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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508053" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Henry The Hermit</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was a little island where he dwelt,<br>Or rather a lone rock, barren and bleak,<br>Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots<br>Its gray stone surface. Never mariner<br>Approach'd that rude and uninviting coast,<br>Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark<br>Anchored beside its shore. It was a place<br>Befitting well a rigid anchoret,<br>Dead to the hopes, and vanities, and joys<br>And purposes of life; and he had dwelt<br>Many long years upon that lonely isle,<br>For in ripe manhood he abandoned arms,<br>Honours and friends and country and the world,<br>And had grown old in solitude. That isle<br>Some solitary man in other times<br>Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found<br>The little chapel that his toil had built<br>Now by the storms unroofed, his bed of leaves<br>Wind-scattered, and his grave o'ergrown with grass,<br>And thistles, whose white seeds winged in vain<br>Withered on rocks, or in the waves were lost.<br>So he repaired the chapel's ruined roof,<br>Clear'd the grey lichens from the altar-stone,<br>And underneath a rock that shelter'd him<br>From the sea blasts, he built his hermitage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The peasants from the shore would bring him food<br>And beg his prayers; but human converse else<br>He knew not in that utter solitude,<br>Nor ever visited the haunts of men<br>Save when some sinful wretch on a sick bed<br>Implored his blessing and his aid in death.<br>That summons he delayed not to obey,<br>Tho' the night tempest or autumnal wind.<br>Maddened the waves, and tho' the mariner,<br>Albeit relying on his saintly load,<br>Grew pale to see the peril. So he lived<br>A most austere and self-denying man,<br>Till abstinence, and age, and watchfulness<br>Exhausted him, and it was pain at last<br>To rise at midnight from his bed of leaves<br>And bend his knees in prayer. Yet not the less<br>Tho' with reluctance of infirmity,<br>He rose at midnight from his bed of leaves<br>And bent his knees in prayer; but with more zeal<br>More self-condemning fervour rais'd his voice<br>For pardon for that sin, 'till that the sin<br>Repented was a joy like a good deed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One night upon the shore his chapel bell<br>Was heard; the air was calm, and its far sounds<br>Over the water came distinct and loud.<br>Alarmed at that unusual hour to hear<br>Its toll irregular, a monk arose.<br>The boatmen bore him willingly across<br>For well the hermit Henry was beloved.<br>He hastened to the chapel, on a stone<br>Henry was sitting there, cold, stiff and dead,<br>The bell-rope in his band, and at his feet<br>The lamp that stream'd a long unsteady light</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Southey">Robert Southey</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508053" data-title="Henry The Hermit de Robert Southey" data-description="It was a little island where he dwelt,
Or rather a lone rock, barren and bleak,
Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots
Its gray stone surface. Never mariner
Approach'd that rude and uninviting coast,
Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark
Ancho..."></div>
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