202 FISHING GOSSIP. 



As I throw my flies, 



Fish on fish doth rise, 

 Roach and dace by dozens, on the bank they flounder. 



Presently a splash, 



And a furious dash, 

 Lo ! a logger-headed chub, and a fat two-pounder ! 



Shade of Isaak, say 



Did you not one day, 

 Fish for logger-headed chub, by this very weir ? 



'Neath these very trees, 



Down these shady leas, 



Where's the nightingale that ought to be singing 

 here? 



Now, in noontide heat, 



Here I take my seat ; 

 Izaak's book beguiles the time of Izaak's book I say, 



Never dearer page 



Gladdened youth or age, 

 Never sweeter soul than his blessed the merry May. 



For the while I read, 



Tis as if indeed, 



Peace and joy and gentle thoughts from each line 

 were welling ; 



As if earth and sky 



Took a tenderer dye, 

 And as if within my heart fifty larks were trilling. 



