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ON ANGLING. |
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xMY OWN RIVER.
As pants the hart for water brooks,
So I do pant to be Once more an angler on thy banks,
My river bright and free.
Oh let them bear me far away From this dull couch of pain,
And lay me on thy daisied bank, My angling stream again.
Fondly my memory recalls
The valley of my birth, Where from thy mossy craddle comes
The music of thy mirth.
The summer winds that tremblingly Through reeds and flag flowers quiver,
Sing thee a dreamy lullaby, O gentle angling river !
From the pole clustering hazel boughs The blackbird pours his song,
While playfully the tiny waves In sunshine roll along.
Through meadows green so tranquilly
Thy dimpling waters stray, Yet linger round each flow'ry bank
In seeming fond delay. |
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