A FISH STORY
FOR THE LITTLE CRITICS.
A strange fish came from an inland home
On a journey down to the sea.
He split the ripples, and ript the foam,
And danced and dived in glee.
“Ho, ho!” cried the fry where the sea grew near,
“Hurrah for a fresh-water fool!
One gulp of our salt when he comes out here
Will send him back to his pool.”
The fish was fleet, but the bar was high,
And the low tide roil’d and dim;
And he groped, as he slowly pass’d the fry,
And to and fro would swim.
“Ho, ho!” cried they, as they shook their scales,
“The muddled one misses his way!”
And they fann’d their fins, and slash’d their tails—
“Aha, he here will stay!”
The fish paused not till the way grew clear;
Then launch’d out under the spray;
And shower’d his fins in a white-cap near
That rivall’d the rays of the day.
“Ho, ho, showing off to the sharks!” cried the fry;
“And look—a gull on the shoal.
Yon surface-shiner would better be shy;
The bird will swallow him whole.”
The fish pass’d on, till the sea grew deep,
Then, plunging down through the blue,
A flash came back from a parting leap,
As at last he sank from view.
“Ho, ho,” cried the fry, “we can all do that,
If we only go out with the tide.”
But the tide had gone, so, left on the flat,
They fried in the sun, and died.