The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

'Twas sad as sad could be;

Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow

"God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look'st thou so?"—With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.

The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the light-house top

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us

He made and loveth all.

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a woeful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale;

And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,

That agony returns;

And till my ghastly tale is told,

This heart within me burns

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.

"God save thee, ancient Mariner!

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—

Why look'st thou so?"—With my cross-bow

I shot the ALBATROSS.