As I strolled out, one fair May morning
Before the clock had yet struck nine
I heard a loud, mysterious thumping
Down by the banks of the old Portwine.

I looked around, my mind bewildered,
Those screams so high, and moans so low;
It sounded like the dance of demons
Or the mating steps of the buffalo.

But all I saw was a large man fencing
And yowling like a drunk poltroon!
He seemed to wield some kind of weapon,
A saber blade, or broad spadroon.

He whirled and hollered like a dervish
His blade it was a blur of light
He loudly stamped, swung and riposted
Though none was there with whom to fight!

His flying steel swung wild and madly
It struck the stones with many a spark.
He tripped and fell into the river,
And I went home, across the park.

A