Page:Lyrical Ballads (Coleridge).djvu/32

 About, about, in reel and rout
 * The Death-fires danc'd at night;

The water, like a witch's oils,
 * Burnt green and blue and white,

And some in dreams assured were
 * Of the Spirit that plagued us so:

Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us
 * From the Land of Mist and Snow.

And every tongue thro' utter drouth
 * Was withered at the root;

We could not speak no more than if
 * We had been choked with soot.

Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks
 * Had I from old and young;

Instead of the Cross the Albatross
 * About my neck was hung.