"Stunned 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.

66

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 shriek'd,

And fell down in a fit;

The holy Hermit raised 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 my own countree, 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 of man art thou?'

"Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd 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 power 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 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 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 stunn'd,
And is of sense forlorn :

A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

S. T. COLERidge.

THE WEll
DF
Sε KEYNE

A WELL there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St Keyne.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the Well of St Keyne,
Joyfully he drew nigh,

For from cock-crow he had been
travelling,

And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and

clear,

For thirsty and hot was he, And he sat down upon the bank Under the willow tree.

There came a man from the house hard by

At the Well to fill his pail ; On the Well-side he rested it,

And he bade the Stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he,

"For an if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life

She has drank of the Well of St Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here,"

The Stranger he made reply,

"But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why.”

"St Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time

Drank of this crystal Well,

And before the Angel summon'd her,
She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his wife,

A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.