Reverie of Trouting Days.
I’m thinkin’ of the old trout brook,
A-windin’ where the woods are thick;
An’ see myself a-wadin’ there –
A boy, with feet all tanned and bare.
My eager hand a fishpole grips,
An’ close upon the dancin’ rips
My breath comes short and quick!
I seem to feel the sudden tug,
An’ see the trout dart high in air;
A silv’ry flash of liquid light,
The prelude to a glorious fight!
A dart! a rush! a sullen stop!
The last despairing, anguished flop –
Hi’s mine! Away, dull care!
The prize secure, I see myself
Prone on the bank with panting joy!
An’ — blame my eyes! of I ain’t here
Horrayin’ with the old-time cheer.
While wheezy breath and husky shout
Tell plain the old man’s pet’rin’ out!
Heigho! But I was onc’t a boy!
– N.Y. Evening Sun.
Davenport Daily Leader (Davenport, Iowa) AUg 22, 1895
Coshocton Morning Tribune (Coshocton, Ohio) Aug 2, 1917
The Trout Brook.
Half Hidden by tall meadow grass that sways with every breeze,
And running through deep, silent pools, and under spreading trees;
Now stealing through the quiet ways of solitary wood,
And now beneath a timbered arch where once an old mill stood;
Across the fields and to the brow where valleys fall away,
Then over beds of shelving rock its waters dance and play,
And now and then, as though in joy of such delightful fun,
It springs into a waterfall that glistens in the sun,
And eddies round and round about, in strange fantastic glee,
Then steadies down and flows away sedately to the sea.
– Frank H. Sweet, in St. Nicholas.
Davenport Daily Leader (Davenport, Iowa) Aug 22, 1895
Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Jun 21, 1916