noteworthy: "Fall of Robespierre" (1794), a (1794), a play of which he wrote the first act; "Moral and Political Lecture Delivered at Bristol" (1795); "Conciones ad Populum" (1795), being addresses to the people; "The Plot Discovered" (1795), a political pamphlet; "Poems on Various Subjects" (1796); "The Destiny of Nations" (1828), first published in Southey's "Joan of Arc;" "Ode to the Departing Year" (1796); "Fears in Solitude" (1798); "Wallenstein" (1800); "Remorse, a Tragedy" (1813); "Christabel," with "Kubla Khan" and "Pains of Sleep" (1816); “Biographia Literaria" (1817); " Aids to Reflection" (1825); "Table Talk" (1835); "Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit" (1840), the last two posthumous. The "Ancient Mariner" was first published in 1798, in a volume of "Lyrical Ballads" (with Wordsworth).

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one.

The WeddingGuest is spellbound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.

IN SEVEN PARTS.

1798.

Ir is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three,

"By thy long gray 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, gray-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

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 harbor cleared,

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the lighthouse top.

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

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 here beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man
The bright-eyed Mariner.

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,
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 cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with good wind and fair weather, till it reached the Line.

The WeddingGuest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner continueth his tale.

The ship drawn by
a storm toward
the south pole.

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

At length did cross an Albatross:
Through 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 a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' 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.

"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 THE SECOND.

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!

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!

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.

'T was right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.