Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

AN ANGLER'S ADDRESS TO A RIVER.

Sportive young River, we've rambled together
Over the mountain-moors, purpled with heather;
On, where the foxglove and bracken wave over
The blackcock and curlew, the pewit and plover ;
And down the rough rocks with a shout of delight,
Where the wild elfin birches are dancing in white;
And onwards again with a sparkle and splash
To the dark, dusky woods of oak, alder, and ash ;
And down deeper still to the green sunny valley,
With frolic and laughter, with song and with sally.

Beautiful River! full many a day

In that green happy valley we've sauntered away,
Watching the flight of the light cloudy shadows,
Listing the low of the kine in the meadows,
The chirp of the grasshopper, hum of the bee,
And sweet loving song of the bird on the tree;

In a world of our own, without sorrow or sin,

All peaceful around us, all peaceful within ;
While gay pleasant fancies, profuse as the flowers,
And musings of calm meditations were ours.

True-hearted River! there came a sweet rill,
Fresh as the morn, from a neighbouring hill;
And ye kissed, and united, and flowed on in one,
O'er rugged and gentle, through shadow and sun ;

And I found a sweet maid in a nook by thy side,
Where bees, birds, and roses enraptur'd abide ;
And glad was my heart as the soft summer breeze,
As we whispered and angled 'neath thy bowering trees;
And that young lovely maiden, so modest, benign,
Is the rill whose pure being is blended with mine.
Strong-hearted River, undaunted and free,
Rejoicing in labour, I've angled in thee;
And felt thy glad spirit expand in my heart,
While humbly, but earnestly, filling my part
In the plan of the universe-best understood
While working with all things together for good;
While manfully striving and gathering strength,
Through patient endeavour, to triumph at length,
And win the high guerdon, and learn the deep lore,
Unfolding to true earnest work evermore,

Majestic old River! we're passing away
From the land of our pilgrimage, green and gay;
Ample and deep, thy beneficent course
Calmly rolls on to its primitive source;

While lonely I fish to listen the low solemn sound
Of that ocean, more awful, no shingles surround;
Dark bourne where the streams of life and time tend,
All thought, love and hope, joy and sorrow descend;
And I pray, as I bow to the fiat divine,

For calmness, and courage, and strength like thine.
JOHN WAGER.

MRS. PARTINGTON'S MALEDICTION.

Mr. Walton, it's harsh to say it,

But, as a parent, I can't help wishing

You'd been hang'd before you publish'd your book, To set all the young people a-fishing.

There's my William, the trouble I've had with him,
Surpasses a mortal's bearing,

And all through those devilish Angling Books,
The Lord forgive me for swearing.

I thought he were took with the morbus,
One day, I did, with his nasty angle,

For, "Oh dear," says he, and burst out in a cry,
"Oh, my gut is all got of a tangle."

I vow I've suffered martyrdom,

With all sorts of frights and terrors surrounded, For I never saw him go out of the doors,

But thought he'd come home to me drownded.

And, sure enough, I set out one fine Monday
To visit my married daughter,

And there he was standing at Sadler's Wells,
A performing with real water.

It's well he was off on the further side,

For I'd have brain'd him with my patten,

For I thought he was safe at school, the young wretch,
A studying Greek and Latin ;

And my reticule basket he'd got on his back,
To carry his fishes and gentles,

With a strap I knew he had made from the belt
Of his father's regimentals.

Then one Friday morning I gets a summoning note
From a sort of law attorney,

For the boy had been trespassing on people's grounds While his father was gone on a journey.

And I had to go and hush it all up, by myself,
In an office in Hatton Garden,

And to pay for the damage he'd done to boot,
And to beg some strange gentleman's pardon.

And wasn't he once fish'd out himself,
And a man had to dive to find him,

And I saw him brought home with my motherly eyes,
And a crowd of people behind him.

Yes, it took a good hour to rub him to life,
Whilst I was a screaming and raving,

And a couple of guineas it cost besides,

To reward the humane man for his saving.

FISHING WEATHER'S COMING, LADS.

Fishing weather's coming, lads,.
The winter dies apace;

Dark and boist'rous days awhile

Rob the streamlets of their smile,
And landscape of its grace.

The east wind it blows cold and keen,
Its crystal fringe the streams;
Ah! but see the primrose springs,
Golden crocus and such-like things
Point to genial gleams.

Very soon the Spring will rouse
The finny tribes to life;

Very soon the trees be clad
With the insects that they had,

That caus'd such eager strife.
Every day a warmer sun

Pierces the running stream;

Soon the breezes of the Spring,

[ocr errors]

Fraught with food upon their wing,

Disturb the salmon's dream.

Fishing weather's coming, lads,

Look to your rods and flies;
Winter soon shall pass away,
Hope and Spring will gain the day,
And sport delight your eyes.

Southampton, 1824.

« ForrigeFortsæt »