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.

COLERIDGE.

LIX

VERSES

(SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITUDE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ).

I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

O Solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms

Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech;
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, Friendship and Love,
Divinely bestowed upon man,
O had I the wings of a dove

How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion what treasure untold

Lies hid in that heavenly word! More precious than silver or gold,

Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell, These valleys and rocks never heard; Never sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more;
My friends do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the wind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the seafowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace

And reconciles man to his lot.

COWPER.

LX

THE INCHCAPE ROCK.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be,
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
So little.they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had floated that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On the waves of the storm it floated and swung,
And louder and louder its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the tempest's swell,
The Mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay

All things were joyful on that day;

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, And there was joyance in their sound.

The float of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,
And fixed his eye on the darker speck,

He felt the cheering power of spring-
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess-
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the bell and float—
Quoth he "My men, put out the boat;
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,

And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,

And cut the warning bell from the float.

Down sunk the bell, with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the Rock Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;

He scoured the seas for many a day;

And now grown rich with plundered store
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.