Then hurries back the road it came— Returns, on errand still the same; This did it when the earth was new; And this for evermore will do, As long as earth shall last. And, with the coming of the tide, Come boats and ships that safely ride Between the woods and lofty rocks; And to the shepherds with their flocks Bring tales of distant lands. And of those tales, whate’er they were, The blind Boy always had his share; Whether of mighty towns, or vales With warmer suns and softer gales, Or wonders of the Deep. Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred, When from the water-side he heard The shouting, and the jolly cheers; The bustle of the mariners In stillness or in storm. But what do his desires avail? For He must never handle sail; Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float In sailor’s ship, or fisher’s boat, Upon the rocking waves. His Mother often thought, and said, What sin would be upon her head If she should suffer this: ‘My Son, Whate’er you do, leave this undone; The danger is so great.’ Thus lived he by Loch-Leven’s side Still sounding with the sounding tide, And heard the billows leap and dance, Without a shadow of mischance, Till he was ten years old. When one day (and now mark me well, Ye soon shall know how this befel) He in a vessel of his own, On the swift flood is hurrying down, Down to the mighty Sea. In such a vessel never more May human creature leave the shore! If this or that way he should stir, Woe to the poor blind Mariner! For death will be his doom. But say what bears him?—Ye have seen The Indian’s bow, his arrows keen, Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright; Gifts which, for wonder or delight, Are brought in ships from far. Such gifts had those seafaring men Spread round that haven in the glen; Each hut, perchance, might have its own, And to the Boy they all were known— He knew and prized them all. The rarest was a Turtle-shell Which he, poor Child, had studied well; A shell of ample size, and light As the pearly car of Amphitrite, That sportive dolphins drew. And, as a Coracle that braves On Vaga’s breast the fretful waves, This shell upon the deep would swim, And gaily lift its fearless brim Above the tossing surge. And this the little blind Boy knew: And he a story strange yet true Had heard, how in a shell like this An English Boy, O thought of bliss! Had stoutly launched from shore; Launched from the margin of a bay Among the Indian isles, where lay His father’s ship, and had sailed far— To join that gallant ship of war, In his delightful shell.