She bid him not be "ravenous in taking game,"—I wish
She'd ever asked if he deserved the blessings of the fish.
We were a happy family, as merry as could be,
"Diversified with crimson stains," as Pope has said. Ah me!
There came the cruel fisherman, his flies had deadly gleam,
And not a soul remains but me to mourn within the stream.
What recked my little troutlets of the Palmers, Spinners, Duns,
They headlong rushed, and then got caught, my innocent young sons!
They're cooked—excuse an old trout's tear!—but hard it is to feel
A monster's ta'en your family for matutinal meal.