Another hour! and lively as before
The pike appears; while Peter, wearied sore,
With itching fingers longs his fate to try,
Yet dares not stand the hazard of the die.
But with a dash the fish the die has cast,
For through his hand the slippery line ran fast;
And, tangling 'mongst his fingers, drew him close
The rapid stream; which o'er its banks had rose,
A slip, a plunge, headforemost in the tide
He dived; then rising—vainly struggling—tried