Between his chilly fingers, with a stare
Of mystery, that marvell'd how that she
Had drench'd it so amid the moonlit sea.
The morning rose, with breast of living gold,
Like eastern phoenix, and his plumage roll'd
In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright!
And on the waste of waters floated light.--

In truth, 'twas strange to see that merry bark
Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark
At play amid the beautiful sea-green,
And all so sadly desolate within.

And hours flew after hours, a weary length,
Until the sunlight, in meridian strength,
Threw burning floods upon the wasted brow
Of that sea-hermit mariner; and now
He felt the fire-light feed upon his brain,
And started with intensity of pain,
And wash'd him in the sea; it only brought
Wild reason, like a demon, and he thought
Strange thoughts, like dreaming men--he thought how those
Were round him he had seen, and many rose
His heart had hated; every billow threw
Features before him, and pale faces grew
Out of the sea by myriads:--the self-same
Was moulded from its image, and they came
In groups together, and all said, like one,
"Be cursed!" and vanish'd in the deep anon.
Then thirst, intolerable as the breath