This was the end of the old man's history. In the evening of that day, each man of the crew received the same quantity of food that was sent to the old hermit himself, namely, half a cake and a slice of fish; and they found in the vessel as much good ale as served them all. The next morning he said to them, "You shall all reach your own country in safety. And you, Maildun, you shall find in an island on your way, the very man that slew your father; but you are neither to kill him nor take revenge on him in any way. As God has delivered you from the many dangers you have passed through, though you were very guilty, and well deserved death at His hands; so you forgive your enemy the crime he committed against you." After this they took leave of the old man and sailed away. THE OLD HERMIT'S STORY. The storms may roar and the seas may rage, But here, on this bare, brown rock, I pray and repent and I tell my beads, Secure from the hurricane's shock. For the good, kind God, in pity to me, Holds out His protecting hand; And cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, Can molest me where I stand. I robbed the churches and wronged the poor, And grew richer day by day; But now on this bare, brown ocean rock, A heavy penance I pay. A bloated sinner died unshrived, And they brought his corse to me-- "Go, dig the grave and bury the dead, And pray for the soul set free." I dug the grave, but my hands were stayed By a solemn and fearful sound, For the feeble tones of a dead man's voice Came up from the hollow ground! _The dead monk speaks up from the grave_-- Place not that pampered corse on mine, For my bones are weak and thin; I cannot bear the heavy weight Of a body defiled by sin. I was a meek and holy man; I fasted and watched and prayed; A sinner's corse would defile the clay Where my wasted body is laid. _The old hermit continues his story_-- The voice then ceased, and I heard no more Its hollow, beseeching tone; Then I closed the grave, and left the old monk To rest in his coffin alone. My curragh sailed on the western main, And I saw, as I viewed the sea, A withered old man upon a wave; And he fixed his eyes on me. He spoke, and his voice my heart's blood froze, And I shook with horror and fear: 'Twas the very voice of the dead old monk That sounded in mine ear! _The dead monk speaks again_-- Far from my grave the sinner's corse In unhallowed clay lies deep; And now in my coffin, undefiled, For ever in peace I sleep. Go, live and pray on the bare, brown rock, Far out in the stormy sea; A heavy penance for heavy crimes, And heaven at last for thee! _The old hermit ends his story_--