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Coming at last to the brink of the stream that is the home 

 of the sturgeon, he plunges in. Straightway the denizens 

 of the river spring up to defend their realm against the invad- 

 ing Fay. Against him — 



Their warriors come in swift career 

 and hem him round on every side; 

 On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, 

 And quarl's long arms are round him roll'd, 

 The prickly prong has pierced his skin, 

 And the squab has thrown his javelin, 

 The gritty star has rubbed him raw, 

 And the crab has struck with his giant claw; 

 He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain, 

 He strikes around, but his blows are vain ; 

 Hopeless is the unequal fight, 

 Fairy ! naught is left but flight. 



Fleeing back to the land again, gashed and wounded, he lay 

 down, and looking behind 



... he saw around in the sweet moonshine, 

 Their little wee faces above the brine, 

 Giggling and laughing with all their might 

 At the piteous hap of the Fairy wight. 



Reviving at length, he spies a purple mussel shell of which he 

 makes him a boat with an oar of a bootle blade. In the boat, 

 beyond the reach of the river imps, who are powerless above 

 the surface of the river, he sails on till he finds the brown- 

 backed sturgeon. Then 



... he skulled with all his might and main, 

 And followed wherever the sturgeon led, 

 Till he saw him upward point his head ; 



With sweeping tail and quivering fin, 



Through the wave the sturgeon flew, 

 And, like the heaven-shot javelin, 



He sprung above the waters blue. 

 Instant as the star-fall light, 



He plunged him in the deep again, 

 But left an arch of silver bright 



The rainbow of the moony main. 



