Free Song Lyrics

WHEN tender June is in the land,
And wood and wold are ringing
With melody of Daphne's band,
And mating birds are singing;
When bush and tree of hill and glen
Their happy leaves are swishing
In time to Spring's sweet strains, why, then—Then Mabel goes a-fishing!
The fly is cast; (ah, he's a fool
Who'd flee from Beauty's wounding!)Above the silent, sun-flecked pool
The reel's shrill song is sounding;
And all the little fishes race
As fast as e'er they're able,
To kiss the ripple-mirrored face
Of cruel, winsome Mabel.
Ah, Master Walton, were you here,
Were this the River Dove,
The scene would evermore endear
To you the sport you love;
You'd idly sit, as I, sansdoubt;
As I, would fall to wishing
That you were just a speckled trout
When Mabel goes a-fishing!