Who Was He? — A Story of Peter the Great
Upon the mighty Neva’s bank,
Along the winding woodland way,
A Horseman rode, in forest wilds
Of elm, of pine, of mosses grey.
Before him rose a Fisher’s hut;
Beneath a pine, by the blue stream,
An aged, bearded Fisherman
Was mending his boat’s broken beam.
The Horseman said, “Grandsire! Good-day!
God help thee, friend! how liveth thou?
Doth thou catch much? and tell me, pray,
Where doth thou sell thy takings now?”
The old man answered sullenly,
“Are fishes in the river few?
And other market have I none,
Except the town, there, close to you.
“And how am I to fish to-day?
What kind of turmoil’s here, you see!
You fight; and, in the fight, a shell
Has smashed my fishing-boat for me!”
The Horseman bounded from his horse,
Without a word the tools he grasped;
And in a twinkling planked the boat,
The rudder in the stern set fast.
“See, now, old friend, thy boat’s all right!
Out on the water boldly set;
And, in the name of Peter’s luck,
Cast forth into the deep thy net.”
He vanished. Mused the stern old man:
“I wonder who the de’il was he!
In every inch he looked a king,
But plied the hatchet splendidly.”