sleep," and you might add, "lulled by the song of the mountain brook."




[Illustration]

The Song of the Reel


Close by the edge of the lily pads,
there's a flash and swirl of spray,
And the line draws taut, and the rod dips
low, and I sing as he speeds away;
And I whir and click with the joy of life, as
the line runs in and out,
And I laugh with glee as I reel him in, the
gamy and speckled trout.

And again the silken line is cast, and the fly
like a feather glides,
Close to the rock where the water's deep, and
the wary black bass hides.
There's a strike and a run as the game is
hooked, and his rush with a snub is met,
But he yields at last to the steady strain, and
is brought to the landing net.

As the sun sinks low in the western sky, and
the shadows longer grow,