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ON ANGLING. 187
Soon the bird of darkness ringing, Wakes the woods with solemn song ;
Spirits, too, of night ?eem singing, As they soar the stars among.
Vale of bliss, etc., etc-
O how blest, to dwell for ever,
'Mid these scenes of placid peace! If some Power the past could sever,
If the tones of Mem'ry cease. Ah ! not Faith herself dare cherish
Hopes unstain'd by 'wild'ring fears; Could we dream the past might perish,
What shall quench our future tears ? Vale of bliss, etc., etc. |
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SEASON FOR ANGLING.
The waters not too high, too thick, too clear, When Sol's bright beams do not at all appear, Nor yet the wind too low, nor over high ; On purling streams, if then you'll cast the fly, That right in season is, and if true make, Well like to such the trout now best will take ; I dare engage, have you but any skill, You will not fail the nimble trout to kill, 1706. |
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