 |
| A statue of the ancient mariner with the albatross around his neck, at Watchet, Somerset. "Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. (Wikipedia) |
The famous Rhyme of
the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge is about a seaman, that shoots an
albatross out of the sky, and then gets punished by the gods, by
various means, including running out of water. The moral of the story
could be: “Don't harm any wildlife, appreciate it as it is” or it
could be: “Make sure you have enough water on the trip” or even
“Make sure you carry a proper storm anchor, like a Jordan drogue”.
A western person
uses an average of 200 liters a day. We do not fully realize how much
this really is, and in the case of Norway, we do not even have to pay
for this water. On board of the SaltyPaws, our water consumption is
around 30 liters per person per day (and about a liter a day per
cat). Our tank is about 450 liters, at that means that we use 1/8 of
a tank a day (and this includes short showers). Since we have entered
the Med we have stayed overnight in a marina 6 times, and we have
carried out a hand full of “pit stops”. A pit stop is when we
enter a marina for a short time, and use this to fill diesel, water,
clean the deck, stock up on supplies etc. So, the majority of the
water that we use is actually produced right on the SaltyPaws, from
the very water of the sea.
Our water maker can
produce about half a tank, when we run it during the time of day with
the best sun (e.g 10-4). On shorter hops, we can produce about half a
tank, and all this, just using the power of the sun. The water is
produced via the reverse osmosis process, and a pre-filter is used to
remove the large particles. For this reason, we try to run the water
maker only in clean water (just look outside of the boat). Where the
particles cause a problem for the pre-filter, any petroleum
distillate (or even worse, raw) causes permanent damage to the
reverse osmosis membrane, which happens to be the most expensive part
of the water maker. On anchor, the water is typically not clean
enough to run, caused mostly by particles, and in marinas, the water
is generally contaminated by diesel, and whatnot else. Even in
enclosed areas of sea (e.g. between Corfu and Albania) or between
Lefkas and the mainland of Greece we typically find the water is not
clear enough to run.
The final condition
with the water maker is that is has to run frequently. At least every
2 weeks you need to run it, or microorganisms will contaminate the
filter. When anchored in foul water we have the option to back-flush
the system with water from the tank. As an alternative one can
“pickle” the water maker by using biocides, to make ready for
more long term storage.
The main reason for
having the water maker is the shortage of clean drinking water in the
Pacific. Only someone with the mind-set of a Darth-Vader would
extract water from a water staved atol. For a boat just staying in
the Med, a water maker is not necessary, but having written that
down, we really like our water maker even in the Med, as it has
allowed us to stay out of port for a long time. Having the water
maker allows us to have (slightly) longer showers, and even the
occasional deck wash (the rain in the Med dirties your boat, rather
than cleaning it).
The full text of the
rime of the ancient mariner follow below:
The Rime of the
Ancient Mariner (text of 1834)
BY SAMUEL TAYLOR
COLERIDGE
Argument
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 Ancient Mariner came back to his own
Country.
PART I
It is an ancient
Mariner,
And he stoppeth one
of three.
'By thy long grey
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.
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 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 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.
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!
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 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.'
'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
mariner's hollo!
And I had done a
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.
'Twas right, said
they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog
and mist.
The fair breeze
blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed
free;
We were the first
that ever burst
Into that silent
sea.
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.
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.
And some in dreams
assurèd 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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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?
Are 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?
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.
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.
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.
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 steersman's face
by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the
dew did drip—
Till clomb above the
eastern bar
The hornèd Moon,
with one bright star
Within the nether
tip.
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.
Four times fifty
living men,
(And I heard nor
sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a
lifeless lump,
They dropped down
one by one.
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
'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.
Alone, alone, all,
all alone,
Alone on a wide wide
sea!
And never a saint
took pity on
My soul in agony.
The many men, so
beautiful!
And they all dead
did lie:
And a thousand
thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did
I.
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 dead like a load
on my weary eye,
And the dead were at
my feet.
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.
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 charmèd water
burnt alway
A still and awful
red.
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.
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 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.
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 blessed
ghost.
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 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.
'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.
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.
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.'
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.'
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.
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.
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.
And the bay was
white with silent light,
Till rising from the
same,
Full many shapes,
that shadows were,
In crimson colours
came.
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
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?'
'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.
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.
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.
'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.
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 seemèd 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!
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment