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.