Lyrical Ballads, With a Few Other Poems (1798) Part 3

And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-- O Christ! what saw I there?

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 wav'd his hand: It was a heavenly sight: They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light:

This seraph-band, each wav'd his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice; but O! the silence sank, Like music on my heart.

Eftsones I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer: My head was turn'd perforce away And I saw a boat appear.

Then vanish'd all the lovely lights; The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew.

The wind, that shade nor motion made, On me alone it blew.

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 G.o.dly hymns That he makes in the wood.

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.

VII.

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 Contree.

He kneels at morn and noon and eve-- He hath a cus.h.i.+on plump: It is the moss, that wholly hides The rotted old Oak-stump.

The Skiff-boat ne'rd: 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 answer'd not our cheer.

"The planks look warp'd, and see those sails "How thin they are and sere!

"I never saw aught like to them "Unless perchance it were

"The skeletons 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 Lord! it has a fiendish look"-- (The Pilot made reply) "I am a-fear'd.--"Push on, push on!"

Said the Hermit cheerily.

The Boat came closer to the s.h.i.+p, But I ne spake ne stirr'd!

The Boat came close beneath the s.h.i.+p, And strait a sound was heard!

Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reach'd the s.h.i.+p, it split the bay; The s.h.i.+p went down like lead.

Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote: Like one that hath been seven days drown'd My body lay afloat: But, swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the s.h.i.+p, The boat spun round and round: And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound.

I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit.

The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes And pray'd where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laugh'd 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 mine own Countree I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!"

The Hermit cross'd his brow-- "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say "What manner man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free.

Since then at an uncertain hour, Now oftimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure.

I pa.s.s, 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 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 G.o.d 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 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 G.o.d, who loveth us, He made and loveth all.

The Marinere, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is h.o.a.r, Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.

He went, like one that hath been stunn'd And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.

THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE, A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT.

FOSTER-MOTHER.

I never saw the man whom you describe.

MARIA.

'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly As mine and Albert's common Foster-mother.

FOSTER-MOTHER.

Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady, As often as I think of those dear times When you two little ones would stand at eve On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you-- 'Tis more like heaven to come than what _has_ been.