CARP AND TENCH. 273 



Moulded and mixed in the magic mass, 



The sun is below the hill, 

 O'er the dark water flits the bat, 



Hoarse sounds the murmuring rill, 

 Slowly bends the willow's bough, 



To the beetle's sullen tune, 

 And grim and red is the angry head 



Of the archer in the moon. 

 Softly, softly, spread the spell, 



Softly spread it around, 

 But name not the magic mixture 



To mortal that breathes on ground. 

 St. George, c. 



The squire has tapped at the bower window, 



The day is one hour old, 

 Thine armour assume, the work of the loom, 



To defend thee from the cold. 

 The knight arose and donned his clothes, 



For one hour old was the day, 

 His armour he took, his rod and his hook, 



And his line of the palfrey grey. 

 He has brushed the dew from off the lawn, 



He has taken the depth by the rule ; 

 Here is gentle to eat, come partake of the meat, 



Sly tenant of the pool. 

 St. George, &c. 



The carp peeped out from his reedy bed, 



And forth he slyly crept, 

 But he liked not the look, for he saw the black hook, 



So he turned his tail and slept. 

 There is a flower grows in the field, 



Some call it a marigold-a, 

 And that which one fish would not take, 



Another surely would-a ! 

 And the knight had read in the books of the dead, 



So the knight would not repine, 

 For they that cannot get carp, sir, 



Upon tench may very well dine. 



St. George, &c. 

 II. T 



