"An elm grew close by the cottage eaves; So he plucked him a twig well clothed with leaves, And sallying forth with the supple arm, _ To serve as a talisman parrying harm, - He felt that, though his heart was so big, 'Twas even the stouter for having a twig. For this, he thought, would serve to switch The horrors away, as he crossed the ditch, The meadow and copse, wherein, perchance, Will-o'-the-wisp might wickedly dance; And wielding it, keep him from feeling a chill At the menacing sound of ' Whip-poor-will ' ! And his flesh from creeping, beside the bog, At the harsh, bass voice of the viewless frog."