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.