Coleridge & Lord Byron

Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Biography

(1772-1834), was a poet, philosopher, and critic of the English romantic movement. His poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" is one of the greatest in English literature, and all his major poems are among the most original. They embody ideals of romanticism, a literary movement that stressed imagination, passion, and the supernatural. His literary criticism has influenced most later critics. Coleridge was born in Devonshire. He studied at Cambridge University, where he met Robert Southey in 1794. The two young poets favored the principles of the French Revolution and planned to found a pantisocracy (a utopian society) in the United States. They also collaborated in 1794 on a drama opposing monarchy. About 1800, Coleridge's health began to fail. He had begun taking opium to relieve the pain of rheumatism. His marriage, never happy, caused him increasing distress after he fell in love with Wordsworth's sister-in-law, Sara Hutchinson. He spent his last years under a doctor's care, largely to control his opium addiction. Coleridge's other famous poems are "Kubla Khan" and "Christabel." Coleridge said, possibly incorrectly, that "Kubla Khan" was inspired by an opium dream. "Christabel" is an unfinished narrative of medieval times. Both poems deal with the visionary and the supernatural, combining vivid, dreamlike images with rich literary references and intricate symbolism. Coleridge blended keen psychological insights with precise pictures of natural scenes in his meditative lyrics, notably "Dejection: An Ode" (1802). Coleridge was most influential in his literary criticism. He said that a good poem has an organic (natural), not a mechanical (artificial), unity. He used this idea, among other ways, to greatly elevate the reputation of English playwright William Shakespeare. Coleridge emphasized that poetry is creative or expressive, rather than imitative, and insisted that imagination, not reason, is the foundation of the fine arts.

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

Introduction: How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole ; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean ; and of the strange things that befell ; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. PART I An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one. It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. `By thy long beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin ; The guests are met, the feast is set : May'st hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand, `There was a ship,' quoth he. `Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon !' Eftsoons his hand dropt he. The Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale. He holds him with his glittering eye-- The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child : The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : He cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. `The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he ! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon--' The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music ; but the Mariner continueth his tale. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she ; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole. `And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong : He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, The 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. The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing was to be seen. 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 cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound ! Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality. 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 eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; The helmsman steered us through ! And lo ! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice. 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 perched for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.' The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen. `God save thee, ancient Mariner ! From the fiends, that plague thee thus !-- Why look'st thou so ?'--With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.

PART II The Sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo ! His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck. And I had done an hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe : For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow ! But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime. Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist : Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze continues ; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free ; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. The ship hath been suddenly becalmed. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be ; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. And the Albatross begins to be avenged. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink ; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot : O Christ ! That ever this should be ! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night ; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. A Spirit had followed them ; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more. And some in dreams assur'd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so ; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root ; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient Mariner : in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck. Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.

PART III There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time ! a weary time ! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. The ancient Mariner beholdeth a sign in the element afar off. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist ; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! And still it neared and neared : As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered. At its nearer approach, it seemeth him to be a ship ; and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail ; Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail ! a sail ! A flash of joy. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call : Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. And horror follows. For can it be a ship that comes onward without wind or tide? See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more ! Hither to work us weal ; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel ! The western wave was all a-flame. The day was well nigh done ! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun ; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. It seemeth him but the skeleton of a ship. And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace !) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. And its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun. Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears ! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres ? The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton ship. And those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate ? And is that Woman all her crew ? Is that a DEATH ? and are there two ? Is DEATH that woman's mate ? Like vessel, like crew ! Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. Death and Life-in-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice ; `The game is done ! I've won ! I've won !' Quoth she, and whistles thrice. No twilight within the courts of the Sun. The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : At one stride comes the dark ; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark. At the rising of the Moon, We listened and looked sideways up ! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip ! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steerman's face by his lamp gleamed white ; From the sails the dew did drip-- Till clomb above the eastern bar The hornŽd Moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. One after another. One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. His shipmates drop down dead. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. But Life-in-Death begins her work on the ancient Mariner. The souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe ! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my cross-bow !

PART IV The Wedding-Guest feareth that a Spirit is talking to him. `I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! I fear thy skinny hand ! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.'-- Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! This body dropt not down. But the ancient Mariner assureth him of his bodily life, and proceedeth to relate his horrible penance. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea ! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. He despiseth the creatures of the calm. The many men, so beautiful ! And they all dead did lie : And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on ; and so did I. And envieth that they should live, and so many lie dead. 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. But the curse liveth for him in the eye of the dead men. 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, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward ; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival. 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 charmŽd water burnt alway A still and awful red. By the light of the Moon he beholdeth God's creatures of the great calm. 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, They coiled and swam ; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. Their beauty and their happiness. He blesseth them in his heart. 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 spell begins to break. 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 V 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. By grace of the holy Mother, the ancient Mariner is refreshed with rain. 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'd ghost. He heareth sounds and seeth strange sights and commotions in the sky and the element. 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 ! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge ; And the rain poured down from one black cloud ; The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side : Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. The bodies of the ship's crew are inspired, and the ship moves on. The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on ! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on ; Yet never a breeze up-blew ; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do ; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee : The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me. But not by the souls of the men, nor by demons of earth or middle air, but by a blessed troop of angelic spirits, sent down by the invocation of the guardian saint. `I fear thee, ancient Mariner !' Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest : For when it dawned--they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast ; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun ; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing ; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning ! And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute ; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe : Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. The lonesome Spirit from the south-pole carries on the ship as far as the Line, in obedience to the angelic troop, but still requireth vengeance. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid : and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean : But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion-- Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound : It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. The Polar Spirit's fellow-demons, the invisible inhabitants of the element, take part in his wrong ; and two of them relate, one to the other, that penance long and heavy for the ancient Mariner hath been accorded to the Polar Spirit, who returneth southward. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare ; But ere my living life returned, I heard and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. `Is it he ?' quoth one, `Is this the man ? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew : Quoth he, `The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'

PART VI FIRST VOICE `But tell me, tell me ! speak again, Thy soft response renewing-- What makes that ship drive on so fast ? What is the ocean doing ?' SECOND VOICE `Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast ; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast-- If he may know which way to go ; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see ! how graciously She looketh down on him.' The Mariner hath been cast into a trance ; for the angelic power causeth the vessel to drive northward faster than human life could endure. FIRST VOICE `But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind ?' SECOND VOICE `The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! Or we shall be belated : For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated.' The supernatural motion is retarded ; the Mariner awakes, and his penance begins anew. I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather : 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high ; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter : All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away : I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. The curse is finally expiated. And now this spell was snapt : once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen-- Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made : Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring-- It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too : Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew. And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country. Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed The light-house top I see ? Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? Is this mine own countree ? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- O let me be awake, my God ! Or let me sleep alway. The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn ! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock : The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. And appear in their own forms of light. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were : I turned my eyes upon the deck-- Oh, Christ ! what saw I there ! 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 ; This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer ; My head was turned perforce away And I saw a boat appear. The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast : Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third--I heard his voice : It is the Hermit good ! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.

PART VII The Hermit of the Wood This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve-- He hath a cushion plump : It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. 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 ?' Approacheth the ship with wonder. `Strange, by my faith !' the Hermit said-- `And they answered not our cheer ! The planks looked 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.' `Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look-- (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared'--`Push on, push on !' Said the Hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred ; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. The ship suddenly sinketh. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread : It reached the ship, it split the bay ; The ship went down like lead. The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat. 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 moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit ; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. 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 my own countree, I stood on the firm land ! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him ; and the penance of life falls on him. `O shrieve me, shrieve 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 woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale ; And then it left me free. And ever and anon through out his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land . 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 that door ! The wedding-guests are there. But in the garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing are : And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer ! O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea : So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seem'd there to be. O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company !-- To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay ! And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth. Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest ! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone : and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. 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 Rime of the Ancient Mariner" Discussion Questions

1) What happens to the ship as a result of the storm? What change occurs when the Albatross appears? 2) What "hellish thing" does the Mariner do? How do the other sailors at first react to this deed? What changes their minds? 3) Who is the crew of the strange ship that appears in Part III? What happens to the Mariner's shipmates soon after the appearance of this ship? 4) What changes take place in the Mariner in Part IV? What burden is he freed of as a result of these changes? 5) According to the margin notes in Part V, what force causes the ship to move? Who serves as the crew of the ship on this leg of its journey? What force takes control of the ship at the equator? 6) What does the Mariner hope the Hermit will do for him? 7) What is the Mariner's lifelong penance? 8) What do you think the Albatross symbolizes, or stands for? Find evidence to support your answer. 9) In what ways might the journey of the Mariner be seen as spiritual as well as actual? 10) Some of the events Coleridge describes are realistic and others are fantasy. Why does he include these different elements within the same poem?

Coleridge's "Kubla Kahn"

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round : And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! A savage place ! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced : Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war ! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves ; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw : It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

"Kubla Khan" Discussion Questions

1) What was the size of the palatial estate that Kubla Khan ordered built? 2) What, according to the second stanza, wasforced up through "that deep romantic chasm"? 3) What did Kubla Khan hear in the noise made by the river emptying into the ocean? 4) According to the last stanza, what did the speaker once see in a vision? What part of that vision does the speaker wish he could revive and for what purpose? 5) Using your own words, what does the speaker say would happen to him and "all who heard" if he were able to revive his vision? 6) What statement do you think Coleridge is making here about the power of imagination? 7) Do you feel that Coleridge's imagination and "music" combine to make his vision seem real for the reader?

Lord Byron’s (George Gordon) Biography

(1788-1824), was the most colorful of the English romantic poets. Many people find his adventurous life as interesting as his poetry. Byron often set his poems in Europe and the Near East, and they reflect his own experiences and beliefs. Byron's poetry is sometimes violent, sometimes tender, and frequently exotic. However, the underlying theme is always Byron's insistence that people be free to choose their own course in life. George Gordon Byron was born in London, but he lived most of his first 10 years in Scotland with his mother. His father, who had abandoned Byron's mother, died when the boy was 3. Byron inherited the title Lord Byron at the age of 10, upon the death of his great-uncle. He then returned to England, where he attended Harrow School and Cambridge University. Byron's first book of poems, Hours of Idleness (1807), was severely criticized by the Edinburgh Review, a Scottish literary magazine. Byron replied with English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (1809), a verse satire in which he attacked almost every notable literary figure of the day. From 1809 to 1811, Byron traveled through southern Europe and parts of the Near East. In 1812, he published the first two cantos (sections) of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. These cantos, set in the countries he had recently visited, chiefly Portugal, Spain, Albania, and Greece, immediately established his fame. Eastern verse tales, such as The Bride of Abydos (1813) and The Corsair (1814), kept him in the public eye. In 1815, Byron married Anne Isabella Milbanke. They had a brief, unhappy marriage, during which a daughter, Ada, was born. The marriage ended partly because of rumors that Byron had committed incest with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh. Byron left England forever in 1816. Byron spent several months in Switzerland, where he met fellow poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. Byron then settled in Italy, where he carried on a long romance with the Countess Teresa Guiccioli and became involved in Italian revolutionary politics. Byron also wrote such works as the verse dramas Manfred (1817) and Cain (1821). His last and greatest work was the long, unfinished epic Don Juan. In 1823, while writing this poem, Byron decided to join the Greeks in their war for independence from the Turks. After a brief illness, he died in Missolonghi, Greece. During Byron's last years, he wrote several types of works, notably such historical and Biblical tragedies as Sardanapalus (1821) and Cain. But the masterpiece of his Italian period is Don Juan. Byron wrote the poem in the loose, flexible Italian verse form called ottava rima. The poem deflates the legendary lover Don Juan to the level of a comic epic hero. The most important element in Don Juan, however, is the narrator, a free and self-contradictory spirit whose tone changes continually, ranging through the forceful, biting, sentimental, cynical, self-mocking, and self-assured. The narrator's voice maintains Byron's scorn for what he called cant, the deceptions played by individuals and societies upon one another. Despite the range of Byron's poetry, that scorn is the main force running from the beginning to the end of his career.

Byron's "She Walks in Beauty"

She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

"She Walks in Beauty" Discussion Questions

1) In "She Walks in Beauty," to what does the speaker of the poem compare the lady's beauty? 2) What color is the lady's hair? 3) What do you think is the meaning of "that tender light" in line 5? 4) What does the speaker believe the woman's appearance reveals about her character? 5)Why was nature a logical choice for Byron as something with which to compare a lady's beauty? Why would it be a logical choice for any comparison by Byron?

Byron's "We'll No More Go A-Roving"

So we'll go no more a roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And Love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.

"So We'll No More Go A-Roving" Discussion Questions

1) What does the speaker say that "Love itself" must have? 2) What do you think is meant by the line "And the soul wears out the breast"? Why must the heart "pause to breathe"? 3) Why will the speaker "go no more a-roving"? How might you summarize in one sentence the speaker's message? 4) Which properties of the Romantic spirit are evident in this poem?

from Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage"
(Apostrophe to the Ocean)

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. His steps are not upon thy paths-thy fields Are not a spoil for him-thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth-there let him lay. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war- These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt Into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee- Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters washed them power while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts-not so thou, Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play. Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow; Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving-boundless, endless, and sublime; The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror- 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here.

from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
"Apostrophe to the Ocean" Discussion Questions

1) How does the speaker of the poem say the ocean makes him feel? 2) How does he say the ocean treats such things as warships and sea monsters? 3) What childhood memories of the ocean does the speaker have? 4) In line 10, the speaker describes the movement of ships over the ocean as "in vain." What might he mean by this? 5) What property of the ocean does the speaker admire in the fifth stanza? 6) What double meaning might the speaker have intended in his reference to the ocean as a glorious mirror in line 46?

from Byron's "Don Juan"

But now at thirty years my hair is grey (I wonder what it will be like at forty? I thought of a peruke the other day) -- My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I Have squander'd my whole summer while 't was May, And feel no more the spirit to retort; I Have spent my life, both interest and principal, And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible. No more -- no more -- Oh! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new, Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee: Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew? Alas! 't was not in them, but in thy power To double even the sweetness of a flower. No more -- no more -- Oh! never more, my heart, Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, Though heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment. My days of love are over; me no more The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow, Can make the fool of which they made before, -- In short, I must not lead the life I did do; The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, The copious use of claret is forbid too, So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, I think I must take up with avarice. Ambition was my idol, which was broken Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure; And the two last have left me many a token O'er which reflection may be made at leisure: Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, "Time is, Time was, Time's past:" -- a chymic treasure Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes -- My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. What is the end of Fame? 't is but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King Cheops erected the first pyramid And largest, thinking it was just the thing To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid; But somebody or other rummaging, Burglariously broke his coffin's lid: Let not a monument give you or me hopes, Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. But I being fond of true philosophy, Say very often to myself, "Alas! All things that have been born were born to die, And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass; You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly, And if you had it o'er again -- 't would pass -- So thank your stars that matters are no worse, And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse." But for the present, gentle reader! and Still gentler purchaser! the bard -- that's I -- Must, with permission, shake you by the hand, And so "Your humble servant, and good-b'ye!" We meet again, if we should understand Each other; and if not, I shall not try Your patience further than by this short sample -- 'T were well if others follow'd my example. "Go, little book, from this my solitude! I cast thee on the waters -- go thy ways! And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, The world will find thee after many days." When Southey's read, and Wordsworth understood, I can't help putting in my claim to praise -- The four first rhymes are Southey's every line: For God's sake, reader! take them not for mine.

from Don Juan Discussion Questions

1) What causes the speaker to think of a peruke, or wig? 2) What, according to lines 17 and 18 does the speaker say has been his "sole world" and "universe" up until now? According to the fourth stanza, with what "old-gentlemanly vice" will he replace it? 3) In the fifth stanza, the speaker notes that glittering youth" is a "chymic, " or counterfeit, "treasure," In what way do you think he means this? 4) Summarize the point the speaker is making when he uses Cheops as an example.