Puslapio vaizdai


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 cushion 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?"

Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said"And they answered not our cheer!

The planks look warped! and see those


How thin they are and sere!

I never saw ought 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."

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.

Approacheth the ship with wonder.

The ship suddenlysinketh.

The ancient
Mariner is

saved in the

Pilot's boat.

Under the water it rumbled on,

Still louder and more dread:

It reach'd 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 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;

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."


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 cross'd his brow.

"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee sayWhat manner of man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd

With a woeful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale;

And then it left me free.

The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth

the Hermit to shrieve him;

and the penance of life falls on him.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,

That agony returns;

And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

And ever and anon throughout his future

life an agony constraineth him to travel

from land to


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 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,

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