THE FISHER
The fisherman saddleth his good winged horse,
To be on the deep seems to him his best course.
Against the white strand loud and hoarse the wave breaks,
And towards the strand now the fisherman makes.
And up when the fisher his fishing-line drew,
A fine golden fish on the hook met his view.
Then he laughed in his beard: “I’ve of fish seen a store,
But ne’er one with golden cloth kirtle before.
“If I a gold piece for each gold-scale possess’d,
With poverty I should no more be distrest.”
With its tail the fish ’gan the bench furious to smite,
And a strange dance it seemed to the fisherman’s sight.
“Thou wealthy man, be not, I pray thee, so gay,
A much quieter part a poor fisher should play.”
The golden fish heard every word as it lay,
Began straight to talk and discourse in this way:—
“I’m full as rich, fisherman, as thou art poor,
And soon for thee happiness I will procure.