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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.'

66 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.

666 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?'

a

“ 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 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 bridemaids 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 ’t was, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

Oh, 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 LASS OF LOCHROYAN

“Oh, who will shoe my bonny foot,

And who will glove my hand ? And who will lace my middle jimp

Wi' a long, long, linen band ?

6 Or who will kaim my yellow hair

Wi' a new-made silver kaim? Oh, who will father my young son

Till Lord Gregory comes hame ?

“Oh, if I had a bonny ship,

And men to sail wi' me, It's I would

gang

to

my true Lovo, Since he winna come to me!”

Then she's gar'd build a bonny boat,

To sail the salt, salt sea :
The sails were of the light-green silk,

And the ropes of taffetie.

She had not been on the sea sailing

About a month or more,
Till landed has she her bonny ship

Near to her true Love's door.

She's ta’en her young son in her arms,

And to the door she's gane ; And long she knocked, and sair she called,

But answer got she nane.

“Oh, open the door, Lord Gregory !

Oh, open, and let me in! For the wind blows through my yellow hair,

And the rain drops o'er my chin."

Long stood she at Lord Gregory's door,

And long she tirled the pin ;
At length up gat his false mother,

Says, “Who's that, would be in ?"

Oh, it's Annie of Lochroyan,

Your Love, come o’er the sea,

But and your young son in her arms ;

So open the door to me."

“ Away, away, ye

ill woman! You 're not come here for gude ; You 're but a witch, or a vile warlock,

Or a mermaid o' the flood.”

a

6 I'm no a witch, nor vile warlock,

Nor mermaiden,” said she ; “ But I am Annie of Lochroyan,

the door to me!”

Oh, open

“ If thou be Annie of Lochroyan,

(As I trow ye binna she), Now tell me some of the love-tokens

That passed 'tween me and thee."

“Oh, dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory,

,

As we sat at the wine, How we changed the rings from our fingers,

And I can show thee thine ?

“Oh, yours was good, and good enough,

But not so good as mine;
For yours was o' the good red gold,

But mine of the diamond fine.

“So open the door, Lord Gregory,

And open it with speed ;
Or your young son that's in my arms

For cold will soon be dead.

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