THE ANGLER'S CHANT 



Ah, the shriek of the reel, the trout-fisher's reel! 



No sound is so sweet to the ear; 

 The hum of the line, the buzz of the wheel ! 



Where the crystalline brook runs so clear. 



Here 's a shade on the stream where the willows bend down, 



Where the waters sleep drowsy and dim, 

 And there where the ripples whirl amber and brown 



The lords of the rivulets swim. 



Then fling the light tackle with delicate cast, 



Let your fly like a cobweb alight, 

 A dash and a splash, and the victim is fast, 



While your reel sings a song of delight. 



See, yonder green-moss'd boulder enchecks 



The stress of the turbulent tides, 

 And there amid bubbles and foam-bell flecks 



The gold-spotted brook- trout hides. 



ISAAC MCLELLAN 



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