Now Fitzadree's good charger was all mettle,
And soon won to the middle of the stream—
But then the sky grew black as a tea kettle;
It rained, too, quite as fast as ever steam
Rose. But the thing which did at last unsettle
The balance of John's steed, was what you'll deem
A being that was nearly supernatural—
But here the waves John's clothes began to spatter all.
A form rose up from out the waves' abyss—
A monstrous little man with a black hide,