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 the curse in a dead man's eye!
     Seven days, seven nights 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 charm'ed 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,
     Then 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 self-same moment I could pray;
     And from my neck so free
     The Albatross fell off, and sank
     Like lead into the sea.

          PART FIVE

     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 bless'ed 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!