FOURTH EMPTYING 67 



And should it fail we'll try again, 



With moorgame rich from heathery glen, 



Red hackle or dark water-hen, 



And purple snipe ; 

 And should these fail why then 



We'll smoke a pipe, 



And think how oft in Life's dull chart, 

 Is disappointment's keenest smart 

 Depicted by the angler's art 



All cares and crosses ; 

 Some rises are to profit's part, 



But more are losses. 



Oft when some golden prize we deem 

 Is safely hooked in luck's queer stream ; 

 Or when we wake from some sweet dream 



Well worth the wishing 

 We find all gone save hope's bright beam, 



Yet still keep fishing. 



But in Life's river, keen and strong, 

 For ever hurrying on the throng, 

 As young and old are borne along 



Its rapid current, 

 The angler's art, 'mid all the throng, 



Stands one deterrent. 



Then let us fish, 'mong birds and flowers, 

 With curling winds and gentle showers ; 

 The world has given no sport like ours 



To sing its praises ; 

 The angler seeks not rosy bowers, 



But modest daisies. 



