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I woke and we were sailing on as in a gentle weather.The dead men stood together.All fixed on me their stony eyes
The lighthouse top i see?Is this the hill?Is this the Kirk?Is this mine own countree
But soon i heard the rowing of oarsI heard the Pilot's cheerMy head was turned perforce awayAnd i saw a boat appear
The ship went down like lead.My body lay afloat;But like as dreams, myself i found Within the pilot's boat.
i stood on firm land.The hermit stepped forth from the boatAnd scarcely he could stand"O shrive me, shrive me, holy man"
The Hermit crossed his brow say quick", quoth he, 'I bid thee sayWhat manner of man art thou?
the mariner whose eye is brightwhose beard with age is hoarIs gone: and now the wedding guestturned from the bridegroom's door