THE BIG TROUT.
Pull up the rypecks! Push her home!
It's roses all the way!
Let garlands lie on Thames's foam—
A trout has died to-day!
Room for the victor—ho, there, room!—
Who calls the gods to scan
No halfling of the lilied gloom,
But that leviathan.
Anew (with jostling words unstayed)
We fight it, inch by inch,
From that first moment when he made
The line scream off the winch;
'Twas so we struck, we held him so
Lest weed had triumph wrecked;
Thus to his leap the point dropped low,
And thus a rush was checked.
O sought-for prize! Full many a day
The old black punt has swung
Beyond his stance, in twilight's grey,
Or when the dawn was young;
What hopes were ours, what heart-beats high
Have thrilled us, when he rolled
Up from the jade-green deep, a-nigh,
Dull-gleaming as of gold!
Glide on, ye stately swans, with grace—
Ye ne'er again shall see
His headlong dash among the dace
Beneath the willow-tree;
Ye little bleak, lift up your heads,
Ye gudgeon, skip at score,
The run between the lily beds
Shall know its lord no more!
Yet, while th' exalted pulses stir,
Regret takes hands with Pride,
Regret for that most splendid spur—
The Wish Ungratified;
With hammering heart that bulk I con,
That spread of tail and fin,
And sigh, like him of Macedon,
With no more worlds to win.
Pull up the rypecks, can't you, Jim!
It's roses all the way!
But ne'er another fish like him
For any other day!
Room for the victor—lock, there, room!—
Who calls the gods to scan
No halfling of the amber gloom,
But that leviathan.
Commercial Candour.
"Avoid Income-Tax and Death Duties by investing in selected Canadian Securities."
Advt. in "Times Financial Supplement."
Motto for golfer who has foozled his approach:—
"I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly."
King John, iv., 1.