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• Dear Lord ! it has 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 countrée

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 ?'

Forth with this frame of mind 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

This heart within me burns.

I pass, 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 brid-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 altogether 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. Fontos 28-1849.

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My husband's father told it me,
Poor old Leoni !- Angels rest his soul!
He was a woodman, and could fell and saw
With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam
Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel;
Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,
He found a baby wrapt in mosses lined
With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool
As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home
And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost.
A pretty boy, but most unteachable-
And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,
And never learnt a prayer nor told a head,
But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes,

And whistled, as he were a bird himself:
And all the Autumn 'twas his only play
To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them,
With earth and water, on the stumps of trees.
A friar, who sought for simples in the wood,
A grey-haired man-he loved this little boy,
The boy loved him-and, when the friar taught him,
He soon could write with the pen ; and from that time
Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle.
So he became a very learned youth.
But, Oh! poor wretch—he read, and read, and read,
Till his brain turned-and ere his twentieth year
He had unlawful thoughts of many things :
And though he prayed, he never loved to pray
With holy men, nor in a holy place
But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,
The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him.
And once, as by the north side of the chapel
They stood together, chained in deep discourse,
The earth heaved under them with such a groan,
That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen
Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened ;
A fever seized him, and he made confession
Of all the heretical and lawless talk
Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized
And cast into that cell. My husband's father
Sobbed like a child—it almost broke his heart:
And once as he was working near the cell
He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's
Who sang a doleful song about green fields,
How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
And wander up and down at liberty.
Leoni doted on the youth, and now

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