Sports and Pastimes

Clear, clear.

Fish are breaking,
Time for waking.

Tup, tup, tup!
Do you hear?
All clear-

Wake up!

The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark,

And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark;

Now forth she fares through friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew,

While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world were new.

This is the ballad the Bluebird sings,

Unto his mate replying,

Shaking the tune from his wings

While he is flying:

Surely, surely, surely,

Life is dear

Even here.

Blue above,

You to love,

Purely, purely, purely.

There's wild azalea on the hill, and roses down the Sports

dell,

And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the

well;

The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds

grow pink,

Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink.

and Pastimes

This is the song of the Yellowthroat,

Fluttering gaily beside you;

Hear how each voluble note

Offers to guide you:

Which way, sir?
I say, sir,

Let me teach you,
I beseech you!
Are you wishing

Jolly fishing?

This way, sir!

I'll teach you.

Then come, my friend, forget your foes, and leave your fears behind,

And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful,

quiet mind;

Sports For be your fortune great or small, you'll take what God may give,

and

Pastimes

And all the day your heart shall say, ""Tis luck enough to live."

This is the song the Brown Thrush flings,

Out of his thicket of roses;
Hark how it warbles and rings,
Mark how it closes:

Luck, luck,

What luck?

Good enough for me!

I'm alive, you see.

Sun shining,

No repining;

Never borrow

Idle sorrow;
Drop it!

Cover it up!
Hold your cup!

Joy will fill it,

Don't spill it,

Steady, be ready,

Good luck!

HENRY VAN DYKE.

The Angler's Invitation

Come when the leaf comes, angle with me,
Come when the bee hums over the lea,

Come with the wild flowers

Come with the wild showers

Come when the singing bird calleth for thee!

Then to the stream side, gladly we'll hie,
Where the grey trout glide silently by,
Or in some still place

Over the hill face

Hurrying onward, drop the light fly.

Then, when the dew falls, homeward we'll speed
To our own loved walls down on the mead,
There, by the bright hearth,

Holding our night mirth,

We'll drink to sweet friendship in need and in deed.

THOMAS TOD STODDART.

Sports and Pastimes

Skating

And in the frosty season, when the sun

Was set, and, visible, for many a mile,
The cottage-windows through the twilight blazed,
I heeded not the summons. Happy time

It was indeed for all of us: for me

and

Sports It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud The village clock tolled six. I wheeled about, Proud and exulting, like an untired horse

Pastimes

That cares not for its home.

All shod with steel,

We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase

And woodland pleasures,-the resounding horn,
The pack loud bellowing, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle.

With the din
Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud.
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy, not unnoticed; while the stars
Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.

Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay; or sportively

Glanced sideways, leaving the tumultuous throng,
To cut across the reflex of a star,—

Image, that, flying still before me, gleaned
Upon the glassy plain. And oftentimes,
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side