Samuel Taylor Coleridge

"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

"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.

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

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

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.

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

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.