,  This heart within me burns.  I pass, like night, from land to land;  I have strange power of speech;  That moment that his face I see,  I know the man that must hear me:  To him my tale I teach.  What loud uproar bursts from that door!  The wedding-guests are there:  But in the garden-bower the bride  And bride-maids singing are:  And hark the little vesper bell,  Which biddeth me to prayer!  O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been  Alone on a wide wide sea:  So lonely 'twas, that God himself  Scarce seemed there to be.  O sweeter than the marriage-feast,  'Tis sweeter far to me,  To walk together to the kirk   With a goodly company!--  To walk together to the kirk,  And all together pray,  While each to his great Father bends,  Old men, and babes, and loving friends,  And youths and maidens gay!  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.  The Mariner, whose eye is bright,   Whose beard with age is hoar,  Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest  Turned from the bridegroom's door.  He went like one that hath been stunned,  And is of sense forlorn:  A sadder and a wiser man,  He rose the morrow morn.