AN ANGLER'S RHYME. yp 



T WROTE you, last Easter, a welcome to spring, ' Vf 



- When I opened my window, and heard the birds sing, ^ 

 But alas! by the movable feasts of the Church, 

 The poor bluebirds this year are quite left in the lurch! " 



I have seen one stray robin around the back door, 

 Looking lonesome, like "Oliver asking for more," 

 And a blue bird's reported, but then I must say, 

 That the neighbor^who spoke of it, thought 'twas a jay! 



I have heard but one bird song, and that from the kitchen, 

 And its notes were more piercing and clear than bewitching. 

 For they came from a bantam, who nearly got froze 

 In a lively March blizzard, which crippled his toes. 



The snow still lies deep on the valleys and hills, 

 And no voices are heard from the "murmuring rills," 

 For the brooks in their fetters of ice are still bound. 

 And all nature is sleeping in silence profound. 



Yet the daylight grows longer, the skies are more warm, 

 And brighter the sunshine that follows the storm. 

 While we trust the old promise, through ages proved sure, 

 That seedtime and harvest shall ever endure. 



Though the rods in their closet still rest on the shgif, 

 With the fly-hooks beside them, well stored with their pelf, 

 The day will soon come, when their spring we shall feel, 

 And our ears shall rejoice in the click of the reel. 



Old winter, good bye! please be off with your train, 

 Let us greet gentle spring with a welcome again. 

 When our feet by the brookside may wander at will, 

 While each leap of the trout to our heart sends a thrill. 



When the song of the birds shall enliven the hours, 

 And our eyes shall be blessed by the smile of the flowers. 

 While we wend our way home, as the daylight fades out, 

 With our hearts full of joy and our creels full of trout. 

 NEW HAMPSHIRE, April 1. X / V ON W. 



