THE wayward trout declined to rise,
And scorned my most seductive flies;
In vain I plied each angler's art, -
All noiseless drew the vines apart,
That hid within their shadows cool,
Girt round with rocks, some placid pool,
By laughing waterfall supplied,
With crystal drops that sought to hide
Beneath the banks, bedecked with moss,
And waving ferns that bent across,
As gossips should, and on the gale
Whispered each other many a tale.
Noiseless I drew the vines away,
Jointed my rod without delay,
Removed the fly, and in its stead
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