 | Woodcuts and Verses |  |
35
THE IDLER AND THE ANGLER.
Reclined upon a bank of moss,
Which golden butter-cups emboss,
And violets stud profusely,
Beside the trout-enlivened Stour,
With Pope's dear verse I charm the hour,
In pensive ease reclusely.
Which golden butter-cups emboss,
And violets stud profusely,
Beside the trout-enlivened Stour,
With Pope's dear verse I charm the hour,
In pensive ease reclusely.
Poor Blond alone, my old ally,
Sits in profound demureness nigh,
O'erwatching every page,
And wondering much, as much he may,
What case can thus, the summer-day,
His Master's care engage!
Sits in profound demureness nigh,
O'erwatching every page,
And wondering much, as much he may,
What case can thus, the summer-day,
His Master's care engage!
But should Amanda seek the brook,
With sportive line and specious hook,
To tempt the finny race;
At once I quit the charming lays,
On her beguiling eyes to gaze,
And soft dissembling face.
With sportive line and specious hook,
To tempt the finny race;
At once I quit the charming lays,
On her beguiling eyes to gaze,
And soft dissembling face.
36
She, with her treacherous smile serene,
Her sly placidity of mien,
And those beguiling eyes,
Throws out the lure with finest art,
More bent to catch a foolish heart
Than seize the watery prize.
Her sly placidity of mien,
And those beguiling eyes,
Throws out the lure with finest art,
More bent to catch a foolish heart
Than seize the watery prize.
Vain Angler! slave to man's applause,
Heartless herself, for hearts she draws,
Then flings them lightly by—-
Yet, though I know and scorn the Cheat,
Bewitched by all her bland deceit,
I cannot, dare not, fly.
Heartless herself, for hearts she draws,
Then flings them lightly by—-
Yet, though I know and scorn the Cheat,
Bewitched by all her bland deceit,
I cannot, dare not, fly.
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