THE FRESH-WATER SIREN. 145 



His hair bristled with fright, with fear dropped his jaw, 



Yet he'd trodden on naught save a feminine paw, 



Hairy and black, and armed with a claw. 



Squatting, toad-fashion, amidst the sedge 



Which divided the path from the water's edge, 



Sat our former acquaintance, the baffled crone, 



Xow wearing no semblance excepting her own ; 



From bottom to top, from one end to the other, 



Unveiled to the sight well I wot, such another 



Was not to be seen on that fine summer's day, 



When all wore their best faces and brightest array. 



There again were the arms, so long, hairy, and spare, 



The fiery fixed eyes with their horrible glare, 



The mis-shapen head, with a great corporation, 



Whose members were wasted to attenuation. 



Oh ! well might our Gallant's heart quiver and quake, 



Well might his limbs like an aspen leaf shake,' 



Well his jaw it might drop, well might bristle his hair, 



As the loathly old creature bespoke him thus fair : 



" Courteous Sir, why this alarm ? 



Fear no hindrance, dread no harm ; 

 I'm a gentle Fairy Sprite 



For beauty famed, 



The Peerless named, 

 Suffering under foul despite. 



