Down THE MATTAWAMKEAG. 167 

Soon upon the upmost branching 
Of the wildest Mattawamkeag ; 
All was ready, then the launching, 
Each with paddle dips ahead. 
Down the narrow, rippling river, 
Every moment growing swifter ; 
Dewy alders dripping ever, 
All the way to open water. 
Yet a little while they now wait, 
At a clear and pebbly trout pool; 
With enticing angle worm bait, 
Taking largest from the school. 
As the glorious sun is showing 
O’er eastern hill top, just above ; 
Leave behind the swiftly flowing, 
Paddling through pond lily cove. 
O’er the first broad water shining, 
In early sunlight, birds are singing ; 
Speckled beauties often leaping, 
Close beside the wood-ducks feeding. 
Tarry once again, zz hiding, 
At the brook for winter fishing ; 
Soon the wood-drake by is swimming, 
Small the thought had he of dying. 
On by meadow shores with writings, 
Speaking oft of musquash feedings 
Where the mink was lately fishing, 
And a point with otter slidings. 
