In dreams the streams again I scout,
The foam-flecked pool, the moment's doubt,
The flies, the gleam, the splash, the cry,
The reel, the rush, then high and dry
I land again the lusty trout,

In winter days.

-Robert Thorne Newberry.

WHEN TULIPS BLOOM

I

When tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air

Go wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow,

And leads the eyes toward sunset skies Beyond the hills where green trees grow;

Then weary seems the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:
I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.

II

I guess the pussy-willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plough.

WHEN TULIPS BLOOM

The thistle-birds have changed their dun,
For yellow coats, to match the sun;

And in the same array of flame
The Dandelion Show's begun.

The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?

III

I think the meadow-lark's clear sound
Leaps upward slowly from the ground,
While on the wing the bluebirds sing
Their wedding-bells to woods around.

The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,

127

Where water flows, where green grass grows, Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer!"

And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm.
How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!

IV

'Tis not a proud desire of mine;

I ask for nothing superfine;

No heavy weight, no salmon great,

To break the record, or my line.

Only an idle little stream,

Whose amber waters softly gleam,

Where I may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:

Only a trout or two, to dart

From foaming pools, and try my art:

'Tis all I'm wishing-old-fashioned fishing,

And just a day on Nature's heart!

-Henry Van Dyke.

From "Poems of Henry Van Dyke." Copyright, 1911, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publishers.

APRIL ON TWEED

As birds are fain to build their nest
The first soft sunny day,

So longing wakens in my breast

A month before the May,

When now the wind is from the West,
And Winter melts away.

The snow lies yet on Eildon Hill,
But soft the breezes blow.
If melting snows the waters fill,
We nothing heed the snow,

But we must up and take our will,—
A fishing will we go!

THE HAPPY ANGLER

Below the branches brown and bare,
Beneath the primrose lea,

The trout lies waiting for his fare,

A hungry trout is he;

He's hooked, and springs and splashes there
Like salmon from the sea.

Oh, April tide's a pleasant tide,

However times may fall,

And sweet to welcome Spring, the Bride,

You hear the mavis call;

But all adown the water-side

The Spring's most fair of all!

-Andrew Lang.

From "Grass of Parnassus," Longsmans, Green, & Co.

129

THE HAPPY ANGLER

Below a shady hazel tree

An angler trimmed his flies,

Singing, hey derry! trout that are merry

No longer, no longer are wise.

Of dapper make and ruddy hue
'Twas a jolly blade, I ween,

With his hey derry, fresh from the ferry,
Over the meadows so green.

Right gladsomely he eyed the stream,

And shook his wand anon,
With a hey derry! brown as a berry
The winding waters run.

Oh! well I wot that jovial blade

Is one of the gentle band,

With his hey derry, trout that are merry,

Swim to the angler's hand.

Derry, hey derry!

Trout that are merry

Swim to the angler's hand!

-Thomas Tod Stoddart.

IN TROUTING TIME

Now what care I for politics

And all their mad and foolish tricks,
And demogogic spouting?

We've reached the time of year so glad
When men can drop the woe and gad
Of daily cares and go, my lad,

With rod and reel a-trouting!

Let business cares be what they may,
Let happen what may hap to-day

In all this world of doubting

I have no care, for free am I
To take my rod, my reel, and fly,
And to the distant rillets hie

To ease my soul in trouting!

Prue may be cross, and Bess unkind,
But naught I care! I shall not mind
Their frowning and their pouting.