It was the schooner Hesperus,
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That sailed the wintry sea;
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And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,
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To bear him company.
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Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
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Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
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And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
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That ope in the month of May.
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The skipper he stood beside the helm,
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His pipe was in his mouth,
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And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
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The smoke now West, now South.
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Then up and spake an old Sailòr,
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Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
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"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
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For I fear a hurricane.
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"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
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And to-night no moon we see!"
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The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
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And a scornful laugh laughed he.
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Colder and louder blew the wind,
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A gale from the Northeast,
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The snow fell hissing in the brine,
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And the billows frothed like yeast.
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Down came the storm, and smote amain
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The vessel in its strength;
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She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
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Then leaped her cable's length.
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"Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr,
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And do not tremble so;
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For I can weather the roughest gale
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That ever wind did blow."
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He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
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Against the stinging blast;
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He cut a rope from a broken spar,
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And bound her to the mast.
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"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
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Oh say, what may it be?"
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"'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" —
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And he steered for the open sea.
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"O father! I hear the sound of guns,
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Oh say, what may it be?"
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"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
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In such an angry sea!"
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"O father! I see a gleaming light,
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Oh say, what may it be?"
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But the father answered never a word,
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A frozen corpse was he.
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Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
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With his face turned to the skies,
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The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
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On his fixed and glassy eyes.
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Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
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That savèd she might be;
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And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave
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On the Lake of Galilee.
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And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
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Through the whistling sleet and snow,
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Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
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Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.
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And ever the fitful gusts between
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A sound came from the land;
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It was the sound of the trampling surf
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On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
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The breakers were right beneath her bows,
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She drifted a dreary wreck,
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And a whooping billow swept the crew
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Like icicles from her deck.
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She struck where the white and fleecy waves
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Looked soft as carded wool,
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But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
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Like the horns of an angry bull.
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Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
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With the masts went by the board;
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Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
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Ho! ho! the breakers roared!
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At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
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A fisherman stood aghast,
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To see the form of a maiden fair,
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Lashed close to a drifting mast.
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The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
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The salt tears in her eyes;
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And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
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On the billows fall and rise.
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Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
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In the midnight and the snow!
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Christ save us all from a death like this,
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On the reef of Norman's Woe!
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