Once likewise, in the ringing of his ears, Tho' faintly, merrily--far and far away-- 610 He heard the pealing of his parish bells; Then, tho' he knew not wherefore, started up Shuddering, and when the beauteous hateful isle Return'd upon him, had not his poor heart Spoken with That, which being everywhere 615 Lets none who speaks with Him seem all alone, Surely the man had died of solitude. Thus over Enoch's early-silvering head The sunny and rainy seasons came and went Year after year. His hopes to see his own, 620 And pace the sacred old familiar fields, Not yet had perish'd, when his lonely doom Came suddenly to an end. Another ship (She wanted water) blown by baffling winds, Like the Good Fortune, from her destined course, 625 Stay'd by this isle, not knowing where she lay: For since the mate had seen at early dawn Across a break on the mist-wreathen isle The silent water slipping from the hills, They sent a crew that landing burst away 630 In search of stream or fount, and fill'd the shores With clamor. Downward from his mountain gorge[219] Stept the long-hair'd, long-bearded solitary, Brown, looking hardly human, strangely clad, Muttering and mumbling, idiot-like it seem'd, 635 With inarticulate rage, and making signs They knew not what: and yet he led the way To where the rivulets of sweet water ran; And ever as he mingled with the crew, And heard them talking, his long-bounden tongue 640 Was loosen'd, till he made them understand; Whom, when their casks were fill'd they took aboard And there the tale he utter'd brokenly, Scarce-credited at first but more and more, Amazed and melted all who listen'd to it; 645 And clothes they gave him and free passage home; But oft he work'd among the rest and shook His isolation from him. None of these Came from his county, or could answer him, If question'd, aught of what he cared to know. 650 And dull the voyage was with long delays, The vessel scarce sea-worthy; but evermore His fancy fled before the lazy wind Returning, till beneath a clouded moon He like a lover down thro' all his blood 655 Drew in the dewy meadowy morning-breath Of England, blown across her ghostly wall: And that same morning officers and men Levied a kindly tax upon themselves, Pitying the lonely man, and gave him it: 660 Then moving up the coast they landed him, Ev'n in that harbor whence he sail'd before.