The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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THE ANGLER.
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE ANGLER.
“I in these flowery meads would be;
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice;
[OMITTED]
And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.”
Isaac Walton.
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice;
[OMITTED]
And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.”
Isaac Walton.
Thou that hast loved so long and well
The vale's deep quiet streams,
Where the pure water-lilies dwell,
Shedding forth tender gleams;
And o'er the pool the May-fly's wing
Glances in golden eves of spring.
The vale's deep quiet streams,
Where the pure water-lilies dwell,
Shedding forth tender gleams;
And o'er the pool the May-fly's wing
Glances in golden eves of spring.
Oh! lone and lovely haunts are thine,
Soft, soft the river flows,
Wearing the shadow of thy line,
The gloom of alder-boughs;
And in the midst, a richer hue,
One gliding vein of heaven's own blue.
Soft, soft the river flows,
Wearing the shadow of thy line,
The gloom of alder-boughs;
155
One gliding vein of heaven's own blue.
And there but low sweet sounds are heard—
The whisper of the reed,
The plashing trout, the rustling bird,
The scythe upon the mead:
Yet, through the murmuring osiers near,
There steals a step which mortals fear.
The whisper of the reed,
The plashing trout, the rustling bird,
The scythe upon the mead:
Yet, through the murmuring osiers near,
There steals a step which mortals fear.
'Tis not the stag, that comes to lave,
At noon, his panting breast;
'Tis not the bittern, by the wave
Seeking her sedgy nest;
The air is fill'd with summer's breath,
The young flowers laugh—yet look! 'tis death!
At noon, his panting breast;
'Tis not the bittern, by the wave
Seeking her sedgy nest;
The air is fill'd with summer's breath,
The young flowers laugh—yet look! 'tis death!
But if, where silvery currents rove,
Thy heart, grown still and sage,
Hath learn'd to read the words of love
That shine o'er nature's page;
If holy thoughts thy guests have been,
Under the shade of willows green;
Thy heart, grown still and sage,
Hath learn'd to read the words of love
That shine o'er nature's page;
If holy thoughts thy guests have been,
Under the shade of willows green;
Then, lover of the silent hour,
By deep lone waters past,
Thence hast thou drawn a faith, a power,
To cheer thee through the last;
And, wont on brighter worlds to dwell,
May'st calmly bid thy streams farewell.
By deep lone waters past,
Thence hast thou drawn a faith, a power,
To cheer thee through the last;
And, wont on brighter worlds to dwell,
May'st calmly bid thy streams farewell.
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |