Classic Poem

Crisp, juicy, brown as autumn leaf,
The murder'd beauty grac'd the board,
Its life of pleasure come to grief,
Its blood untimely pour'd:
Stark on its silver dish it lies,
While sparkling glasses round it shine,
Vases of flowers entwine their dyes,
And flames the ruby wine.

Delmonico, of world-wide fames,
Hath spread the board to tempt the guest;
Phil Sheridan is there, and names
Of bravest and of best!
But none of all the jocund band
Gather'd that festive board about,
Will touch with sacrilegious hand
That poor " unseason'd trout. "

Outstretch'd upon its costly bier,
The murder'd victim thus doth seem
To murmur low in fancy's ear
Its sad lamenting theme;
Reproaching with a piteous strain
Delmonico, the sumptuous host,
And the mean poacher that hath slain —
And thus outspake the ghost:

" Ah! Del., no marvel you confess,
In dreams of night I blight thy sleep,
That on thy drowsy soul I press,
And o'er thy slumbers sweep;
No wonder that tormenting dreams
Of vengeful sportsmen haunt thy rest,
In visions of depleted streams,
Where poachers dark molest!

" Ah! lovely was the life I led
In crystal streams of azure deeps,
Where rippling o'er its golden bed
The river-current sweeps;
There weeping-willows droop their plumes,
The twinkling birch its pomp displays;
The air is fragrant with perfumes,
All flush'd with sunny rays.

" Disporting in the gelid tide,
Enchanted sped each fleeting year,
Far-floating with my spangled bride
In watery career.
I lov'd each curv'd and yellow bay,
The sandy bar, the pebbled cove,
The shallows where the lilies lay
And trees their shadows wove.

" And fair the brook in winter-time,
When mute and frozen in its bed
It sleeps beneath the frosty rime
All motionless and dead.
For there I fear'd nor seine nor net,
Nor poacher's steel nor angler's line;
Secure in waters, could forget
The snares for me and mine.

" Though dead, I pardon for the sake
That thou hast said that never more
Shall guest " unseason'd trout " partake
Within thy social door.
My poor ghost shall not haunt again;
May sleep with gentle balms descend,
And dreams Elysian steep thy brain; —
Be thou the poor trout's friend! "