[Sidenote: And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.]
Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see? 465
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
We drifted o'er the harbor-bar,
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God! 470
Or let me sleep alway.
The harbor-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon. 475
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 480
Till rising from the same,
[Sidenote: The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,]
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colors came.
[Sidenote: And appear in their own forms of light.]
A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were: 485
I turned my eyes upon the deck—
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!