35-± Book of the Black Bass. 



The effort cost him dear — his worsted strength 

 Is ehbing fast. And now in lessening curves 

 He feebly swims, and labors with the tide. 

 And as I reel the line he slowly yields, 

 And now tvirns up his breast-plate, snowy white - 

 A vanquished, conquered knight. 



And now my friend 

 The landing-net. With firm and cautious hand 

 Beneath the surface hold it. Take him in. 

 Xow lift him out and gently lay him down. 

 How bright his tunic, bronze and glossy green! 

 A fitting rival to the velvet sward. 

 And see the ragged rent the hook hath made! 

 You marvel how it held him safe and fast! 

 'Twas by the equal and continual strain . 

 Of supple rod and ever-faithful reel. 

 'Twas work well done. 



Oh. valiant, noble bass! 

 Fit dweller of the merry, brawling stream. 

 Thy once-loved pool beneath thy giant tree. 

 Thy fancied stronghold "neath its tangled roots, 

 Shall know thee never more. Thy race is run! 



Kow in thy creel, 

 My doubting friend, we'll gently lay him down 

 Upon a bed of cool and graceful ferns. 

 Yet sparkling with the early morning dew — 

 A warrior in repose! 



