[Sidenote: The Ancient Mariner beholdeth a long-hoped-for sign
in the element afar off.]
There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a dreary time!
(Devoted to "Supply,")
When, looking westward, I beheld
A Something in the sky!
[Sidenote: It groweth and assumeth substantial shape.]
At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist:
It moved, and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged some awkward question
It plunged, and tacked, and veered.
[Sidenote: At its nearer approach it seemeth to him to be a
ship, bearing the hopeful name of _Autumn Session_.]
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We scarce could laugh or wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my tongue--it did me good--
And cried "A Sail! A Sail!!!"
[Sidenote: A flash of joy among his shipmates,]
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call.
Gramercy! They for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were whistling all.
[Sidenote: And of anger amidst their foes.]
Our fierce foes' faces went aflame,
They felt that they were done!
Their thoughts were of the western main,
Of moor, and dog, and gun,
When that strange shape drave suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: The Ancient Mariner postponeth the sequel of his
strange story to a more convenient occasion.]
_Ah, Member pressed, I'll leave the rest
Until--say next December!
Whether that Sail did bring us aid,
Or with my shipmate's wishes played;
Whether it made them welcome Autumn,
Or Tales of Hope to question taught 'em;
Whether (as spook) that Albatross
Appeared again our path to cross;
If it portended gain or loss
(Uncertain these, as pitch-and-toss!)
I'll tell you when again we meet,
On this same post, in this same street--
Oh, Member pressed--remember!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: JUSTIFIABLE DECEPTION.
_Nervous Old Party (who has been making himself rather a nuisance all
the way)._ "A--A--SURELY, MY DEAR SIR, THIS GALLOPING UP THESE HILLS
IS EXTREMELY A--A--TO SAY THE LEAST, RECKLESS!"
_Jack Highflyer (Proprietor and Coachman, who has been spirting
his Team up several short rises)._ "GALLOP! CALL THIS GALLOPING? BY
GEORGE, JUST YOU WAIT TILL RETURN STAGE--SEE ME GO DOWN 'EM! GREASED
LIGHTNING A FOOL TO IT!"
[_Result as desired. Old Gentleman clears out shortly, for purpose of
writing to "Times," and so makes way for Fair Passenger behind._]
]
* * * * *