386 BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS. 



Valiant, noble Bass ! 



Fit denizen of the brawling stream ! Thy 

 Last fight is ended thy last race is run ! 

 Thy once lov'd pool 'neath the sycamore's shade, 

 Thy fancied stronghold 'neath its tangled roots, 

 Shall know thee no more. 



Place him in thy creel; 

 Lay him tenderly on a bed of ferns, 

 Crisp, green and cool with sparkling, morning dew- 

 A warrior in repose ! 



