The tale to see I asked, but he Begged I would take it home with me. "At leisure you Can there read through What really I believe is true; For ruins near, As proofs appear, That once an abbey flourished here, And I the name of Mary found Carved on a stone from underground, While in the family for years The tale has been; and it appears My grandfather searched o'er the place, And ev'ry record he could trace, Who said, from all he'd seen and knew, The legend without doubt was true. A smatt'ring, too, of facts I've heard From folks who never, on my word, Have seen the tale, or could have guessed That I the manuscript possessed. The river, too, in which to-day We fished, through forests wends its way, And many (if you so desire) Can show you where our worthy friar In vain his basket tried to fill, Not from the want of fish but skill; Which place since then has haunted been; For oft on dusky nights is seen A fisherman, who strives in vain Advantage o'er a fish to gain, Until you near, when with a scream He plunges headlong in the stream. This story first in early youth I heard, and, lest it might be truth, I ne'er the place have ventured nigh Until the sun was pretty high. But I forget, you do not know The tale; but read, and I will show You where it is, that you may go ('Tis best upon a drizzling night) To see this worried angling sprite." I rose to leave,--it was a splendid night, The rising moon shone beautifully bright, And pleased I dwelt upon my homeward walk, Which formed the subject of our passing talk; But as we parted at the garden-gate A groom appearing said, "The horses wait." My thoughtful host this pleasure had supplied, And greatly I enjoyed the moonlight ride. This may indeed (thought I) a sample be Of Ireland's pleasing hospitality. Ere seeking rest I thought to read The tale, but found that much indeed Of time and patience it would need, Before its pages could defy The watchful critic's piercing eye, Which seeks and points out ev'ry flaw; (Like landladies, when we withdraw From sea-side towns, who items tack On bills for many a hidden crack, Which ev'ry lodger ev'ry year Has paid them for, and paid too, dear.) In fact, so much had been destroyed That really I felt quite annoyed, And feared I never could restore And make it perfect as before. But, quite resolved to do my best, I gave my quill but little rest, And sketched the outlines in a week; When, as I wished with him to speak About some parts, I roamed across And found him,--not at home, of course, Yet waited I quite patiently (Although some time he p'rhaps might be), And rambled o'er the garden wide With fair Rosina by my side.