A "RISE" 



Under the shadows of a cliff, 



Crowned with a growth of stately pine, 



An angler moors his rocking skiff 

 And o'er the ripple casts his line, 



And where the darkling current crawls 



Like thistle-down the gay lure falls. 



Then from the depths a silver gleam 

 Quick flashes like a jewel bright, 



Up through the waters of the stream 

 An instant visible to sight 



As lightning cleaves the somber sky 



A black bass rises to the fly. 



ERNEST MCGAFFEY 

 By courtesy of Mr. McGaffey 



