And yet each vow and true-love plight Still filled his soul with fond delight; And fancy's self in visions rare Gave glimpses of a form fair, T'was thus he felt not how they parted The fairy elve, till Pooka darted Along a gloomy dark ravine, Where Solar beams might never shine. And in this gloomy dark abyss Did roaring loud a torrent hiss, And tumble rumbling over rocks, With crashes and appalling shocks. A mocking echo swept its side When in its seething, boiling tide Poor Con was plunged in elfin play, As Pooka vanished in the spray. His spell-bound trouble past and o'er He s trove to climb the rock-built shore Anon he grasped and nimbly caught Each rock projecting over aught, And scaled the briar-entangled steep That beetled o'er the torrent deep. His drowsy eyelids sought repose, And soon he fell into a doze, And soundly slept fatigue away, Till waking up at noon next day When "wide awake" a wondering manMatt Smyth