Three fishermen sat by the side
Of the many toned popular stream,
That rolled with its heavy proud tide,
In the shade of its own dark dream.
Now sullen, a quiet, and deep,-
Now fretful, and foaming, wild;
Now like a giant asleep,
And now like a petulant child.
First sat there the fisher of France,
And he smiled as the waters came,
For he kindled their light with a glance
At the bait of a popular name.
Next the fisher of Russia was there,
Fishing for German States,
And throwing his lines with care,
He made his own daughters the baits.
Next the Austrian fisher dwarf set
His snares in the broad river’s way-
But so widely he stretched his net
It half broke with the weight of his prey.
And next on an Island I saw
Many fishermen catching with glee,
On the baits of peace, freedom, and law,
Slave-fish, while they christened them “free.”
And still as they hooked the prize,
They cried with a keen delight,
And held up the spoil to their eyes:
“The gudgeons! they bite! they bite!”
But the hooks with time grow dull,
And the lines grow weak with age,
And the thaw makes the rivers full,
And the wind makes the waters rage.
And spoilt is the fishermen’s trade,
And the zest of their bait is passed,
And those on the fish who prey’d,
Are the prey of the fish at last.
(Ernest Jones)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, War & Peace Poems, Dreams Poems, Name Poems, Anger Poems, Law & Regulation Poems, Age Poems, Fame Poems, Liberty & Freedom Poems, Business & Commerce Poems, Fishing PoemsBased on Keywords: austrian, toned, spoilt, baits, gudgeons