"A SAIL! A SAIL!"
Reading edition
(Extracts from a New (Parliamentary) Version of "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.")
An Ancient Mariner meeteth a sorely-pressed M.P. hurrying to a Division, and stoppeth him.]
It is an Ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth an M.P. "By thy scant white hair and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The lobby doors are open wide, And if I don't get in, But give the slip to our stern Whip, Just won't there be a din!" He holds him with his skinny hand. "There was a Ship!" quoth he. The Member pressed he beat his breast, Suppressing a big, big D!
The sorely-pressed M.P. is spell-bound by the eye of the Grand Old Seafaring Man, and constrained to hear his tale.]
He holds him with his glittering eye; The Member pressed stands still. And listens, though exceeding wild— The Mariner hath his will. The Member pressed sits on a post, He cannot choose but hear; And thus speaks out that Grand Old Man, The bright-eyed Mariner—
The Mariner tells how the good ship H.M. Government sailed for Ireland with a good wind and fair weather till she reached a certain Line.]
The Ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop, Laden with many a blessed Bill From kelson to orlop, The Sun of hope had left the left, Out in the cold they be. But it shone bright on the (Speaker's) right When we put forth to sea.
Where the Ship is driven by a storm (of Opposition) toward the Poll.]
And now the Storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong. He struck with his opposing wings, And set our course all wrong. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the coat-tail of his foe And feeleth for his head, The Ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And Winterward we fled.
Till a great lolloping, hindering, inopportune sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality—by our opponents. And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of ill-omen, impeding the progress of the Ship in most aggravating fashion.]
At length did cross an Albatross: Through fog and frost it came; A noisy, rude, Obstructive bird; Devoid of sense or shame. Day after day it blocked our way, As round and round it flew. In spite of it, by patient wit, Our helmsman steered us through. When a fair wind sprang up behind, The Albatross did follow, And every day hindered our way, Despite the Mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud it strove to shroud Our course athwart the brine, Night after night it led to fight, And kicking up of shine.
The Ancient Mariner incontinently killeth the bird of ill-omen.]
"God help thee, Ancient Mariner! From the fiends that plague thee thus! What did'st thou do?" With my closure-bow I shot the Albatross!!!
When the fog cleared his shipmates justified the same, and thus make themselves accomplices therein.]
Now round and red, like a Scotchman's 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 brought the fog and mist.
The fair breeze continues; the Ship enters the Sea of Silence by the Straits of Gag.]
The fair breeze blew, the gag-saved crew, Were from Obstruction free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea!
"A SAIL! A SAIL!"
("The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.")
The Ship is suddenly becalmed, and findeth that enforced silence means not peaceful progress.]
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; With flopping sail of what avail The silence of the sea? Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
The Spirit of Obstruction had followed in spook-like silent, sub-marine secrecy.]
And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us, From the land of mist and snow. If this be so, my shipmates said, What use that bird to shoot? We make no way, no more than if We were shackled hand and foot.
The shipmates, in their sore distress, are tempted to throw the blame on the Ancient Mariner.]
Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! My gain seemed loss, the Albatross Around my neck was hung.
II.
The Ancient Mariner beholdeth a long-hoped-for sign in the element afar off.]
There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a dreary time! (Devoted to "Supply,") When, looking westward, I beheld A Something in the sky!
It groweth and assumeth substantial shape.]
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 some awkward question It plunged, and tacked, and veered.
At its nearer approach it seemeth to him to be a ship, bearing the hopeful name of Autumn Session.]
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We scarce could laugh or wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my tongue—it did me good— And cried "A Sail! A Sail!!!"
A flash of joy among his shipmates,]
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 whistling all.
And of anger amidst their foes.]
Our fierce foes' faces went aflame, They felt that they were done! Their thoughts were of the western main, Of moor, and dog, and gun, When that strange shape drave suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.
The Ancient Mariner postponeth the sequel of his strange story to a more convenient occasion.]
Ah, Member pressed, I'll leave the rest Until—say next December! Whether that Sail did bring us aid, Or with my shipmate's wishes played; Whether it made them welcome Autumn, Or Tales of Hope to question taught 'em; Whether (as spook) that Albatross Appeared again our path to cross; If it portended gain or loss (Uncertain these, as pitch-and-toss!) I'll tell you when again we meet, On this same post, in this same street— Oh, Member pressed—remember!
JUSTIFIABLE DECEPTION.
Nervous Old Party (who has been making himself rather a nuisance all the way). "A—a—surely, my dear Sir, this Galloping up these Hills is extremely a—a—to say the least, reckless!"
Jack Highflyer (Proprietor and Coachman, who has been spirting his Team up several short rises). "Gallop! Call this Galloping? By George, just you wait till Return Stage—see me go down 'em! Greased Lightning a fool to it!"
[Result as desired. Old Gentleman clears out shortly, for purpose of writing to "Times," and so makes way for Fair Passenger behind.]