Little Rivers | Page 3

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This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, [email protected].

LITTLE RIVERS
A BOOK OF ESSAYS IN PROFITABLE IDLENESS
by HENRY VAN DYKE

"And suppose he takes nothing, yet he enjoyeth a delightful walk by
pleasant Rivers, in sweet Pastures, amongst odoriferous Flowers, which
gratifie his Senses, and delight his Mind; which Contentments induce
many (who affect not Angling) to choose those places of pleasure for
their summer Recreation and Health."
COL. ROBERT VENABLES, The Experienc'd Angler, 1662.

DEDICATION

To one who wanders by my side As cheerfully as waters glide; Whose
eyes are brown as woodland streams, And very fair and full of dreams;
Whose heart is like a mountain spring, Whose thoughts like merry
rivers sing: To her--my little daughter Brooke-- I dedicate this little
book.

CONTENTS
I. Prelude
II. Little Rivers
III. A Leaf of Spearmint
IV. Ampersand
V. A Handful of Heather
VI. The Ristigouche from a Horse-Yacht
VII. Alpenrosen and Goat's-Milk
VIII. Au Large
IX. Trout-Fishing in the Traun
X. At the sign of the Balsam Bough
XI. A Song after Sundown

PRELUDE
AN ANGLER'S WISH IN TOWN
When tulips bloom in Union Square, And timid breaths of vernal air
Are wandering down the dusty town, Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

When every long, unlovely row Of westward houses stands aglow And
leads the eyes toward sunset skies, Beyond the hills where green trees
grow;
Then weary is the street parade, And weary books, and weary trade: I'm
only wishing to go a-fishing; For this the month of May was made.
I guess the pussy-willows now Are creeping out on every bough Along
the brook; and robins look For early worms behind the plough.
The thistle-birds have changed their dun For yellow coats to match the
sun; And in the same array of flame The Dandelion Show's begun.
The flocks of young anemones Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing In days as full of joy as these?
I think the meadow-lark's clear sound Leaks upward slowly from the
ground, While on the wing the bluebirds ring Their wedding-bells to
woods around:
The flirting chewink calls his dear Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows, Song-sparrows gently
sing, "Good cheer:"
And, best of all, through twilight's calm The hermit-thrush repeats his
psalm: How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing In days so sweet with
music's balm!
'Tis not a proud desire of mine; I ask for nothing superfine; No heavy
weight, no salmon great, To break the record, or my line:
Only an idle little stream, Whose amber waters softly gleam, Where I
may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and
dream:
Only a trout or two, to dart From foaming pools, and try my art: No
more I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing, And just a day on Nature's
heart.

1894.

LITTLE RIVERS
A river is the most human and companionable of all inanimate things.
It has a life, a character, a voice of its own, and is as full of good
fellowship as a sugar-maple is of sap. It can talk in various tones, loud
or low, and of many subjects, grave and gay. Under favourable
circumstances it will even make a shift to sing, not in a fashion that can
be reduced to notes and set down in black and white on a sheet of paper,
but in a vague, refreshing manner, and to a wandering air that goes
"Over the hills and far away."
For real company and friendship, there is nothing outside of the animal
kingdom that is comparable to a river.
I will admit that a very good case can be made out in favour of some
other objects of natural affection. For example, a fair apology has been
offered by those ambitious persons who have fallen in love with the sea.
But, after all, that is a formless and disquieting passion. It lacks solid
comfort and mutual confidence. The sea is too big for loving, and too
uncertain. It will not fit into