'And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, 666 "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 66 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, '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 bride-maids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, 'O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemèd 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, '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, And is of sense forlorn : A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. THE HAUNTED PALACE I IN the greenest of our valleys, In the monarch Thought's dominion, Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! COLERIDGE. R II Banners-yellow, glorious, golden- On its roof did float and flow (This, all this, was in the olden Time, long ago); And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, III Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene !) In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. IV And all with pearl and ruby glowing Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king. V But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Of the old time entombed. VI And travellers now within that valley, While, like a ghastly rapid river, A hideous throng rush out for ever POE. THE BARD PINDARIC ODE RUIN Seize thee, ruthless King! Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: 'To arms!' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air) And with a Master's hand and Prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 'Hark, how each giant-oak and desert cave Sigh's to the torrent's aweful voice beneath! To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay, |