Ride stately as on Ocean’s wave? All pale
And thin their ghostly canvas, by no gale
Propelled or swollen, and with a phantom crew
As insubstantial as the shapes he drew,—
The Ancient Mariner in his ghastly tale!
Tall as a royal Admiral, every sail
Invites the breeze yet dallying with the dew
On beds of lilies, mindless of the deep.
Drifting they however between earth and heaven,
Pale Carriers of the souls of them who sleep,
Or Angel-bringers to our longings given!
That when the first cool blasts, like reason, smite,
Fade into common keels, or vanish out of sight!
