When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
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!'
Said the hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I spake not nor stirred;

The boat come 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 countree

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 l' The Hermit crossed his brow.

'Say quick!' quoth he, 'I bid thee say—

What manner of man art thou?'

Forwith this frame of mine 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 powers of speech;
That 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 lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seeméd 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 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
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.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

PART I

N either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many tower'd Camelot;

And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave that runs forever
By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers

And the silent isle embowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd