It was the schooner _Hesperus_, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring, And tonight no moon we see!"

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar.

And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?"

"'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast"-- And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?"

"Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?"

But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and gla.s.sy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool.

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of gla.s.s, she stove and sank, "Ho! ho!" the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow!

Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

John Keats

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads Full beautiful--a faery's child; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery's song.

I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said-- "I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gazed, and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild wild eyes So kiss'd to sleep.

And there we slumber'd on the moss, And there I dream'd--Ah! woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci, Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

Thomas Campbell

A chieftain to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!

And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry."--

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.