Winding through marshes, undulcet,

[Pg 8]

Contending always with the fog,

Unable e'er to flee the bog,

Does charm, perhaps, the frogs and snakes,

And loathsome reptiles of the lakes.

Although some demon's wand'ring sprite

May, haply, listen with delight,

To Park's low, grov'ling, growling song,

As, through the sloughs, it pours along;

And though in marshes, fens and ditches,

It may, perhaps, amuse the witches;

Yet, should an unsuspecting team

Hear, unawares, the dismal scream

Of his lugubr'ous, muck-born verse,

'Twould sadly frighten every horse.

And, had the Children in the Wood

Just heard his strain, and understood

Its wretched, wrangling, dismal din,

How frighten'd had those children been!—

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