The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Great title poem plus "Kubla Khan," "Christabel," 20 other sonnets, lyrics, odes: "Frost at Midnight," "The Nightingale," "The Pains of Sleep," "To William Wordsworth," "Youth and Age," more. All reprinted from authoritative edition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dover Publications
• Release date: Mar 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9780486111384

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) was an English poet and influential figure in the Romantic Movement of the nineteenth century. Born into a large family, Coleridge was the youngest of his father’s 14 children. He attended Jesus College, University of Cambridge with aspirations of becoming a clergyman. Yet, his goals changed when he encountered radical thinkers with different religious views. He befriended several writers and began a new career, publishing a collection called Poems on Various Subjects. Over the years, Coleridge would work as a critic, public speaker, translator and secretary all before his death in 1834.

Book preview

To the Author of ‘The Robbers’

Schiller! that hour I would have wish’d to die

If thro’ the shuddering midnight I had sent

From the dark dungeon of the Tower time-rent

That fearful voice, a famish’d Father’s cry—

Lest in some after moment aught more mean

Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout

Black Horror scream’d, and all her goblin rout

Diminish’d shrunk from the more withering scene!

Ah! Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood

Wandering at eve with finely-frenzied eye

Beneath some wast old tempest-swinging wood!

Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:

Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!

Sonnet

TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT WHEN THE NURSE FIRST PRESENTED MY INFANT TO ME

Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first

I scann’d that face of feeble infancy:

For dimly on my thoughtful spirit burst

All I had been, and all my child might be!

But when I saw it on its mother’s arm,

And hanging at her bosom (she the while

Bent o’er its features with a tearful smile)

Then I was thrill’d and melted, and most warm

Impress’d a father’s kiss: and all beguil’d

Of dark remembrance and presageful fear,

I seem’d to see an angel-form appear—

’Twas even thine, belovéd woman mild!

So for the mother’s sake the child was dear,

And dearer was the mother for the child.

This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,

This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost

Beauties and feelings, such as would have been

Most sweet to my remembrance even when age

Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,

Friends, whom I never more may meet again,

On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,

Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,

To that still roaring dell, of which I told;

The roaring dell, o‘erwooded, narrow, deep,

And only speckled by the mid-day sun;

Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock

Flings arching like a bridge;—that branchless ash,

Unsunn’d and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves

Ne’er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,

Fann’d by the water-fall! and there my friends

Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,

That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)

Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge

Of the blue clay-stone.

Now, my friends emerge

Beneath the wide wide Heaven—and view again

The many-steepled tract magnificent

Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,

With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up

The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles

Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on

In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad,

My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined

And hunger’d after Nature, many a year,

In the great City pent, winning thy way

With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain

And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink

Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun!

Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb,

Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds!

Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!

And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend

Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood,

Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round

On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem

Less gross than bodily; and of such hues

As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes

Spirits perceive his presence.

A delight

Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad

As I myself were there! Nor in this bower,

This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark’d

Much that has sooth’d me. Pale beneath the blaze

Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch’d

Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov’d to see

The shadow of the leaf and stem above

Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree

Was richly ting’d, and a deep radiance lay

Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps

Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass

Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue

Through the late twilight: and though now the bat

Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters,

Yet still the solitary humble-bee

Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know

That Nature ne‘er deserts the wise and pure;

No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,

No waste so vacant, but may well employ

Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart

Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes

’Tis well to be bereft of promis’d good,

That we may lift the soul, and contemplate

With lively joy the joys we cannot share.

My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook

Beat its straight path along the dusky air

Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing

(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)

Had cross’d the mighty Orb’s dilated glory,

While thou stood‘st gazing; or, when all was still,

Flew creeking o’er thy head, and had a charm

For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom

No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.

The Dungeon

And this place our forefathers made for man!

This is the process of our love and wisdom,

To each poor brother who offends against us—

Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?

Is this the only cure? Merciful God!

Each pore and natural outlet shrivell’d up

By Ignorance and parching Poverty,

His energies roll back upon his heart,

And stagnate and corrupt; till chang’d to poison,

They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;

Then we call in our pamper’d mountebanks—

And this is their best cure! uncomforted

And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,

And savage faces, at the clanking hour,

Seen through the steams and vapour of his dungeon,

By the lamp’s dismal twilight! So he lies

Circled with evil, till his very soul

Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform’d

By sights of ever more deformity!

With other ministrations thou, O Nature!

Healest thy wandering and distemper’d child:

Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,

Thy sunny

Reviews for The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

[alanwpowers · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Beaton can’t be beaten. First read this one soon after published, to great delight, in cold New England weather that resonate in the Scottish snowstorms. Crofter cottages, illegal stills of course for Scotch, fishermen and the loch, salmon-poaching from streams of the great shooting estates, the barren city vs rich country, the seer firmly grounded in gossip: these populate the Hamish MacBeth novels. Especially the gossip, which “would have been running rife all over the Highlands. At first people would be discreet because the man as so recently dead, but…tongues would begin to wag”(68). Beaton writes with wit, Hamish himself often also witty, and irony: “As he took the long road to Inverness, putting on the police siren so he could exceed the speed limit, he reflected that it would be nice to be one of those private eyes in fiction before whose wisdom the whole of Scotland Yard bowed”(35) Ironically, Hamish is exactly this, a detective in fiction before whom the Scotland Police bow—the smartest ones, anyways, but not his boss, the drunken loudmouth DCI Blair.Under Blair is Jimmy Anderson, who looks to MacBeth for insights into suspects, and who over the course of the next few novels becomes a sidekick. He technically outranks MacBeth, but that’s because Hamish hates the bigger, barren city and refuses or avoids promotion, even crediting Jimmy with his own discoveries. Both Beaton and her avatar Hamish show irony, say about the great police-criminal divide. Researching where the deceased lived in a pretentiously named Culloden House, suggesting a country villa at least—and not what’s now called a villa, of condo’s—Hamish’s companion suggests, “ ‘You could say you were investigating a break-in.’ ‘So I could,” with one brisk blow he smashed the glass…leaned in and unfastened the latch. ‘So there’s the break-in, and here am I investigating it.’”(126)Beaton ironically includes American icons, like a picture of Billy Graham on a single lady’s wall, or this exchange between a young pub flirt and Hamish’s boss Blair: “Kylie, who was fed on a steady diet of American movies, plead the First Amendment. ‘This is Scotland,’ growled Blair, ‘and no’ Chicago’ (193). Although this is a failed love story, where MacBeth gains one night with a tourist, but also her hacking skills that make up for Blair’s not telling him a thing about the case, and she abandons him sans farewell, she did save his life by telling his city superiors his intent to visit the illegal whiskey distillery brothers, who turn out to have a large trade and no qualms. MacBeth satirizes the locale he loves. When people wonder what England was like in the thirties, he says, “Try the Scottish Highlands. Bad teeth, stodgy food, and the last corner of Britain where women’s lib had not found a foothold.”(81) (Astonishing to think that the Humpster-President’s party in the US is as backward as the Highlands about women.)

[joe73-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Haunting and terrifying story. A poem, a story, a little of everything. Case in point. Don't take your life for granted. Some have it much worse than you. I feel that the author accomplished what many writers before him attempted to capture. He truly scares the crap out of you. Not for your sake but for the Mariners sake. STC truly brings out the chill in the fog and isolation of the world around us. I am an old sailor and I spent many nights out on deck during my off time thinking about this book and the character. It made my life experiences so much more realistic and enjoyable.

[ellelainey · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my favourite poem ever! It's a story, a novel, a poem and a life lesson all in one. If you haven't read it, then I suggest you do. The fates...the albatross...the hermit...it's all worth it.

[alcracka · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great setup for Moby-Dick!

[tess_schoolmarm · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my all time favorite epic poem for many reasons, among them being the beauty of the words. Coleridge eloquently tells the rough and tough story of the sea with deaths and shootings in a refined manner. Not only is his choice of words well above the average cut, but the order in which he places the words delights the reader. This is a yearly read for me.

[mykl8s · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As poetic as English poetry gets. Full of strange images and full of allusions that I just don't understand.

[tess_w · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my all time favorite epic poem for many reasons, among them being the beauty of the words. Coleridge eloquently tells the rough and tough story of the sea with deaths and shootings in a refined manner. Not only is his choice of words well above the average cut, but the order in which he places the words delights the reader. This is a yearly read for me.

[meditationesmartini · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I mean, I guess it's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by ST Coleridge, but more like it's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Doré, libretto by Coleridge. Either way it's great, and occasioned some great conversations between me and my son on thoughtlessness and doom.

[m.belljackson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's hard to picture a more imaginative interpretation of "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner!"And, the resilient Albatross was a lot of fun.Exceptional pairing of Poetry and Cartoons.In both high school and college, Samuel Coleridge's poem was always compelling(For some reason, though this is Hunt Emerson's book, most of the review comments refer to Dore'.)

[michael5rimmer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Already having an edition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner illustrated by Gustave Doré, I bought this one for the illustrations by my favourite book illustrator, Mervyn Peake.Where Doré beautifully catches the gothic mood of Coleridge's verse, Peake catches the macabre, tenebrous quality of the Mariner's feverish nightmare. In her introduction, Marina Warner tells of how Peake's commissioning editor found his illustration of the Night-mare Life-in-Death too horrifying for its intended 1940s British readership and her portrait was dropped from the first edition, though much reprinted since and included here.Much as I love Peake's work, I wish for an edition printed on better quality paper to present them in the fashion they deserve.As for the poem, what can I say that hasn't been said before and more eloquently?

[poetontheone · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Dover edition with Doré's woodcuts adds a whole new dimension to Coleridge's poem. The horror, sublimity, and poignancy are greatly accentuated by them in the Dover edition. If you've read the poem before, loved it or hated it, revisit it in this edition and your opinion will evolve either way. If you haven't read it before, this is certainly no a bad way to become acquainted.

[veilofisis · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

‘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 skyLay dead like a load on my weary eye,And the dead were at my feet.’ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is, inarguably, one of the five or six most important poems ever recorded in the English language. And while Samuel Coleridge may have abhorred the Gothic excesses nourished to increasingly baroque heights during the years he was busy writing literary criticism, a younger Coleridge—perhaps, even, a more naïve and spiritually-aware Coleridge—managed to pen the only one of those five or six paramount poems to feature the supernatural as more than a passing reference: and certainly the only one to regard it with the mingled aura of terror, awe, and beauty that we have come to define as ‘Sublime.’ With this, Coleridge gave birth to Romantic literature (particularly the Romantic as we define it today: the Romantic as it breathes in the works of Mary Shelley, James Hogg, and—later—Poe, Hawthorne, and Melville).The poem is so familiar, that I will avoid summarizing it in detail: suffice it to say that the story of the Ancient Mariner, who kills the albatross and is cursed to suffer at the hands of a Nature that is at turns mournful, spiteful, and furious, is one of the more archetypal scenarios in Romantic literature (and perhaps English literature, and popular culture, as a whole: the tale of the man who underestimates the forces that protect the natural world, and their contingent retribution, has been retold through lenses as diverse as comedy, horror, high fantasy, pulp adventure, and children’s television). Any underestimation of its impact, similar to Shakespeare, can be dispelled with examples of its gifts to popular culture and the popular lexicon: the notion of an ‘albatross hanging about one’s neck’ is a common enough allusion that it borders, nearly, on the cliché; meanwhile, lines like ‘Water, water, everywhere/Nor any drop to drink’ have become references so pervasive that many who have never even read the poem are aware of them. This parallels, say, the aggressive influence of a novel like Frankenstein on the popular imagination; unlike that novel, though, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner has not entered the zeitgeist through the vehicle of cinematic adaptation or references in a body of literature that bears little relation to it (although, coincidentally, Frankenstein makes numerous references to Coleridge’s poem, and is one of the earlier works of literature to truly embody the full scope of its impact—aside from operating as an extrapolation upon its central, supremely Romantic theme).I have neatly avoided the relationship of Coleridge to Wordsworth, or The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’s inclusion in Lyrical Ballads: these details bear little relation to the concerns of this journal. I will, however, dwell for a moment on the initial details of the poem’s publication: as most are aware, the poem was originally presented without a gloss and utilizing the most arcane variety of spelling; this was corrected in a later publication (which has since become standard) largely because the format was not in keeping with Romantic ideals. That said, though, this return to an earlier, more esoteric device and the mysteries suggested by avoiding comment or explanation, are very much in keeping with the ethos of the Gothic, both as an extension of the Romantic imagination and a separate set of motifs. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’s early concern with itself as a text, by utilizing a unique (and antique) format is both indebted to the early Gothic of Radcliffe, Beckford, and Walpole, and influential on the later Gothicism of the Shelleys, Maturin, and Poe. Reorganized, with gloss and modern spelling, the poem takes on a new, more obvious, concern with itself as a text, which in its own right has become influential on the ‘epic’ poetry of later authors. Interspersed throughout this review (see the original post at therealmoftheunreal.blogspot.com) are several of Gustave Dore’s illustrations for The Rime of the Ancient Mariner: but this is only the tip of the iceberg: the weight of allusion to Coleridge’s masterpiece over the past two centuries has been so incredible that to list even a dozen of them here would take more space than is permissible; needless to say, the breadth of this fascination with The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is not relegated merely to fine art and literature: again and again, up to and including the present day, the poem resurfaces in allusions and analysis both obscure and immediate in forums as diverse as popular music, animated television, and even video games. Still, it must be said, the most impactful and haunting of these references and homages to Coleridge’s famous poetic conceit rest in those that have taken illustration as the nature of their devotions: Dore’s images, while possessing a value to art uniquely their own (and, in many ways, remaining the standard illustrations to Coleridge’s opus), are, as I said, merely the tip of the iceberg. And this, in my eyes, remains the measuring stick by which we judge the canonicity of a given work of literature: not merely how often it is read—nor by whom—nor the nature of its subject matter, nor its ability to stand as a document of its time and circumstances, but by the degree to which it propels Art, and hence Imagination, as a whole, towards higher and higher atmospheres: both by stimulating the creative faculties of other artists and by drawing forth these faculties in the minds of those who have not yet developed them. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is, indeed, one of the great works of English poetry; but it is also one of the great works of world literature in its entirety, standing confidently among works as diverse as The Arabian Nights, Hamlet, and the Bible as a major influence on the art of those who have yet to even experience it first-hand. And for this, Coleridge was a prophet—and a guide.

[candacevan_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A modern epic poem that I'd rank up there with the best of them.

[kaethe_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

No doubt this reflects a tremendous lack in me, but I don't get it. I got the rhythm, which is drilled into my brain, but the point of the thing eludes me. Sailor kills an albatross, which is bad, the ship is becalmed and everyone except him dies. Now he travels the earth where every so often he meets someone he is compelled to tell his story to. Poor wedding guest is stuck listening to the story, and is moved by it, which makes one of us.

I have no idea why killing albatrosses should be worse than killing anything else, no idea why he killed it in the first place, and no idea why everyone else should be killed thereby, nor why he is saved to tell the story. I'm going to guess it's something religious, or drug-addled. There are a few catchy lines, but there's a lot more that annoy me being so unnaturally stuffed into the scheme.

[kymmac · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read it again quickly for the course at cccb. Lovely poem. Looked up some lines from it which were used as chapter epilogue in Longitude, read with 1book140 in January.

[tess_i_am48 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my all time favorite epic poem for many reasons, among them being the beauty of the words. Coleridge eloquently tells the rough and tough story of the sea with deaths and shootings in a refined manner. Not only is his choice of words well above the average cut, but the order in which he places the words delights the reader. This is a yearly read for me.

[markbstephenson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Many years ago I heard a radio broadcast of Richard Burton reading this which moved me very deeply. I still reread it every so often just as I reread scripture and other writings which remind me of God's pure love for all his creations-even me.

[tullius22 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's magnificent--a true English epic. I 'cannot choose but hear'. (10/10)

[catfantastic_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This poem establishes an easy rhythm, it has a swift pace, enhanced by the use of repition and rhyme and makes for a quick and easy read. The imagery is often captivating - "the water, like a witch's oils,/ Burnt green, and blue, and white." or "Her lips were red, her looks were free/ Her locks were yellow as gold:/ Her skin was white as leprosy," are brief examples. There are many famous lines, of course, "As idle as a painted ship/ Upon a painted ocean." and "Water, water, everywhere,/ Nor any drop to drink." immediately spring to mind. This particular edition, published by Random House in 1994, is filled with full colour illustrations, mesmerizing paintings by Pogany which further draw the reader in and immerse him or her in the story. The story itself is filled with spirits, demons and celestial beings, moves rapidly and is vastly captivating. This is an enjoyable poem, widely quoted and referenced and well worth the read. 4/5

[tonymilner · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This version, illustrated by cartoonist Hunt Emerson, takes the poem and makes it absolutely hillarious. I first came across Hunt Emmerson's cartoon version at Wordsworth museum in Grasmere, which put up an exhibition of illustrations of the poem in in which his work featured. At the time it was out of print, but I recently discovered this 2008 reprint, much to my delight. Apparently the Wordsworth Museum is in negotiation to purchase the original drawings.

[benjaminhahn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'm glad that Folio Society dedicated their efforts to such short work, and in a single volume. The wood engravings by Garrick Palmer have the same gothic tone even if they are a little too abstract for my taste. I think that Palmer also did the wood engravings for the Folio Society's Moby Dick as well. The poem itself is haunting and clever. I particularly like the moral of not hurting animals linked with the superstitions of sailors. I however fail to see all the connections to Christianity that other reviews mention. I think Coleridge was more fascinated by nature mysticism and old pagan believes and folksy form of story telling. Even though it took barely an hour to read slowly, the poem left me with a bit of a chill. Mainly because it leaves you wondering how much of the Mariners "rime" is a hallucination and how much is based in reality.