32 



Its rather maudlin : so, to gloom 

 Keturn ye shades, no more to roam, 

 And revenons to our OYSTERS.) 



Coyly resisting, her he led 



To where, by hanging rock o erspread, 



There was a little cell ; 

 An ancient Scallop s sanctuary, 

 Where, free from world and vanity, 



He long had loved to dwell. 



Crooked was his shell, and gray his beard 

 With hoary age, and far revered 



For lore and sanctity ; 

 Cunning he was, and well did know 

 The moving tides, [and when a blow 



Foretold the changing sky. 



About his cell, arranged with care, 

 Were shells of snails, and sea-weeds rare* 



And mosses old and dry : 

 A venerable sponge, his bed, 

 And skeleton of eel, at head, 



Warned of mortality. 



