SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY

I saw a third—I heard his voice:

It is the Hermit good!

He singeth loud his godly hymns

That he makes in the wood.

He'll shrive my soul, he'll wash away

The Albatross's blood.

PART THE SEVENTH

4This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with mariners
That come from a far countree.

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 neared: 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 answered not our cheer!
The planks look warped! and see those

sails,

How thin they are and sere !
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
* Brown skeletons of leaves that lag

106

The Hermit
of the Wood

515

520

525

approacheth

hb sJiip 'with

wonder*

530