I'll teach my boy the sweetest things;
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
My little babe! thy lips are still,
And thou hast almost suck'd thy fill.
--Where art thou gone my own dear child?
What wicked looks are those I see?
Alas! alas! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me:
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Then I must be for ever sad.
Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
For I thy own dear mother am.
My love for thee has well been tried:
I've sought thy father far and wide.
I know the poisons of the shade,
I know the earth-nuts fit for food;
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
We'll find thy father in the wood.
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
And there, my babe; we'll live for aye.
THE ANCIENT MARINER,
A POET'S REVERIE.
_ARGUMENT_.
How a Ship, having first sailed to the Equator, was driven by Storms,
to the cold Country towards the South Pole; how the Ancient Mariner
cruelly, and in contempt of the laws of hospitality, killed a
Sea-bird; and how he was followed by many and strange Judgements;
and in what manner he came back to his own Country.
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