I moved my lips-the Pilot shrieked The holy Hermit raised his eyes, I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while 'Ha ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, 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!' 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 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 O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been So lonely 'twas, that God Himself O sweeter than the marriage-feast, "Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk 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 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, A sadder and a wiser man, WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 1775-1864 ROSE AYLMER Aн, what avails the sceptred race, Rose Aylmer, whom these watchful eyes A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee. EPITAPH I STROVE With none, for none were worth my strife. I warmed both hands before the fire of life; CHILD OF A DAY CHILD of a day, thou knowest not The gushing eyes that read thy lot, Nor, if thou knewest, could'st return! And why the wish! the pure and blest 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, But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven; But redder yet that light shall glow '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, 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 |