"Now quha are ye, ye silly auld man,
That sleipis se sound and se weil ?
Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault
Throu' lokkis and barris of steel?"

The auld guidman he tryit to speak,
But ane word he culdna fynde;
He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round,
And ane thing he culdna mynde :-
"I cam' fra Fyfe," the auld man cryit,

"And I cam' on the mydnicht wynde."

They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld man, And they yerkit his limbis with twine,

Quhill the reide blude ran in his hose and shoon,

But some cryit it was wyne.

They lickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld man, And they tyit him till ane stone;

And they set ane bele-fire him about,

To burn him skin and bone.

"O wae to me!" said the puir auld man,

"That ever I saw the day!

And wae be to all the ill wemyng

That lead puir men astray !

"Let nevir ane auld man after this
To lawless greide inclyne;
Let nevir ane auld man after this
Rin post to the deil for wyne."

The reike flew up in the auld manis face,
And choukit him bitterlye;

And the lowe cam' up with ane angry blese,
And it syngit his auld breek-knee.

He lukit to the land fra whence he cam',

For lukis he culde get ne mae;

And he thochte of his deire little bairnis at hame,

And O the auld man was wae!

But they turnit their facis to the sun,

With gloffe and wonderous glair,

For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun,

Comin' swaipin down the ayr.

That burd it cam' fra the landis o' Fyfe,

And it cam' rycht tymeouslye,

For quha was it but the auld manis wife,
Just comit his dethe to see.

Scho put ane reide cap on his heide,
And the auld guidman lookit fain,
Then whisperit ane word intil his lug,
And tovit to the ayr again.

The auld guidman he ga'e ane bob,
I' the mids o' the burnyng lowe;
And the sheklis that band him to the ring,
They fell fra his armis like towe.

He drew his breath, and he said the word,
And he said it with muckil glee,
Then set his fit on the burnyng pile,
And away to the ayr flew he.

Till aince he cleirit the swirlyng reike,
He lukit beth ferit and sad;

But whan he wan to the lycht blue ayr,
He lauchit as he'd been mad.

His armis war spred, and his heid was hiche,
And his feite stack out behynde;
And the laibies of the auld manis cote
War wauffing in the wynde.

And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew,
For he thochte the ploy se raire ;
It was like the voice of the gainder blue,
Quhan he flees throu' the ayr.

He lukit back to the Carlisle men
As he borit the norlan sky;

He noddit his heide, and ga'e ane girn,
But he nevir said guid-bye.

They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale,
Ne mair the English saw,

But the auld manis lauche cam' on the gale,
With a lang and a loud gaffa.

May evir ilke man in the land of Fyfe

Read what the drinkeris dree;

And nevir curse his puir auld wife,

Richte wicked altho' scho be.

CMCORWAY.

[The wild and imaginative tale of The Ancient Mariner,' which, in the words of Sir Walter Scott, displays so much beauty with much eccentricity, was written, the reader needs scarcely be told, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and is the poem by which he is chiefly, if not, indeed, to many readers, exclusively, known. It is here taken from a volume entitled Sibylline Leaves, a Collection of Poems. By S. T. Coleridge, Esq London, 1817;' though that was not its first appearance in print. No information was afforded by the poet as to the existence of any matter-of-fact foundation for the story of the ballad; which, indeed, he in all probability wished the reader to consider cs a' trick' of strong imagination, bodying forth the forms of things unknown, and giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name.' And thus it has probably, with most readers, passed for more strange than true' For the principal incident, however, an origin has been found in a passage of Shelvocke's Voyage Round the World,' which the reader may see by referring to the note on page 140. Be this as it may, however, the ballad is not the less' wild and imaginative;' there is, as has been observed by an eminent writer, 'nothing else like it; it is a poem by itself; between it and other compositions en pari materia there is a chasm which you cannot overpass. The sensitive reader feels himself insulated, and a sea of wonder and mystery flows round him, as round the spell-stricken ship itself.'

T is an ancient Mariner
And he stoppeth one of three:
"By thy long gray beard and
glittering eye,

Now wherefore stopst thou me?

An ancient
Mariner meet-

eth three gal-
lants bidden to

a wedding feast, and detaineth one.

685

With sloping masts, and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shallow of his foe,
And forward bends his head;

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold;

And ice mast-high came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around;

It crackt and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound.

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;

As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had ate,
And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,
Came to the Mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud

It percht for vespers nine;

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,

'immered the white moonshine.

The land of ice and of fearful sounds, where no living thing was to be seen.

Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snowfog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.

And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.

The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good

omen.