13 

 T R O U T I N a 



BY G. SWEET. 



When spring her vernal carpet spreads 



And makes the meadows green, 

 And violets with their purple heads 



On every side are seen, 

 O, then I love to wander out 



Where rippling waters gleam, 

 And fish for sly and active trout 



That haunt the flowing stream. 



The bobolincoln's joyoiis notes 



Sent forth wliile on the wing ; 

 And music from a thousand throats 



Makes hill and valley ring. 

 The brilliant flowers, sweet and fair. 



That lure the busy bee ; 

 The fragrant, fresh, and bracing air 



All have their charms for me. 



Some folks may love to lie and sleep 



And have their morning dreams, 

 But I prefer to slily creep 



Along the rushing streams. 

 With rod and line both light and strong, 



And hooks of trusty steel ; 

 I'm happier as I trudge along. 



Than any King can feel. 



But then the crowning charm of all 



(One need not have a dovibt) 

 Is from the clear cold brook to haul 



A mess of splendid trout. 

 With stealthy tread, and cautioiis cast, 



The close watch on the hne ; 

 The tug, that tells the fish is fast, 



O, then, what joy is mine ! 



The t-ush, the check, the sudden flash 



When first his side is seen, 

 With bending rod, and struggling splash 



He's landed on the green ; 

 Now see his colors fresh and bright. 



That shine like biirnished gold, 

 The crimson red, the silvery white, 



And form of fairest mould. 



We gaze with pleasure on our prize, 



A foot in length, or more. 

 As in the basket safe he lies 



With others, full a score. 

 Of all the fish that swim about. 



In River, Lake, or Sea, 

 None can comi)are with speckled trout. 



None, half so dear to me. 



Dedicated to R. G. A. with the respects of the Author. 



