Читать книгу Lyrical Ballads, With a Few Other Poems (1798) - William Wordsworth, Coleridge Samuel Taylor - Страница 9

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 come from a far Contrée.

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 ne'rd: I heard them talk,

  "Why, this is strange, I trow!

"Where are those lights so many and fair

  "That signal made but now?

"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

"The 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

  "That eats the she-wolf's young.

"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look" —

  (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 ne spake ne stirr'd!

The Boat came close beneath the Ship,

  And strait a sound was heard!

Under the water it rumbled on,

  Still louder and more dread:

It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay;

  The Ship went down like lead.

Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,

  Which sky and ocean smote:

Like one that hath been seven days drown'd

  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 mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd

  And fell down in a fit.

The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes

  And pray'd where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,

  Who now doth crazy go,

Laugh'd 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 mine own Countrée

  I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,

  And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man!"

  The Hermit cross'd his brow —

"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say

  "What manner man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd

  With a woeful agony,

Which forc'd me to begin my tale

  And then it left me free.

Since then at an uncertain hour,

  Now oftimes and now fewer,

That anguish comes 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 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.

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 Marinere, whose eye is bright,

  Whose beard with age is hoar,

Is gone; and now the wedding-guest

  Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.

He went, like one that hath been stunn'd

  And is of sense forlorn:

A sadder and a wiser man

  He rose the morrow morn.