Beyond the newer Yankee swarms--
His cider-presses spread their arms.
Before, the squatter; back, the foe;
And the dark waters flow.

As that salt air the stallion felt,
He whimpers gayly, as if still is
Upon his sight his native Scheldt,
Or Skagger Rack, or Little Belt,--
Their waving grass and silver lilies,
Where browsed the amorous fillies.

And o'er the tide some lady nags
Blew back his challenge. Scarce could Herman
Hold in his seat. "By John of Prague's
True faith!" he thought, "thy spirit lags
Not, Joost! Thy course thyself determine!"
And plunges like a merman.

Leander's spirit in the steed
Inspired his stroke, not Herman's fear;
And fast the island shores recede,
Fast rise the rider's spirits freed,
The golden mainland draws more near--
"O gallant horse! 'tis here!"

VII.--ELUSION.

Across the Kills the muskets crack--
"Ha! ha!" Lord Herman waves his beaver: