A MONARCH'S DEFEAT 



Up the stream once more, the ripples 

 Round its prow in elfin laughter 

 Swirling — till he gains a vantage 

 Far above the deep, black water 

 Where asleep, or so-pretending, 

 Lurks the Monarch of the pike-tribe. 

 Then the tempter, casting gently, 

 Lets the current swirl his fish-bait 

 Towards the pool — Oh ! how it tumbles 

 O'er the tossing water, till it 



Gains the charmed calm, where, basking 

 In the shadows of black water, 

 Is the Monarch. On the instant, 

 Seeing not a line, but only 

 A small fish before him tumbling, 

 With a mighty dart he quivers, 

 And upon the dainty morsel 

 Snaps his jaws in savage rapture. 

 But the line so sudden tightens 



That he feels the hooks — and writhing^ 

 Mad he turns and plunges wildly, 

 Rears more wildly the next moment 

 Till it looks as if his body, 

 Flapping, tried to flap the breezes 

 In the face with furious insult. 

 But the line, so slim and cunning, 

 In its color like the waters, 

 Guides him ever in his boundings, 

 In his rushes, in his plunges, 

 In his desperate endeavor 

 To outplay the hand that masters. 

 *3 



