Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, I moved my lips-the Pilot shrieked The holy Hermit raised his eyes I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Laughed loud and long, and all the while "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see, And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, [The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.] "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" The Hermit crossed his brow. Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woeful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. [And ever and anon throughout his future life an agony constrain eth him to travel from land to land. ] Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns; And till my ghastly tale is told, I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing are; O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been So lonely 'twas, that God himself O sweeter than the marriage-feast, To walk together to the kirk 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. [And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.] Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding Guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well He prayeth best, who loveth best The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest He went like one that hath been stunned, A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. VIRGINIA. FRAGMENTS OF A LAY SUNG IN THE FORUM ON THE DAY WHEREON LUCIUS SEXTIUS SEXTINUS LATERANUS AND CAIUS LICINIUS CALVUS STOLO WERE ELECTED TRIBUNES OF THE COMMONS THE FIFTH TIME, IN THE YEAR OF THE CITY, CCCLXXXII. YE good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true, Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood by you, Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care, A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear. This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine, Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine. Here, in this very Forum, under the noonday sun, In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done. Old men still creep among us who saw that fearful day, Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten bare sway. |