How lazily the brook creeps on Beneath the tangled fern, Stopping to lave some mossy log, Or round a bank to turn. And in its surface I can see, As down the ripples go, Tall spires of crimson cardinals That close beside it grow. And lilies, too, are painted there, With clouds that softly pass; The trembling birch, the alder buds, The tall end feathery grass'. All these, with song of bird and bee, Pictures end music make ; Like some strange, pleasant dream it seems, And yet I'm broad awake. I wish I was a trout to-day – No work, no school, no book Oh! what a famous swim I'd have Here in this very brook. I'd dart along, or softly glide Where coolest shadows fall. Ah me! what very pleasant lives These fish must have, for all. Dear, what a clatter Charlie makes, And Susie crows to Jane: I wish they'd choose to scamper off, And play up in the lane; I think they frighten off the trout-- At least, they bother me. I wonder if the little fish At home can all agree! And then they're not so very bright To nibble at a fly, And never see the hook beneath, Which any one might spy. I'd warn the rest, if I were there, To leave the bait alone. Oh, mercy, what a famous chap Just shot beneath that stone! Now softly, gently trails the line – "Children, keep still as death!" Rather than lose a prize like that, I'd hold my very breath. I'm ready for my customer, Soon as he comes in sight: A jerk-a splash – a heavy pull – Oh me, I've got a bite!