This magnificent day, the white heavens swimming in light, had far too
mighty an effect upon me, and I burst into loud weeping.
"What is the matter with you?" inquired a man. I did not answer, but
hurried away, hiding my face from all men. I reached the bridge. A large
barque with the Russian flag lay and discharged coal. I read her name,
_Copegoro_, on her side. It distracted me for a time to watch what
took place on board this foreign ship. She must be almost discharged; she
lay with IX foot visible on her side, in spite of all the ballast she had
already taken in, and there was a hollow boom through the whole ship
whenever the coal-heavers stamped on the deck with their heavy boots.
The sun, the light, and the salt breath from the sea, all this busy, merry
life pulled me together a bit, and caused my blood to run lustily.
Suddenly it entered my head that I could work at a few scenes of my drama
whilst I sat here, and I took my papers out of my pocket.
I tried to place a speech into a monk's mouth--a speech that ought to
swell with pride and intolerance, but it was of no use; so I skipped over
the monk and tried to work out an oration--the Deemster's oration to the
violator of the Temple,--and I wrote half-a-page of this oration, upon
which I stopped. The right local colour would not tinge my words, the
bustle about me, the shanties, the noise of the gangways, and the
ceaseless rattle of the iron chains, fitted in so little with the
atmosphere of the musty air of the dim Middle Ages, that was to envelop my
drama as with a mist.
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