Anglers' Evenings, Band 1

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A. Heywood, 1880 - 276 Seiten
 

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Seite 240 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die...
Seite 261 - Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away, And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream. Descends the billowy foam : now is the time, While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, To tempt the trout. The well dissembled fly, The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating line, And all thy slender watery stores prepare.
Seite 51 - From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world...
Seite 251 - ... take nothing, yet he enjoyeth a delightful walk by pleasant rivers in sweet pastures, amongst odoriferous flowers, which gratify his senses and delight his mind...
Seite 262 - Nor trowl for pikes, dispeoplers of the lake. Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine, No blood of living insect stain my line : Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, Silent along the mazy margin stray, And with the fur- wrought fly delude the prey.
Seite 241 - When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower ; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave; Then go — but go alone the while — Then view St David's ruined pile ; And, home returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair ! II.
Seite 261 - Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast Of the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch, Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand.
Seite 261 - Just in the dubious point, where with the pool Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank Reverted plays in undulating flow, There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly ; And as you lead it round in artful curve, With eye attentive mark the springing game.
Seite 262 - When if or chance or hunger's powerful sway Directs the roving trout this fatal way, He greedily sucks in the twining bait, And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat: Now, happy fisherman; now twitch the line!
Seite 261 - There throw nice-judging the delusive fly : And as you lead it round in artful curve, With eye attentive mark the springing game. Straight as above the surface of the flood They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap, Then fix, with gentle twitch the barbed hook : Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, With various hand proportion'd to their force.

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