| 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 | 550 |
That come from a far Contrée.
| |
| 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 ne'rd: 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— | 560 |
| "And they answer'd not our cheer. | |
| "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails | |
| "How thin they are and sere! | |
| "I never saw aught like to them | |
"Unless perchance it were
| |
| "The 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.
| 570 |
| "Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look— | |
| (The Pilot made reply) | |
| "I am a-fear'd.—"Push on, push on! | |
"Said the Hermit cheerily.
| |
| The Boat came closer to the Ship, | |
| But I ne spake ne stirr'd! | |
| The Boat came close beneath the Ship, | |
And strait a sound was heard!
| |
| Under the water it rumbled on, | |
| Still louder and more dread: | 580 |
| It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay; | |
The Ship went down like lead.
| |
| Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, | |
| Which sky and ocean smote: | |
| Like one that hath been seven days drown'd | |
| 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: | 590 |
| And all was still, save that the hill | |
Was telling of the sound.
| |
| I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd | |
| And fell down in a fit. | |
| The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes | |
And pray'd where he did sit.
| |
| I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, | |
| Who now doth crazy go, | |
| Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while | |
| His eyes went to and fro, | 600 |
| "Ha! ha!" quoth he—"full plain I see, | |
"The devil knows how to row."
| |
| And now all in my own Countrée | |
| I stood on the firm land! | |
| The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, | |
And scarcely he could stand.
| |
| "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man! | |
| The Hermit cross'd his brow— | |
| "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say | |
"What manner man art thou?
| 610 |
| Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd | |
| With a woeful agony, | |
| Which forc'd me to begin my tale | |
And then it left me free.
| |
| Since then at an uncertain hour, | |
| Now oftimes and now fewer, | |
| That anguish comes and makes me tell | |
My ghastly aventure.
| |
| I pass, like night, from land to land; | |
| I have strange power of speech; | 620 |
| The 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 | 630 |
| Alone on a wide wide sea: | |
| So lonely 'twas, that God himself | |
Scarce seemed 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, | 640 |
| 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.
| 650 |
| The Marinere, whose eye is bright, | |
| Whose beard with age is hoar, | |
| Is gone; and now the wedding-guest | |
Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
| |
| He went, like one that hath been stunn'd | |
| And is of sense forlorn: | |
| A sadder and a wiser man | |
| He rose the morrow morn. | |