Puslapio vaizdai

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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