But the courage of young Grant,
It did not for a moment daunt,
Though rod it now is far beyond,
He plunged into deep, cold spring pond.
And seized his rod and then drew out
A beauteous seven pound trout,
Which had grown from the seed
From spawn of California breed.
And Californian in its greed,
On the sweet curd wished to feed;
But, alas, for it's sad fate,
It swallowed hook along with bait.
CANADIAN SKETCHES.
THANKSGIVING ODE, NOVEMBER 15TH, 1888.
September came and with it frost
The season's pasture it seemed lost,
And the wondrous yield of corn
Of its green beauty it was shorn.
Frost it came like early robber,
But gentle rains came in October,
Which were absorbed by grateful soil;
With green once more the pastures smile.
And cows again are happy seen
Enjoying of the pastures green,
And flow of milk again they yield
From the sweet feed of grassy field.
And we have now a fine November,
Warmer far than in September;
The apple, which is queen of fruits,
Was a good crop and so is roots.