Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1875-06-08
When l Went Fishing with Dad
BY N. K. vASDYEE.

/ w men 4 WhS Il DO4-I' All Oll UlhIl nOW
| Look at the lines across my brow;
Old Time has furrowed them there.
Ny back IS bent and my eyes are dim;
He has placed his finger on every limb,
And pulled out most OF my hair.
But If life has reached December,
I'm not too old to remember
When l went fishing with dad.
We would each of us shoulder his part of
the load.
And joyfully start along the road
But dads was the heaviest share.
Out of the village about a mile,
over meadow, across stile,
And then we were almost there.
Dear old brook, can see il still,
The mossy bank and the old gray mill, A.,
Where went fishing with dad.
wewould wander about for little space
To find the coziest. shadiest place,
Before we weHt to work.
Then dad would arrange his rod and line,
And tell me just how to IN anage mine
When the fish began to jerk.
If only could feel as used to thenl
Ii the days could only come back
again,
And so we ished till the sun was high,
And the morning hours were all gone by,
And the village clock struck one.
~ am hungry, JIM" then dad would say !;
"I,et'- give the fishes a chauce TO play
Until our lunch Is done" ...
Oh, nothing has ever tasted so sweet
AS the big 5 md wicheS used to eat
when went fishing With dad.
Then dad and would lie on the grass
And wait for the heat of the day to pass !;
How happy l used to feel!
And what wonderful 81 Ories he would tell
To the eager boy that he loved so well,
After our midday meall
And how L would nestle close to his
side,
Tohear of the world so big and wide,
When L went fishing with dadi
For l eagerly listened to every word;
And then among men OF whom 1 heard
How longed TO p ay part!
came,
What visions of wealth and an honored
name,
To fiji my boyish heart!
There is no dream like the old dream,
There is no stream like the old stream
Where L went fishing with dad.
Then back again TO our sport we'd go,
And Ash till the sunsets crimson glow
Lit up the dying day:
Then dad would cali to me, "Jim, Wen
The basket is full to the very top;
It's time we were on our way"
There are no ways like the old ways,
There are no days like the old DAYS
When went fishing with dad.
Then we took our way through the
And 1 chung SO tight to his wrinkled hand,
AS happy as | could be.
And when the old house came in sight,
The smile on his old face grew so bright
As he looked down at me.
And no one smiles as he used to smile
And, oh, it seems such long, long
while
Since l went fishing with dad
II is way, way back in the weary years
That with aching heart and falling tears
watched dad go away.
His aged head lay on my breast
When the angels called him home to
rest
He was too old to stay.
And | dug grave meath the very sod
That my boyish feet so often trod
When 1 went fishing with dad.
The world has given me wealth and fame,
FULFILLED my dreams of an honored name,
And now / am weak and old;
The land is mine wherever look;
can catch my fish with silver hook.
But my days are almost told.
Uncheered by the love of child or wife,
would spend the end OF my lonely
life
Where / went fishing with dad.
My limbs are weary, my eyes are dim;
l shall tell them to lay me close by him
Whenever come to die;
And side by side, il will be my wish,
That there by the stream where they used
to fish,
They will let the old man lie.
Close by him i would like to be,
Buried beneath the old oak-trse
Where i sat and fished with dad.