WHITE PERCH 



Deep-lurking in the lonely lake, 

 Or where the tidal rivers make 

 'Their ceaseless battle with the sea, 

 And the salt breeze is frisky-free ; 

 In ponds that keep an ocean-taste ; 

 'Neath wharves, whose timbers run to waste. 

 Or settle down in gray decay, 

 Where eddies whirl in lazy play 

 About the piers, or where, in reeds 

 Half hid, the sluggish creek recedes, — 

 In all these places thou art found, 

 With speed and grace and beauty crowned, 

 O Perch! and ne'er was daintier fish 

 To make a dash and make a dish, 

 So firm thy flesh, and sweet and white — 

 Oh I who could e'er thy charms recite ! 

 Yet careless Fame, 'tis passing strange, 

 Has passed thee by. But this will change ; 

 The day must come when anglers true 

 Will give to thee the credit due. 

 They fancy now thou art not game, 

 And may even jeer thy name ; 

 They'd know the fault was theirs, not thine, 

 If the right lure were on their line, 

 And then for thee they 'd gladly search, 

 And sing thy praise, O light White Perch ! 

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