The abbot was weary as abbot could be,

And he sat down to rest on the stump of a tree:

When suddenly rose a dismal tone

Was it a song, or was it a moan?

"Oh, ho! Oh, ho!

Above, below!

Lightly and brightly they glide and go;
The hungry and keen on the top are leaping,
The lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping;
Fishing is fine when the pool is muddy,
Broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy!"
In a monstrous fright, by the murky light,

He looked to the left and he looked to the right,
And what was the vision close before him,

That flung such a sudden stupor o'er him?

'Twas a sight to make the hair uprise,

And the life-blood colder run:

The startled priest struck both his thighs,
And the abbey clock struck one!

All alone, by the side of the pool,
A tall man sat on a three-legged stool,
Kicking his heels on the dewy sod,

And putting in order his reel and rod;

Red were the rags his shoulders wore,

And a high red cap on his head he bore;
His arms and his legs were long and bare;
And two or three locks of long red hair
Were tossing about his scraggy neck,
Like a tattered flag o'er a splitting wreck.
It might be Time, or it might be trouble,
Had bent that stout back nearly double-
Sunk in their deep and hollow sockets
That blazing couple of Congreve rockets,
And shrunk and shrivelled that tawny skin,

Till it hardly covered the bones within.

The line the abbot saw him throw

Had been fashioned and formed long ages ago, And the hands that worked his foreign vest Long ages ago had gone to their rest:

You would have sworn, as you looked on them,

He had fished in the flood with Ham and Shem!

There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, As he took forth a bait from his iron box.

Minnow or gentle, worm or fly

It seemed not such to the abbot's eye:

4*

Gaily it glittered with jewel and gem, And its shape was the shape of a diadem. It was fastened a gleaming hook about, By a chain within and a chain without; The fisherman gave it a kick and a spin, And the water fizzed as it tumbled in!

From the bowels of the earth,
Strange and varied sounds had birth-
Now the battle's bursting peal,

Neigh of steed, and clang of steel;

Now an old man's hollow groan

Echoed from the dungeon stone;
Now the weak and wailing cry

Of a stripling's agony!

Cold by this was the midnight air;
But the abbot's blood ran colder,

When he saw a gasping knight lie there,
With a gash beneath his clotted hair,
And a hump upon his shoulder.

And the loyal Churchman strove in vain To mutter a Pater Noster;

For he who writhed in mortal pain

Was camped that night on Bosworth plain

The cruel Duke of Glo'ster!

There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,

As he took forth a bait from his iron box.

It was a haunch of princely size,

Filling with fragrance earth and skies.
The corpulent abbot knew full well

The swelling form, and the steaming smell;
Never a monk that wore a hood

Could better have guessed the very wood
Where the noble hart had stood at bay,
Weary and wounded, at close of day.

Sounded then the noisy glee

Of a revelling company―
Sprightly story, wicked jest,
Rated servant, greeted guest,
Flow of wine, and flight of cork,
Stroke of knife, and thrust of cork:
But, where'er the board was spread,
Grace, I ween, was never said!

Pulling and tugging the fisherman sat;

And the priest was ready to vomit,

When he hauled out a gentleman, fine and fat,

With a belly as big as a brimming vat,

And a nose as red as a comet.

"A capital stew," the fisherman said, "With cinnamon and sherry!"

And the abbot turned away his head,

For his brother was lying before him dead,

The mayor of St. Edmond's Bury!

There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,

As he took forth a bait from his iron box:

It was a bundle of beautiful things

A peacock's tail, and a butterfly's wings,

A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl,

A mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl,
And a packet of letters, from whose sweet fold
Such a stream of delicate odours rolled,

That the abbot fell on his face, and fainted,
And deemed his spirit was half-way sainted.

Sounds seemed dropping from the skies,
Stifled whispers, smothered sighs,