The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the Mariner’s hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine. “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!