In Memoriam, Izaak Walton, Obiit. 15th December, 1683 Twelve Sonnets and an Epilogue, By T. Westwood |
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| THE BI-CENTENARY. |
| I. |
| II. |
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 | In Memoriam, Izaak Walton, Obiit. 15th December, 1683 |  |
THE BI-CENTENARY.
I.
[Father of Anglers! when, two hundred years]
Father of Anglers! when, two hundred yearsAgone, Death sealed thine eyes, his visage frore
Was touched—the legend tells—with pity sore.
He closed thine eyes and sealed them safe from tears,
With touch of frosty finger on their spheres,
But spared thy heart, and let its pulses beat
Unchecked. “Not death, but dreams”—he said—“O sweet
Soul, be thy portion—dreams of woods and meres,
Trout-dimpled pool, bright beck, and sighing sedge—
Dreams of old faces, comrades dear, that throng
About thee, with gay gossip, laugh and song,
In hostel, or by honeysuckle hedge.
Such dreams be thine, with endless Morn and May!”
And ceasing, the gaunt Shadow went his way.
II.
[So Fine-ear, stooping with a stedfast will]
So Fine-ear, stooping with a stedfast will,Above thy mouldering tomb, in summer-time,
Hears still what seems a ripple or a rhyme,
Unsilenced by the centuries—hears still,
Through chink and cleft, a little babbling rill—
Then quaint discourse—Piscator's homily,
The voice we honour—Auceps' grave reply—
Venator's jest—And presently a thrill
Of music, joyous, without fret or jar—
“Come live with me and be my love”—and near,
The nightingale's sweet cadence, full and clear,
Or bay of otter-hounds from fields afar.
Old life, old sport of Lea-side and of Dove—
The life we cherish and the sport we love.
| In Memoriam, Izaak Walton, Obiit. 15th December, 1683 | |