Emus Calamus. 
174 
’Twas new to me, but yet is not 
So very scarce and rare, 
As many a river knoweth well; 
None better than the Yare 1 
For by its banks abundantly 
The fragrant tall leaves grow; 
Singing with reedy rustling voice, 
Whene’er soft breezes blow. 
The Mayor of Norwich holds in June 
His annual feast and show; 
And to the grand cathedral church 
Processions with him go. 
And then the gray and solemn aisles, 
And all the ancient floor, 
Are with the aromatic leaves 
Bestrewed thickly o’er. 
In by-gone days the costly fumes 
Of incense here were shed; 
But sweeter far the fragrant gush 
That greets each passing tread. 
In the sordid streets are bowers built, 
Of these same reeds as well, 
Plaited and wrought like basket-work, 
All full of spicy smell. 
And many a queer and quaint device 
Are round about them made, 
