No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, |
The ship was still as she could be, |
Her sails from heaven received no motion, |
Her keel was steady in the ocean. |
Without either sign or sound of their shock |
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock; |
So little they rose, so little they fell, |
They did not move the Inchcape Bell. |
The Abbot of Aberbrothok |
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; |
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, |
And over the waves its warning rung. |
When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell, |
The mariners heard the warning bell; |
And then they knew the perilous Rock, |
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok. |
The Sun in heaven was shining gay, |
All things were joyful on that day; |
The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round, |
And there was joyaunce in their sound. |
The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen |
A darker speck on the ocean green; |
Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck, |
And he fix’d his eye on the darker speck. |
He felt the cheering power of spring, |
It made his whistle, it made him sing; |
His heart was mirthful to excess, |
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness. |
His eye was on the Inchcape float; |
Quoth he, ‘My men, put out the boat, |
And row me to the Inchcape Rock, |
And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.’ |
The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row, |
And to the Inchcape Rock they go; |
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, |
And he cut the Bell from the Inchcape float. |
Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound, |
The bubbles rose and burst around; |
Quoth Sir Ralph, ‘The next who comes to the Rock |
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.' |
Sir Ralph the Rover sail’d away, |
He scour’d the seas for many a day; |
And now grown rich with plunder’d store, |
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore. |
So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky |
They cannot see the Sun on high; |
The wind hath blown a gale all day, |
At evening it hath died away. |
On the deck the Rover takes his stand, |
So dark it is they see no land. |
Quoth Sir Ralph, ‘It will be lighter soon, |
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.’ |
‘Canst hear,’ said one, ‘the breakers roar? |
For methinks we should be near the shore.’ |
‘Now where we are I cannot tell, |
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.’ |
They hear no sound, the swell is strong; |
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along, |
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,― |
‘Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!’ |
Sit Ralph the Rover tore his hair; |
He curst himself in his despair; |
The waves rush in on every side, |
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. |
But even in his dying fear |
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, |
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell, |
The Devil below was ringing his knell. |
Robert Southey 1802
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