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ON ANGLING. |
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AN ODE-LET TO MR IZAACK WALTON.
BY JOHN HAMILTON.
Oh ! pleasant are the green banks of the Lea,—
And pleasant are its waters, silver sweet; It thirsteth me, on May-day morns, to be
Clad in an angler's simple garments meet,— Treading with gentle Izaack's spirit.—there
By the pike's hollow lair ; And near the shallows, where the minnow twinkles
His little tail,— and wrinkles The restless waters,—beside the place
Where darts the dace !
How clear the sun is shining in the sky ! How innocent the silent meadows lie ! How freshly comes the miller from his mill,
And looks about at will ! The water glideth with a sleepy sound, O'er coiling deeplets, and by grassy ground ; And busy fish rise up to watch who be
So early at the Lea ! Then leave the surface, amid silvery rings,
Like water-sprites on wings.
Good Master Walton ! What a heart was thine !
(Simplicity knelt at it, like a shrine !)
How well thy fisher-muse could cast the line !
How daintily she threw
Her song across the dew,
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