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THE RED FISHERMAN.
Oh flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified !
Romeo and Juliet.
The abbot arose, and closed his book,
And donned his sandal shoon,
Upon the summer moon :
A quiet breeze around;
And the waves a soothing sound :
But love and calm delight;
On his wrinkled brow that night.
But he thought not of the reeds :
But he did not tell the beads ;
The Spirit that dwelleth there ;
If he opened his lips, the words they spoke
Had never the tone of prayer.
He had swayed the crosier well ;
The abbot were loth to tell.
Companionless, for a mile or more,
But the abbot was thinking of scenery,
About as much, in sooth,
Or an advocate of truth.
He did not mark how the skies in wrath
Grew dark above his head;
Grew damp beneath his tread ;
To a pool, in whose recess
Unchanged and motionless;
The space of half a rood;
And the scent of human blood;
Were venomous and foul ;
Were the vulture and the owl;
As ever a Company pumped; And the perch, that was netted and laid on the bank,
Grew rotten while it jumped :
At midnight, man or boy ;
And that name was the “ The Devil's Decoy !”