Sounds cheerily as the blackbird's ditty,
To men in populous city pent,
Who know the Angler's calm content.
And even those who know it not,
Nor care—poor innocents!—to know it,
Whom ne'er the Fisher's favoured lot
Has thrilled as sportsman, fired as poet,
May love to turn the leaves, and halt on
The quaint conceits of honest Walton.
The man whose only "quill" 's a pen,