And give their guineas too to-day
For seats to see the pageantry.
——:o:——
The Ancient Mariner.
(S. T. Coleridge.)
[The author of “The Ancient Mariner,” should be delineated after the poet’s definition of him, as a “noticeable man with small grey eyes.” A crowd of listeners should be around him, catching up with eagerness and ecstasy every syllable as it falls from his lips; and in a corner of the room there might be one or two persons reading his works, apparently puzzled at times to make out his meaning. On the walls should be representations of a giant devoting his life to catching flies; of a philosopher straying on the sea-shore to pick up shells, while the sails of the vessel that was to waft him to his home are scarcely to be descried in the distance.]
The sun it shone on spire and wall,
And loud rang every bell;
Wild music, like a waterfall,
Upon my spirit fell;