I looked on old Mark the
Mariner, who, seated motionless on his gray stone, kept his eye fixed
on the increasing waters with a look of seriousness and sorrow in which
I saw little of the calculating spirit of a mere fisherman. Though he
looked on the coming tide, his eyes seemed to dwell particularly on
the black and decayed hulls of two vessels, which, half immersed in
the quicksand, still addressed to every heart a tale of shipwreck and
desolation. The tide wheeled and foamed around them; and creeping inch
by inch up the side, at last fairly threw its waters over the top, and
a long and hollow eddy showed the resistance which the liquid element
received.
The moment they were fairly buried in the water, the old man clasped
his hands together, and said, "Blessed be the tide that will break over
and bury ye forever! Sad to mariners, and sorrowful to maids and mothers,
has the time been you have choked up this deep and bonnie bay. For evil
were you sent, and for evil have you continued. Every season finds from
you its song of sorrow and wail, its funeral processions, and its
shrouded corses.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182