52 THE GRANITE MONTHLY.
And farther on are woods of pine, As to the East you look,
And alder bushes mark the line. Where runs a rapid brook,
And. ere you reach the lower ground,
You hear* the water's constant sound.
��A well-worn path leads to the brink, Where wider spreads the stream,
For there the cattle go to drink, And chew their cuds and dream.
When, sleepj'-eyed, they seek the pool.
And stand knee deep in waters cool.
��A broken dam of logs and clay Bridges the stream across
(The water linds an unseen way Beneath the twigs and moss).
'Twas built by beavers long ago.
At least the people told me so.
��And if beyond the beaver bridge, From rock to rock you glide.
And follow by the water's edge. Upon the farther side,
An overhanging rock you'll see.
And, just beyond, a tall elm tree.
��Creep to the ferny brink, and look Down in the deep, dark pool.
Where half the waters of the brook Are falling, bright a!id cool.
And, nicely poised on narrow fin,
You'll see a speckled trout therein.
��You'll see? Ah, no; I saw, I mean.
If you are good and kind. Then wander down that pathway green,
And see if you can find The brook and bridge, and last of all, The trout beneath the waterfall.
��But if you are a man or boy.
Who loves, with baited hook. The harmless fishes to decoy
From every pond and brook, jj
. Perhaps I'd better let you know Jf^
I saw this twenty years ago.
�� �
