er, listen, and look, And tell, while dressing their sunny curls, Of the Black Fox of Salmon Brook.
The same writer has happily versified a pleasant superstition of the valley of the Connecticut.
It is supposed that shad are led from the Gulf of Mexico to the Connecticut by a kind of Yankee bogle in the shape of a bird.
The Shad Spirit. Now drop the bolt, and securely nail The horse-shoe over the door; Tis a wise precaution; and, if it should fail, It never failed before. Know ye the shepherd that gathers his flock Where the gales of the equinox blow From each unknown reef and sunken rock In the Gulf of Mexico,— While the monsoons growl, and the trade-winds bark, And the watch-dogs of the surge Pursue through the wild waves the ravenous shark That prowls around their charge? To fair Connecticut's northernmost source, O'er sand-bars, rapids, and falls, The Shad Spirit holds his onward course With the flocks which his whistle calls. Oh, how shall he know where he went befor