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ON ANGLING. 103
THE KING OF THE FEN WATERS.
Beneath the still waters is the Fen King so brave,
Whose power o'er the marches prevails ; His eyes are hot coals, and his mouth is a cave, And his beard, for not one of the Fen Kings can Is as long as a dozen horse tails. [shave,
The stumps of his teeth are like crags of the rocks,
His nose seems a mountain of beef; Like bars of old steel are his stiff and straight locks, And a coronet of green, of reeds, rushes, and docks,
Proclaims him of marches the chief.
Full stern is his visage, and horridly bright
Is the glare of his red rolling eye ; Dismay'd is each fisherman 's heart at the sight, As on the wild marches he sees in the light,
The Fen King and company might.
For oft, when the midnight broods over the fen,
And the bitterns are screaming around, Beheld with dismay by benighted poor men, The Fen King displays his stern visage, and then The night mares prance over the ground.
Beneath the blue waters his palace is seen,
All fishermen truly aver ; And oft as their boats sail slow on the Nene, They get a sly peep both at him and his Queen,
And loud are their praises of her.