Thus over Enoch’s early-silvering head The sunny and rainy seasons came and went Year after year. His hopes to see his own, And pace the sacred old familiar fields, 625 Not yet had perished, 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, Stay’d by this isle, not knowing where she lay: 630 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 In search of stream or fount, and fill’d the shores 635 With clamour. Downward from his mountain gorge Stept the long-hair’d, long-bearded solitary, Brown, looking hardly human, strangely clad, Muttering and mumbling, idiotlike it seem’d, With inarticulate rage, and making signs 640 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 Was loosen’d, till he made them understand; 645 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: And clothes they gave him and free passage home; 650 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. And dull the voyage was with long delays, 655 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 Drew in the dewy meadowy morning-breath 660 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: Then moving up the coast they landed him, 665 Ev’n in that harbour whence he sail’d before. There Enoch spoke no word to anyone, But homeward—home—what home? had he a home? His home, he walk’d. Bright was that afternoon, Sunny but chill; till drawn thro’ either chasm, 670 Where either haven open’d on the deeps, Roll’d a sea-haze and whelm’d the world in gray; Cut off the length of highway on before, And left but narrow breadth to left and right Of wither’d holt or tilth or pasturage. 675 On the nigh-naked tree the robin piped Disconsolate, and thro’ the dripping haze The dead weight of the dead leaf bore it down: Thicker the drizzle grew, deeper the gloom; Last, as it seem’d, a great mist-blotted light 680 Flared on him, and he came upon the place.