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ON ANGLING. |
71 |
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And now, my Beauty ! bold and well
Thy pilgrim-course hath been—
For thou, like Wordsworth's Peter Bell
Hast gazed on Aberdeen !
And all those sweetest banks between,
By Invercauld's broad tree,
The world of beauty hast thou seen
That sleeps upon the Dee.
There oft in silence clear and bright
Thou layest a shadow still,
In some greeiwiook where with delight
Joined in the mountain rill,
There, mid the water's scarce-heard boom
Didst thou float, rise, and sink,
While o'er the breathing banks of broom
The wild deer came to drink.
Vain sparry grot and verdant cave The stranger to detain— For thou wast wearied of this wave And loud voice of the main ; And nought thy heart could satisfy But those clear gravelly rills, Where once a young and happy fry Thou danced among the hills.
The river roaring down the rock, The fierce and foaming linn, Essayed to stay thee with (hr shock. The dark and dizzy din— |
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