But, swift as dreams, myself I found

Within the pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, were 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.'

And now all in my own countrée

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 crossed his brow.
Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say

What manner of man art thou ?'

6

Forthwith this frame of mind was wrenched

With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale,

And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour

That agony returns ;

And till my ghastly tale is told

This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;

I have strange power of speech ;
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 bark 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 altogether pray, While each to his Great Father bends, Old and babes, and loving friends, And youths, and maidens gay.

men,

Farewell, farewell; But this I tell

To thee, thou wedding-guest I 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 stunnod.

And is of sense forlorn : A sadder and a wiser man

He rose the morrow moru.

REMORSE;

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

REMORSE.

w

ACT I.

a

SCENE 1.—The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada. Don ALVAR, wrapt in a Boat-cloak, and ZULIMEX

(a Moresco), both as just landed. Zul. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us !

Alv. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, "Tis surely this—after long years of exile To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. Hail, Spain ! Granada, hail! once more I

press Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers ! Zul. Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don

Alvar,
Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose.
It is too hazardous ! reveal yourself,
And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt !

Alu. Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother :
Injured, indeed ! O deeply injured ! yet
Ordonio's brother.

Zul. Nobly-minded Alvar!
This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.

Alv. The more behoves it, I should rouse within him Remorse! that I should save him from himself.

Zul. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows : If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews