His Mother often thought, and said, Thus lived he by Loch Levin's side Still sounding with the sounding tide, And heard the billows leap and dance, Without a shadow of mischance, Till he was ten years old. When one day (and now mark me well, You soon shall know how this befel) He's in a vessel of his own, On the swift water hurrying down Towards the mighty Sea. In such a vessel ne'er before Did human Creature leave the shore: If this or that way he should stir, Woe to the poor blind Mariner ! For death will be his doom. Strong is the current; but be mild, Ye waves, and spare the helpless Child! If ye in anger fret or chafe, A Bee-hive would be ship as safe As that in which he sails. But say, what was it? Thought of fear! Well may ye tremble when ye hear! A Household Tub, like one of those Which women use to wash their clothes, This carried the blind Boy. Close to the water he had found This Vessel, push'd it from dry ground, Went into it; and, without dread, Following the fancies in his head, He paddled up and down. A while he stood upon his feet; And there he is in face of Heaven! But when he was first seen, oh me! What shrieking and what misery! For many saw; among the rest His Mother, she who loved him best, She saw her poor blind Boy. But for the Child, the sightless Boy, The bravest Traveller in balloon, And let him, let him go his way, This Child will take no harm. But now the passionate lament, Which from the crowd on shore was sent, The cries which broke from old and young In Gaelic, or the English tongue, Are stifled-all is still. And quickly with a silent crew A Boat is ready to pursue; And from the shore their course they take, With sound the least that can be made They follow, more and more afraid, More cautious as they draw more near; But in his darkness he can hear, |