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- 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.’
The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.
‘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
