A form rose up from out the waves' abyss--
A monstrous little man with a black hide,
Scarce four feet high, yet he was not remiss,
But dash'd the waves about--and then he cried,
With a demoniac laugh, or rather hiss,
"Die, mortal, die!" and John sank down and died,
The which, when Jeannie saw, she only sigh'd,
"I come, my John, I come, to be thy bride."

The figure was the Kelpie--that she knew,
And madly she rush'd on towards the shore;
The Kelpie roar'd, "Come, mortal, come thou too."
Ere he'd done speaking, Jeannie was no more;
She'd dash'd into the waves, and left no clue,
More than a steamer leaves just left the Nore,
By which you might discover where she lay,
And drag her upwards to the realms of day.

But what befel the cause of all these woes?
That's what I never heard, so cannot tell;
But this I know, that this same Richard Groze
Return'd no more to bonnie Scotland. Well,
I only hope he may in bed repose,
And that he may at last escape from hell.
And this I know, that if you do not smother
This poem, when I choose I'll write another.
J.S.

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