Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 101

The harbour-bay was clear as gla.s.s, 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 steep'd in silentness The steady weatherc.o.c.k.

The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,

And the bay was white with silent light Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.

And appear in their own forms of light.

A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-- O 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 O, 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 turn'd 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 G.o.dly hymns That he makes in the wood.

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.

PART VII

The Hermit of the Wood.

'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 cus.h.i.+on plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat near'd: I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow!

Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?"

Approacheth the s.h.i.+p with wonder.

"Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said-- "And they answer'd not our cheer!

The planks looked warp'd! 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-fear'd"--"Push on, push on!"

Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the s.h.i.+p, But I nor spake nor stirr'd; The boat came close beneath the s.h.i.+p, And straight a sound was heard.

The s.h.i.+p suddenly sinketh.

Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reach'd the s.h.i.+p, it split the bay; The s.h.i.+p went down like lead.

The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.

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 s.h.i.+p, 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 shriek'd And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised 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.

"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 stepp'd forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.

The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!"

The Hermit cross'd his brow.

"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say-- What manner of man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free.

And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;

Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns.

I pa.s.s, 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 G.o.d 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, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!

And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that G.o.d made and loveth.

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!

He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.