ting in the air in
summer.

[39-26] Death and Life-in-Death have been casting dice for the crew, as
to whether they shall die, or live and suffer. Life-in-Death has won the
ancient mariner.

[40-27] This is Coleridge's beautiful way of telling us that in the
tropics there is little or no twilight.

[40-28] _Clomb_ is an old form of _climbed_.

[40-29] That is, the waning moon. Did you ever see the moon "with one
bright star within the nether tip"?

[41-30] In his notes on the poem, Coleridge stated that the last two
lines of this stanza were composed by Wordsworth.

[42-31] Can you see any reason for the repetition in this line, and for
the unusual length? Does it suggest the _load_ and the _weariness_ in
the next line?

[43-32] This is the turning point of the poem. As soon as the mariner
felt in his heart love for the "happy living things," the spell which
had been laid on him for the wanton slaying of the albatross began to
break. In the third stanza from the end of the poem, this point is
clearly brought out.

[44-33] _Silly_ here means _helpless, useless_.

[44-34] _Sheen_ means bright, _glittering_.

[45-35] Note this fine alliterative line.

[49-36] The mariner has been thrown into a trance, for the ship is being
driven northward faster than a human being could endure.

[50-37] A charnel-dungeon is a vault or chamber underneath or near a
church, where the bones of the dead are laid.

[50-38] The sin is finally expiated.

[52-39] The holy rood is the holy cross.

[52-40] "The silence sank like music on my heart," is among the
beautiful lines that you will often hear quoted.

[53-41] An ivy-tod is a thick clump of ivy.

[57-42] A friend of Coleridge's once told him that she admired _The
Ancient Mariner_, but had a serious fault to find with it--it had no
moral. Do you think, as you read this stanza, that her objection was a
valid one?

[Illustration]

THE BLACK HAWK TRAGEDY[58-1]

_By_ EDWIN D. COE

I do not pose as an Indian lover. In fact the instincts and impressions
of my early life bent me in the opposite direction. My father's log
house, in which I was born, stood within a few rods of Rock River, about
forty-five miles west of this city. The stream was the boundary line, in
a half-recognized way, between two tribes of Indians, and a common
highway for both. I well remember their frequent and unheralded entries
into our house, and their ready assumption of its privileges.