A STORY OF PETER THE GREAT

Upon the mighty Neva's bank,
Along the winding woodland way,
A Horseman rode, in forest wilds
Of elms, of pine, of mosses grey.

Before him rose a Fisher's hut;
Beneath a pine, by the blue stream,
An aged, bearded Fisherman
Was mending his boat's broken beam.

The Horseman said, " Grandsire! Good-day!
God help thee, friend! how livest thou?
Dost thou catch much? and tell me, pray,
Where dost thou sell thy takings now? "

The old man answered sullenly,
" Are fishes in the river few?
And other market have I none
Except the town, there, close to you.

" And how am I to fish to-day?
What kind of turmoil 's here, you see!
You fight; and, in the fight, a shell
Has smashed my fishing-boat for me! "

The Horseman bounded from his horse,
Without a word the tools he grasped;
And in a twinkling planked the boat,
The rudder in the stern set fast.

" See, now, old friend, thy boat 's all right!
Out on the water boldly set;
And, in the name of Peter's luck,
Cast forth into the deep thy net. "

He vanished. Mused the stern old man:
" I wonder who the de'il was he!
In every inch he looked a king,
But plied the hatchet splendidly. "