202 FISHING GOSSIP. 
As J throw my flies, 
Fish on fish doth rise, 
Roach and dace by dozens, on the bank they flounder. 
Presently a splash, 
And a furious dash, 
Lo! a logger-headed chub, and a fat two-pounder ! 
Shade of Isaak, say 
Did you not one day, 
Fish for logger-headed chub, by this very weir? 
*Neath these very trees, 
Down these shady leas,— 
Where's the nightingale that ought to be singing 
here ? 
Now, in noontide heat, 
Here I take my seat ; 
Izaak’s book beguiles the time—of Izaak’s book I say, 
Never dearer page 
Gladdened youth or age, 
Never sweeter soul than his blessed the merry May. 
For the while I read, 
*Tis as if indeed, 
Peace and joy and gentle thoughts from each line 
were welling ; 
As if earth and sky 
Took a tenderer dye, 
And as if within my heart fifty larks were trilling. 
