 | An angler's rambles |  |
127
A LOCH SCENE.
I
Never in dream-land met the eyeA scene so fair and witching;
Lake, heath, and forest, hill and dale,
And, gilding all in its farewell,
A sunset so enriching!
II
The chasten'd rapture of that hourSteals, like a vision, o'er me;
I see again the mirror'd heights—
The tranquil blending of delights
In the sweet lake before me.
III
A ruin on its islet stands,The walls with ivy pendant,
Its grey stones crumbling underneath,
Peer coldly through the shroud-like wreath
Of that untrain'd ascendant.
IV
But glancing from the record rudeOf the remoter ages,
Behold the image of a stag,
Timorous of the water-flag,
Its eager thirst assuages!
151
V
The stately antlers branching freeAbove its forehead tragic—
The form of animated grace
Are kindred to the quiet place,
A portion of its magic!
VI
And there the wild-duck, like a skiff,Shoots from her bower of rushes;
His glossy neck enamour'd rears
Her mate, and through the screen of spears,
Sounding his love charge, brushes.
VII
The peerly water-heron, too,Where the faint sun-ray trembles,
Drooping its ever-graceful head
Above the floating lily-bed,
A poet-bird resembles.
VIII
And yonder, on the distant marge,Behold an angler eager,
With taper wand and arm of skill,
In shadow of the darkening hill,
A solitary figure!
IX
But, falling from the heights beyond,Shadow and mist together,
Glideth away the silent show—
The mountain and the lake below—
The forest and the heather.
152
X
And night, with dewy forehead bent,Holdeth its vigil solemn,
Till the red architect of morn.
Upon a cloud-car slowly born,
Erects his amber column!
| An angler's rambles | |