He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away PART VII. The hermit of the wood, THIS hermit good lives in that wood How loudly his sweet voice he rears! That come from a far countree. 510 515 He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve 520 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, 525 Approacheth "Strange, by my faith!" the hermit said— แ The planks look warped! and see those sails, 530 I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 535 And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young." "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look (The pilot made reply) I am a-feared"—"Push on, push on!" 540 Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 550 The ancient 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. 555 Mariner is saved in the pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, And all was still, save that the hill I moved my lips-the pilot shrieked 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, 560 565 The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him. 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, "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man! "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say— Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 570 575 What loud uproar bursts from that door! 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 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 !— |