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:

Approacheth the ship with wonder.

The ship suddenly sinketh.

The ancient

Mariner is saved

in the Pilot's boat.

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 look 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."

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 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 mine own countree,

I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrive me, shrive 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 the door!

The wedding guests are there :

But in the garden bower the bride
And bridemaids singing are;
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

The ancient Mari-
ner earnestly en-
treateth the Her-
mit to shrive
him; and the pen-
ance of life falls on
him.

And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land,

He went like one that hath been stunned,

And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man,

He rose the morrow morn.

THE LIBRARY.

BY GEORGE CRABBE.

[For biographical sketch, see Vol. 19, page 306.] FIRST let us view the Form, the Size, the Dress, For these the Manners, nay, the Mind express;