 | Lyrics: By Martin F. Tupper |  |
136
Tangley Pond.
All on a happy summer's day
When the air is warm and still,
And thundery clouds are louring gray
Over the landscape green and gay
Around St. Martha's hill,—
When the air is warm and still,
And thundery clouds are louring gray
Over the landscape green and gay
Around St. Martha's hill,—
How pleasant it is, with a cheerful friend
Of beautiful Nature fond,
Across the fields our ways to wend,
And here the calm sweet hours to spend
Fishing at Tangley Pond.
Of beautiful Nature fond,
Across the fields our ways to wend,
And here the calm sweet hours to spend
Fishing at Tangley Pond.
137
I love the tapering rod to wield,
And cast the sensitive float,
Till down it runs with the line outreel'd
And a fierce old pike, still scorning to yield,
Flounders about in the boat:
And cast the sensitive float,
Till down it runs with the line outreel'd
And a fierce old pike, still scorning to yield,
Flounders about in the boat:
I love the angle,—to watch and wait
For the perch so subtle and still,
Till deep in his hole he has gorged the bait,
And gluttony fixes a tyrant's fate
With a good gimp-hook in his gill:
For the perch so subtle and still,
Till deep in his hole he has gorged the bait,
And gluttony fixes a tyrant's fate
With a good gimp-hook in his gill:
I love the quiet,—the lull from care,—
The lake, all clear and calm,—
The flowering reeds, and the wild fowl there,—
The trees asleep in the sultry air,
And all things breathing balm.
The lake, all clear and calm,—
The flowering reeds, and the wild fowl there,—
The trees asleep in the sultry air,
And all things breathing balm.
138
Old Tangley Pond,—my boyhood's haunt,
My manhood's holiday rest,—
Let any that will my fondness taunt,
And mock while thus thy praise I chaunt,
Lull'd on thy tranquil breast.
My manhood's holiday rest,—
Let any that will my fondness taunt,
And mock while thus thy praise I chaunt,
Lull'd on thy tranquil breast.
Oh, yes,—there is peace and quietness here
If nowhere found beyond;
The way one's spirit to soothe and cheer
Is—angle awhile, in the prime of the year,
At dear old Tangley Pond.
If nowhere found beyond;
The way one's spirit to soothe and cheer
Is—angle awhile, in the prime of the year,
At dear old Tangley Pond.
| Lyrics: By Martin F. Tupper | |