Rime of Bradley's ACL
At length did cross an Albatross,
Through the fog it came ;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
Milton Bradley was its name.
It hit the balls we ne’er had hit,
And round and round it flew.
The bats did split with a thunder-fit ;
And Agon steered us through!
And a good south wind sprung up behind ;
The RBI’s did follow,
And every day, the boys did play,
wins came to our hollo !
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
He rallied the Padre nine ;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'
`God save thee, ancient Mariner !
From the umpired that plague thee thus!
Why look'st thou so ?'--With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.
And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe :
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! they say, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow !
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be
Scarcely again would Hell’s Bells ring
And seldom get to three!
Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks
Had I from Peavy and Young!
Instead of the cross, the ACL
About my neck was hung.