XIX.
The imps of the river yell and rave;
They had no power above the wave,
But they heaved the billow before the prow,
And they dashed the surge against her side,
And they struck her keel with jerk and blow,
Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide.
She wimpled about in the pale moonbeam,
Like a feather that floats on a wind tossed-stream;
And momently athwart her track
The quarl upreared his island back,
And the fluttering scallop behind would float,
And patter the water about the boat;
But he bailed her out with his colen-bell,
And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread,
While on every side like lightening fell
The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade.
– from “The Culprit Fay” by Joseph Rodman Drake
Hey. No comment at all on this poem, but I was just looking at the fancrone version of The Apprentice, and you have this in your disclaimer:
“Younge readers should consult their parents if they want to read this story.”
Either you’re going for a kind of Middle English spelling there, or maybe you mean “Younger”?
Didn’t see a place to leave a comment there, so I jumped over here.
And now I really should get back to my own story and stop procrastinating on Ye Olde Internetz….