SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY

"The game is done! I ve won, Ive ship's crew, and

8he (tk* totter)

winneth the
ancient Mariner.

won V
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark ;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip 1
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp

gleamed white;

From the sails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The horned Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly

pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!'

94

No twilight

within the courts

of the sun.

At the rising
of the Moon,

one after
another

his shipmates,
drop down dead;

200

205

215

but Life-tn-
Death begins her

work on the
ancient Mariner.

220