"Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. "This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, "This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart No voice; but oh, the silence sank "But soon I heard the dash of oars, My head was turned perforce away, "The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, "I saw a third-I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrive my soul, he'll wash away PART VII. "This Hermit good lives in that wood How loudly his sweet voice he rears! 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 neared: I heard them talk: Where are those lights so many and fair, "Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said'And they answered not our cheer! The planks look warped! and see those sails I never saw aught like to them, "Brown skeleton of leaves that lag My forest brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look' (The Pilot made reply) Ì am a-feared'-'Push on, push on!' "The boat came closer to the ship, The boat came close beneath the ship, "Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; "Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. "Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, "I moved my lips-the Pilot shrieked The holy Hermit raised his eyes "I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Laughed loud and long, and all the while 'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, "And now, all in my own countree, The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, "Oh, shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man !' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee sayWhat manner of man art thou?' "Forthwith this frame of mine 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, "I pass, like night, from land to land; I know the man that must hear me: "What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bridemaids singing are; 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. 'Oh, sweeter than the marriage-feast, To walk together to the kirk "To walk together to the kirk, 66 And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, 'Farewell, farewell! but this I tell "He prayeth best, who loveth best The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest He went like one that hath been stunned, A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. CHARITY. JOHN RUSKIN. The beams of morning are renewed, O dew of heaven; O light of earth! By noon and night, by sun and shower, The violets light the lonely hill, THE YELLOW VIOLET. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. When beechen buds begin to swell, Peeps from the last year's leaves below. Ere russet fields their green resume, Of all her train, the hands of Spring Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. · Thy parent sun, who bade thee view Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. |