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Each corse lay flat, lifeless and fat,
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,
Each one a lovely light.

“This seraph-band, each waved his hand,

No voice did they impart-
No voice; but oh, the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

“The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

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
The Albatross's blood.


“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 neared: 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 sails
How thin they are and sere !
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

“'Brown skeleton 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 Lords 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.

“ Under the water it rumbled on,

Still louder and more dread:
It reached 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 drowned
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.'

“And now, all in my own countree,

I stood on the firm land !
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

"Oh, 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?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

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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;
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 bridemaids 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.

“Oh, 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,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay.

Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest !
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 stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.



The beams of morning are renewed,

The valley laughs their light to see; And earth is bright with gratitude,

And heaven with Charity.

O dew of heaven; O light of earth!

Fain would our hearts be-filled with thee, Because nor darkness comes, nor dearth,

About the home of Charity.

By noon and night, by sun and shower,

By dews that fall and winds that flee, On grove and field, on fold and flower,

Is shed the peace of Charity.

The violets light the lonely hill,

The fruitful furrows load the lea; Man's heart alone is sterile still,

For lack of lowly Charity.



When beechen buds begin to swell,

Aud woods the blue-bird's warble know, The yellow violet's modest bell

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. Ere russet fields their green resume,

Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume

Alone is in the virgin air.
Of all her in, the hands of Spring

First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming

Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. Thy parent sun, who bade thee view

Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,

And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,

And earthward bent thy gentle eye, Unapt the passing view to meet,

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

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