Equipped with a pole, a hook and a line,

And stowed in some pocket a long piece of twine

On which you could string, if you seined for a week,

Every fish that was found up and down the old creek—

With one "gallus" to pants that were rolled to the knee,

And holes in our hats through which you could see

Where the sunbeams had turned the light hair to dun—

We hied us away to the banks of Clark's Run!

[Pg 24]

There we baited the hook and threw out the line,

And watched the cork disappear with a rapture divine!

And felt just as proud as a prince or a king

When we landed high up, with a jerk and a swing,

A fish that would measure two inches or more,

Then anchored him fast with the string to the shore!

But unnumbered now are the silver strands spun

With the hair of the head since we fished in Clark's Run!

O who can there be with a heart in his breast

Would forget the dear scenes which so lovingly rest

In the bosom when life has grown old and cold,

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