"This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres 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 My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod[53-41] is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young.' "'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look!' (The Pilot made reply) 'I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!' Said the Hermit cheerily. "The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. "Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. "Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. "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 shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. "I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed 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 stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. [Illustration: 'O SHRIEVE ME, SHRIEVE ME, HOLY MAN'] "'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say-- What manner of man art thou?' "Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 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; The moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.