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"If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him."
"But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind ?"
"The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.
Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high !
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will
'I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high; The dead men stood together.
'All stood together on the deck,
'The pang, the curse with which they died, Had never pass'd away :
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.
'And now this spell was snapt once more:
I view'd the ocean green,
And look'd far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen
'Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on, And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
'But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made :
Its path was not upon the sea,
'It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek
'Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
'Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
Is this the hill? is this the kirk ?
'We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
'The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
'The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock :
The moonlight steep'd in silentness
'And the bay was white with silent light, Till, rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
'A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were:
I turn'd my eyes upon the deck—
'Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
'This seraph-band, each waved his hand : It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
'This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
'But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turn'd perforce away,
"The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
'I saw a third-I heard his voice : It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
He'll shrieve my soul, he 'll wash away
'This Hermit good lives in that wood
That come from a far countree.
'He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve—
He hath a cushion plump :
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
'The skiff-boat near'd: I heard them talk,
"Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
"Strange, by my faith," the Hermit said
And they answer'd not our cheer! The planks look warp'd! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
shrieve] cleanse from sin.
Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along ;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
(The Pilot made reply)
"I am a-fear'd."-" Push on, push on!" Said the Hermit cheerily.
'The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirr❜d;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
'Under the water it rumbled on,
'Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drown'd
But swift as dreams, myself I found
'Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
'I moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit :
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,