The scoffer rails at ancient tales
Of lake and stream and river;
The wise man owns that in his bones
The kelpie makes him shiver.
Big salmon-flies the scoffer buys,
Long rods and wading stockings;
Unpicturesque he walks in Esk
With unbelief and mockings.
"A river-horse! O-ho, of course!"
And shouts with ribald laughter;
He does not see in his cheap glee
The kelpie trotting after.
The storm comes chill from off the hill;
An eerie wind doth holloa;
And near and near by surges drear
The water-horse doth follow.
A snort, a snuff; enough, enough;
Past prayer or human help he
Comes never more to mortal door
Who meets the water-kelpie.
* * * * *
"THE KING ARRIVES IN SCOTLAND