 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
164
THE DISSATISFIED ANGLER BOY.
I'm sorry they let me go down to the brook,
I'm sorry they gave me the line and the hook,
And I wish I had stayed at home with my book.
I'm sure 't was no pleasure to see
That poor, little, harmless, suffering thing
Silently writhe at the end of the string;
Or to hold the pole, while I felt him swing
In torture, and all for me!
I'm sorry they gave me the line and the hook,
And I wish I had stayed at home with my book.
I'm sure 't was no pleasure to see
That poor, little, harmless, suffering thing
Silently writhe at the end of the string;
Or to hold the pole, while I felt him swing
In torture, and all for me!
'T was a beautiful, speckled and glossy trout,
And when from the water I drew him out
On the grassy bank, as he floundered about,
It made me shivering cold,
To think I had caused so much needless pain;
And I tried to relieve him, but all in vain;
Oh! never, as long as I live, again
May I such a sight behold!
And when from the water I drew him out
On the grassy bank, as he floundered about,
It made me shivering cold,
To think I had caused so much needless pain;
And I tried to relieve him, but all in vain;
Oh! never, as long as I live, again
May I such a sight behold!
O, what would I give once more to see
The brisk little swimmer alive and free,
And darting about, as he used to be,
Unhurt, in his native brook!
'T is strange how people can love to play
By taking innocent lives away;
I wish I had stayed at home to-day
With sister, and read my book.
The brisk little swimmer alive and free,
And darting about, as he used to be,
Unhurt, in his native brook!
'T is strange how people can love to play
By taking innocent lives away;
I wish I had stayed at home to-day
With sister, and read my book.
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |