Page:Lyrical Ballads (Coleridge).djvu/41

 The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
 * Ne rot, ne reek did they;

The look with which they look'd on me,
 * Had never pass'd away.

An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
 * A spirit from on high:

But O! more horrible than that
 * Is the curse in a dead man's eye!

Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse,
 * And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky
 * And no where did abide:

Softly she was going up
 * And a star or two beide—