'To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!
'Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.
'He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.'
The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.
In the greenest of our valleys, By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace, Radiant palace, reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion, It stood there; Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair!
Banners--yellow, glorious, golden-- On its roof did float and flow (This, all this, was in the olden Time, long ago); And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A wingèd odour went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tunèd law, Round about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene!) In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace-door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn!--for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate;) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
And travellers now within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out for ever And laugh--but smile no more.
'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait, Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' --Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance: 'To arms!' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.