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.

'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?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a woful 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;
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 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 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 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.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

1775-1864

ROSE AYLMER

Aн, what avails the sceptred race,
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these watchful eyes
May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and of sighs

I consecrate to thee.

EPITAPH

I STROVE With none, for none were worth my strife.
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art.

I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

CHILD OF A DAY

CHILD of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thine urn,

The gushing eyes that read thy lot,

Nor, if thou knewest, could'st return!

And why the wish! the pure and blest
Watch, like thy mother, o'er thy sleep;

O peaceful night! O envied rest!

Thou wilt not ever see her weep.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

1767-1844

HOHENLINDEN

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat at dead of night
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven;
And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye Brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

EARL MARCH

EARL MARCH looked on his dying child,

And, smit with grief to view her

The youth, he cried, whom I exiled
Shall be restored to woo her.