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"He made a fortune over here before he went to England." "It's all gone. I got nipped," said Jill, who was finding a certain amount of humor in the situation, "in Amalgamated Dyes." "Amalgamated Dyes?" "They're something," explained Jill, "that people get nipped in." Mr Mariner digested this. "You speculated?" he gasped. "Yes." "You shouldn't have been allowed to do it," said Mr Mariner warmly.
"It's a splendid poem," said Nell with enthusiasm, "particularly that part about 'Water, water everywhere, And not a drop to drink. Can't you picture it all, Boris? The sea like a great pond, and the thirsty old mariner looking at it, and longing, and longing, and longing to drink it, and the dead people lying round.
Leaving him to this little amusement, in which he looked like a forlorn and shipwrecked mariner making signals of distress, I repaired to a torrent close by, and after a satisfactory bathe in the cold snow water, and very nearly losing the whole of my personal property in the rushing stream, donned the few dry articles I was possessed of, and proceeded to pick out our camping ground.
The giant magnetic ray barrier opened for them, and the Ancient Mariner followed. They were inside the alien city. Below the Ancient Mariner, the great buildings of the alien city jutted up in the gray light of this gray world; their massiveness seemed only to accentuate the depressing light. On the broad roofs, they saw hundreds of people coming out to watch them as they moved across the city.
During 1797 and 1798 the Ancient Mariner, the first part of Christabel, the fine ode to France, the Fears in Solitude, the beautiful lines entitled Frost at Midnight, the Nightingale, the Circassian Love-Chant, the piece known as Love from the poem of the Dark Ladie, and that strange fragment Kubla Khan, were all of them written and nearly all of them published; while between the last composed of these and that swan-song of his dying Muse, the Dejection, of 1802, there is but one piece to be added to the list of his greater works.
It will be to him as a beacon-light to the sea-worn mariner that tells of home and peace upon the shore, as a rainbow-promise set upon the sky.
Not that money did ought to make a differ'nce, but it do, an' that's the truth, an' it edn' no good makin' as though it doan't. What a world, to be sure! An' that letter from Noy? I knaw you was fond of en likewise in your time. The sadness of it! Just think o' that mariner comin' home 'pon top o' this mishap." Mary winced and answered coldly that the world was full of mishaps and of sadness.
In this, however, the old mariner was mistaken, for the Oswego Rift and the Oswego Falls are very different in their characters and violence; the former being no more than a rapid, that glances among shallows and rocks, while the latter really deserved the name it bore, as has been already shown.
In a few years the Dutch were established in Java, Sumatra, Borneo, the Moluccas, and at the Cape of Good Hope, harbours the best placed for ships returning to Europe. It was at this time that a rich merchant of Amsterdam, Jacob Lemaire, in concert with a skilful mariner, named Wilhem Cornelis Schouten, conceived a project for reaching the Indies by a new route.
Booth became so absorbed in his reading, so identified with the poem, that his tone and manner were saturated with a feeling of reality. He actually thought himself the mariner, so I am persuaded, while he was reading. As the poem proceeded, and we plunged deeper and deeper into its mystic horrors, the actual world receded into a dim, indefinable distance.
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