THE OLD MILL-STREAM.
Full soon I discover'd the birch-shadow'd place
That nurtured the trout and the silver-backed dace;
Where the coming of night found me blest and content,
With my patience unworn, and my fishing-rod bent.
That nurtured the trout and the silver-backed dace;
Where the coming of night found me blest and content,
With my patience unworn, and my fishing-rod bent.
How fresh were the flags on the stone-studded ridge,
That rudely supported the narrow oak bridge:
And that bridge, oh! how boldly and safely I ran
On the thin plank that now I should timidly scan.
That rudely supported the narrow oak bridge:
And that bridge, oh! how boldly and safely I ran
On the thin plank that now I should timidly scan.
I traversed it often at fall of the night,
When the clouds of December shut out the moon's light;
A mother might tremble, but I never did;
For my footing was sure, though the pale stars were hid.
When the clouds of December shut out the moon's light;
A mother might tremble, but I never did;
For my footing was sure, though the pale stars were hid.
When the breath of stern winter had fetter'd the tide,
What joy to career on its feet-warming slide;
With mirth in each eye, and bright health on each cheek,
While the gale in our faces came piercing and bleak.
What joy to career on its feet-warming slide;
With mirth in each eye, and bright health on each cheek,
While the gale in our faces came piercing and bleak.
The snow-flakes fell thick on our wind-roughen'd curls,
But we laugh'd as we shook off the feathery pearls;
And the running, the tripping, the pull and the haul
Had a glorious end in the slip and the sprawl.
But we laugh'd as we shook off the feathery pearls;
And the running, the tripping, the pull and the haul
Had a glorious end in the slip and the sprawl.
Oh! I loved the wild place where the clear ripples flow'd
On their serpentine way o'er the pebble-strew'd road;
Where, mounted on Dobbin, we youngsters would dash;
Both pony and rider enjoying the splash.
On their serpentine way o'er the pebble-strew'd road;
Where, mounted on Dobbin, we youngsters would dash;
Both pony and rider enjoying the splash.
How often I tried to teach Pincher the tricks.
Of diving for pebbles and swimming for sticks;
But my doctrines could never induce the loved brute
To consider hydraulics a pleasant pursuit.
Of diving for pebbles and swimming for sticks;
But my doctrines could never induce the loved brute
To consider hydraulics a pleasant pursuit.
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