THE FRESH-WATER SIREN. 147 



He gazes, debates. Is it far beyond credence, 



That the witch's fine tale obtained something like credence, 



When hundreds jump into some Lake of Killarney 



With no witchery at all, save some fair Katherine's blarney ? 



Oh ! 'twas then for some raven to croak in his ear, 



Or one crow, boding sorrow, to flap her wings near. 



But alas ! in that hour of revel and rout, 



Not an ominous thing was seen lurking about ; 



One more dubious look on the water he cast, 



One look on the sun that look was his last ! 



Underneath the bright water, and 'neath the bright sun, 



A most horrible deed on that day was done ; 



The blue streamlet put on a deep rubicund dye, 



And the fishes felt qualmish, they could not tell why. 



fart tlif fljtrtr. 



Fast as acorns in autumn fall into a pool, 



In the Siren's receiver dropp'd many a fool ; 



I wot, those that got in, were ne'er known to get out. 



But by tongues in the air it was bruited about 



That a beauteous enchantress who lived upon flesh, 



Was the fowler that caught these young birds in her mesh. 



The place where she lurked, none exactly could tell, 



Though many looked wise, just as if they knew well ; 



