  The half-moon peer’d from the darksome clouds With coyness, while rock’d the sea; And when in the bark our places we took, Our number then was three. There plash’d in the water the strokes of the oar With sad monotony; White foaming billows came with a roar, And sprinkled all of us three. She stood in the bark, as pale, as slim, As void of motion too, As though she a marble statue were, Diana’s image true. The moon disappear’d. The nightwind piped With chilly blast on high; When over our heads there suddenly rose A wild and piercing cry. ’Twas the white and ghostlike seamew’s voice, And at that terrible cry, Which fearfully rang like a warning call, All three felt like to die. Am I in a fever? A vision is this Of nightly phantasy? Am I aped by a dream? I’m dreaming a dream Of wild buffoonery. Buffoonery wild! Methinks in my dream That I a Saviour am; And faithfully bear the weight of the Cross, As gentle as a lamb. Poor beauty beside me is sore distress’d, But soon I’ll set her free From sin and shame and sorrow and pain, And earthly misery. Poor beauty, O be not thou terrified, Though bitter the medicine be; Although my heart may break, I myself Will mete out death to thee. O folly wild and terrible dream! O madness fearful to see! The night is yawning, the ocean yells— O God, have mercy on me! Have mercy on me, O merciful God! O merciful God! Schaddey! A Something falls in the sea—Alas! Schaddey! Schaddey! Adonay! The sun arose, we came to the land, Sweet smiled the spring to the view; And when at length we left the bark, Our number then was two. |
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