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The Sun came up upon the right,
 * Out of the Sea came he;

And broad as a weft upon the left
 * Went down into the Sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
 * But no sweet Bird did follow

Ne any day for food or play
 * Came to the Marinere's hollo!

And I had done an hellish thing
 * And it would work 'em woe:

For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird
 * That made the Breeze to blow.