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    VII.

    This Hermit good lives in that wood

    Which slopes down to the Sea.

    How loudly his sweet voice he rears!

    He loves to talk with Marineres

    That e from a far tree.

    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 nerd: I heard them talk,

    "Why, this is strange, I trow!

    &quot;Where are those lights so man<q></q>y and fair

    &quot;That signal made but now?

    &quot;Strange, by my faith!&quot; the Hermit said--

    &quot;And they answerd not our cheer.

    &quot;The planks look d, ahose sails

    &quot;How thin they are and sere!

    &quot;I never saw aught like to them

    &quot;Unless perce it were

    &quot;The skeletons of leaves that lag

    &quot;My forest brook along:

    &quot;When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow,

    &quot;And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below

    &quot;That eats the she-wolfs young.

    &quot;Dear Lord! it has a ?endish look&quot;--

    (The Pilot made reply)

    &quot;I am a-feard.--&quot;Push on, push on!&quot;

    Said the Hermit cheerily.

    The Boat came closer to the Ship,

    But I ne spake irrd!

    The Boat came close beh the Ship,

    And strait a sound was heard!

    Uhe water it rumbled on,

    Still louder and more dread:

    It reachd the Ship, it split the bay;

    The Ship went down like lead.

    Stunnd by that loud and dreadful sound,

    Which sky and o smote:

    Like ohat hath been seven days drownd

    My body lay a?oat:

    But, swift as dreams, myself I found

    Within the Pilots boat.

    Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship,

    The boat spun round and bbr></abbr>round:

    And all was still, save that the hill

    Was telling of the sound.

    I movd my lips: the Pilot shriekd

    And fell down in a ?t.

    The Holy Hermit raisd his eyes

    And prayd where he did sit.

    I took the oars: the Pilots boy,

    Who now doth crazy go,

    Laughd loud and long, and all the while

    His eyes went to and fro,

    &quot;Ha! ha!&quot; quoth he--&quot;full plain I see,

    &quot;The devil knows how to row.&quot;

    And now all in mine own tree

    I stood on the ?rm land!

    The Hermit steppd forth from the boat,

    And scarcely he could stand.

    &quot;O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!&quot;

    The Hermit<var></var> crossd his brow--

    &quot;Sa<tt>?t>y quick,&quot; quoth he, &quot;I bid thee say

    &quot;What manner man art thou?&quot;

    Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenchd

    With a woeful agony,

    Which forcd me to begin my tale

    And then it left me free.

    Sihen at an uain hour,

    Now oftimes and now fewer,

    That anguish es and makes me tell

    My ghastly aventure.

    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 Bride-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 lowas, 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 pany.

    To walk together to the Kirk

    And all together<var></var> 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 a.

    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 Marinere, whose eye is bright,

    Whose beard with age is hoar,

    Is gone; and now the wedding-guest

    Turnd from the bridegrooms door.

    He went, like ohat hath been stunnd

    And is of sense forlorn:

    A sadder and a wiser man

    He rose the morrow morn.

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