'Twas on a morn as bright as fair As any time, or anywhere, Mine eyes have ever seen; For bright and cloudless was the sky, And blue as any maiden's eye, Where tears have seldom been. It made my heart with pleasure beat; A lightness seemed to raise my feet, And bear them forth to roam, Ere yet the morning meal was laid, To ramble down a mossy glade Some many miles from home. Then climbed I up a dew-bathed steep, Just on the other side to peep And see what might be there. By tangled branches grasped right close, Above impediments I rose, And, lo, a valley fair! Where, 'midst the shade of drooping trees, All quiv'ring in the morning breeze, Appeared a glitt'ring stream, Which ran for miles, than gold more bright; Refulgent with the source of light, The waves like diamonds gleam. Impelled I rushed like some wild deer, And bounding o'er each bramble near, Like torrent's fearful course, Was forced to run a whole field's length Before expended was the strength Of gravitation's force. When at the water's side, I found An aged man, who gazed around Half terrified, to see If some mad bull approached that way, Or steam-engine had gone astray; And stared surprised at me. I bowed to him, and begged, polite, His pardon for the sudden fright Which I, unconscious, gave. "It was the beauteous scene which made Me scamper down so wild," I said; "For which I pardon crave. For, like yourself, I love the sport, And 'twas this sparkling stream which brought Out hitherward my feet. What numbers, sir! what splendid trout! You must have early sallied out: Such sport I seldom meet!" "A stranger, then, you are," said he; "The fishes here bite mostly free, They love the gaudy fly. But scarce an hour I here have been, And hooked the few that you have seen For breakfast. By the bye, I very nearly had forgot That time for me will tarry not, That hour is drawing nigh. But, sir, with pleasure, if you love The sport, I'll show you where they rove, For often here am I; And every nook and hole I know, Which any time you please I'll show: My house you yonder spy." I, thanking, praised the old man's skill, Though, as I viewed him nearer still, I deemed him younger far Than I at first beholding thought; 'Twas care, not age, had deeply wrought The wrinkle-furrowed scar. But though erect as poplar straight, He bent not 'neath the crushing weight Of Time's remorseless might. Yet few and scanty were his locks, Which were than Shetland's rill-bathed flocks Longer and purer white. A sudden int'rest in mine eyes, Which unaccounted will arise Ofttimes within the brain, I felt tow'rds him, and longed to know What circumstance had made him so-- If grief, or wearing pain. He friendly seemed, and not averse On fishing topics to converse; At length I told my woe, How that my flies and lines behind Were left. Said he, "Oh, never mind; If home with me you'll go,