'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."
'"But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing-- What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the Ocean doing?"
'"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."
'"But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?"
'"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 view'd the ocean green, And look'd 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 fann'd my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring-- It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming.