 | Rhymes with reason and without |  |
243
YARN OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.
A BALLAD OF ISLINGTON CREEK.
Revealing certain fancied resemblances between a mill creek and other large ponds, with some reminiscences in point; but not much of a story, any how.
A tall man stood upon a hill,—
A mill-pond laved its base,—
The prospect wide that met his eye
Was clothed in summer's grace;
“I'll ask yon ancient man,” says he,
“Some story of this place.
A mill-pond laved its base,—
The prospect wide that met his eye
Was clothed in summer's grace;
“I'll ask yon ancient man,” says he,
“Some story of this place.
“It is a goodly scene to view,—
I've travelled far and wide,
I've witnessed scenes in distant climes
That shone in grander pride,
But for simple beauty, unadorned,
This is worth all beside.”
I've travelled far and wide,
I've witnessed scenes in distant climes
That shone in grander pride,
But for simple beauty, unadorned,
This is worth all beside.”
He bowed him to the old man's ear,
Whom he saw sitting there;
The man was very, very old,
And snow-white was his hair;
He seemed a patriarch, indeed,
Of venerable air.
Whom he saw sitting there;
The man was very, very old,
And snow-white was his hair;
244
Of venerable air.
“My ancient friend,” the young man said,
“What pond is this I see?
Its beautiful and glassy sheen
Seems fairy-like to me;
Is there no story for the scene,—
No unwrit history?”
“What pond is this I see?
Its beautiful and glassy sheen
Seems fairy-like to me;
Is there no story for the scene,—
No unwrit history?”
The old man spoke,—“I've grown gray old
On this, my native shore;
I've seen far lands in my young days,—
I've sailed the wide world o'er;
At last I'm fast to moorings brought,
To leave my home no more.
On this, my native shore;
I've seen far lands in my young days,—
I've sailed the wide world o'er;
At last I'm fast to moorings brought,
To leave my home no more.
“Bound to this spot, in miniature
I live anew my life;
I see again the surges roll
In elemental strife,
Or, gently rippling on the shore,
With pleasant music rife.
I live anew my life;
I see again the surges roll
In elemental strife,
Or, gently rippling on the shore,
With pleasant music rife.
“And herein I can sail again
The voyages I have gone;
I brave once more old Boreas
Around the blustering Horn,
Or feel the burning eye of Sol
In fiery Capricorn.
The voyages I have gone;
I brave once more old Boreas
Around the blustering Horn,
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In fiery Capricorn.
“When the sweet breath of summer draws
From out the cooling west,
I revel in the genial trades
That fanned my youthful breast,
When we flew along with stu'nsails set,
By fear all unoppressed.
From out the cooling west,
I revel in the genial trades
That fanned my youthful breast,
When we flew along with stu'nsails set,
By fear all unoppressed.
“And when the furious Equinox
Lasheth the ‘sounding shore,’
Dashing the spray with angry might
The very house-tops o'er,
I hear again the heaving main,
And tremble at its roar.
Lasheth the ‘sounding shore,’
Dashing the spray with angry might
The very house-tops o'er,
I hear again the heaving main,
And tremble at its roar.
“And shipwreck's voice oft rides the blast,—
A voice well known to me;
I've seen fair proas bow their mast
To the fierce gale's mastery,
And many a daring crew outcast
Upon this mimic sea.
A voice well known to me;
I've seen fair proas bow their mast
To the fierce gale's mastery,
And many a daring crew outcast
Upon this mimic sea.
“And scenes of dread have met my view,—
They'll haunt me till I die;—
'T was yonder, in the rippling blue,
That so delights the eye,
Where gentle waves make music true,
Rose childhood's drowning cry!
They'll haunt me till I die;—
'T was yonder, in the rippling blue,
That so delights the eye,
Where gentle waves make music true,
Rose childhood's drowning cry!
246
“Here are my bays and islands too,
My gulfs, my channels, straits;
My grandson runs a packet-boat
To yonder mill with freights,
Unlearned as yet to speculate
In fluctuating rates.”
My gulfs, my channels, straits;
My grandson runs a packet-boat
To yonder mill with freights,
Unlearned as yet to speculate
In fluctuating rates.”
“Where are the fruits, remembrancers
Of those you 've early seen?
Where is the tropic's lavish yield,
Plantains and okroes green,—
The yam and tanyah, esculents,
You see not these, I ween?”
Of those you 've early seen?
Where is the tropic's lavish yield,
Plantains and okroes green,—
The yam and tanyah, esculents,
You see not these, I ween?”
“But we have better far than those,—
Talk not of roots like yams,
When we can dig, this beach along,
Such groundnuts as our clams,
The fat ones that we gather in,
'Twixt yonder point and Ham's.
Talk not of roots like yams,
When we can dig, this beach along,
Such groundnuts as our clams,
The fat ones that we gather in,
'Twixt yonder point and Ham's.
“Where is the orange can begin
With that gold pippin there,
To show such fair external worth,
Or with its taste compare?
See where between the leaves of green
It glistens in the air.”
With that gold pippin there,
To show such fair external worth,
Or with its taste compare?
See where between the leaves of green
It glistens in the air.”
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“Shipwreck you state, and violence,
But battle's brazen throat
Has never echoed round these shores
Its wild, discordant note;
You could not have a naval fight
In yonder timid boat!”
But battle's brazen throat
Has never echoed round these shores
Its wild, discordant note;
You could not have a naval fight
In yonder timid boat!”
“Yes, but we had,” the veteran spoke;
“Yonder lies Christian Shore;
It merited no peaceful name
In distant days of yore,
For hostile hordes from thenceward came,
Annoying us full sore;
“Yonder lies Christian Shore;
It merited no peaceful name
In distant days of yore,
For hostile hordes from thenceward came,
Annoying us full sore;
“Until, in action close and warm,
We drove them back amain;
We showered missiles on their heads
Thick as autumnal rain;
They left us to our quiet then,
And came not back again.
We drove them back amain;
We showered missiles on their heads
Thick as autumnal rain;
They left us to our quiet then,
And came not back again.
“But when the winter throws its arms
Over creation wide,
And icy fingers gather in
The circulating tide,
Come peaceful spearmen here with spears
And axes panoplied.
Over creation wide,
And icy fingers gather in
The circulating tide,
Come peaceful spearmen here with spears
And axes panoplied.
248
“And this, their winter calling, then,
Similitude reveals
Between the one who dares new worlds
To seek for fur-clad seals,
Or whaleman braving death for gain,
And him who spears for eels.
Similitude reveals
Between the one who dares new worlds
To seek for fur-clad seals,
Or whaleman braving death for gain,
And him who spears for eels.
“But now farewell; the waning day
'Minds me 't is time for tea;
Go out into the world, young man,
And think no more on me
Than if I were, like Ringbolt, sunk
‘A thousand miles at sea.’”
'Minds me 't is time for tea;
Go out into the world, young man,
And think no more on me
Than if I were, like Ringbolt, sunk
‘A thousand miles at sea.’”
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