Puslapio vaizdai
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I mov'd and could not feel my limbs,
I was so light, almost

I thought that I had died in sleep,

And was a blessed Ghost.

The roaring wind! it roar'd far off,
It did not come anear;

But with its sound it shook the sails
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air bursts into life,
And a hundred fire-flags sheen
To and fro they are hurried about;
And to and fro, and in and out

The stars dance on between.

The coming wind doth roar more loud;

The sails do sigh, like sedge:

The rain pours down from one black cloud And the Moon is at its edge.

Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft,

And the Moon is at its side:

Like waters shot from some high crag,

The lightning falls with never a jag

A river steep and wide.

The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd
And dropp'd down, like a stone!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,
Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes:

It had been strange, even in a dream
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steerd, the ship mov'd on; Yet never a breeze up-blew;

The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,

Where they were wont to do:

They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools→→→

We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son
Stood by me knee to knee:

The body and I pull'd at one rope,

But he said nought to me—

And I quak'd to think of my own voice

How frightful it would be!

The day-light dawn'd—they dropp'd their arms,

And cluster'd round the mast:

Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths

And from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,

Then darted to the sun :

Slowly the sounds came back again

Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes a dropping from the sky
I heard the Lavrock sing;

Sometimes all little birds that are

How they seem'd to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning,

And now 'twas like all instruments,

Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel's song

That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceas'd yet still the sails made on

:

A pleasant noise till noon,

A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune.

Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest!

"Marinere! thou hast thy will:

"For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still."

Never sadder tale was told

To a man of woman born :

Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest!
Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.

Never sadder tale was heard

By a man of woman born:

The Marineres all return'd to work

As silent as beforne.

The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes,
But look at me they n'old :

Thought I, I am as thin as air—

They cannot me behold.

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