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ON ANGLING. |
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Here king-like oaks stretch far their sway, And here in satin vesture gay, The courtier birchs stand in groups, And here the lonely willow droops, Sad emblem of some hapless fair, Or struggling life consigned to care.
Her graceful bough here flings the rose, And here the dark-green holly grows, And distant beeches tall and fair, Wave their hundred arms in air. Here round the privet green and gay, The eglentine has twin'd her way, And at her mossy feet are set The primrose and the violet.
The linnet's note, the blackbird's song, That sound the tangled brakes among ; The gurggling streams, the rustling breeze, The warbling lark, the hum of bees ; All sounds and sights T heard and saw, Deep syrapethatic strains they draw ; And oft on fancy's wing I stray, And throw the fly and catch the prey. |
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