The Angler.[388]

“I in these flowery meads would be; These crystal streams should solace me; To whose harmonious bubbling noise I with my angle would rejoice; ... And angle on, and beg to have A quiet passage to a welcome grave.” Isaac Walton.

Thou that hast loved so long and well The vale’s deep, quiet streams, Where the pure water-lilies dwell, Shedding forth tender gleams; And o’er the pool the May-fly’s wing Glances in golden eves of spring!

Oh, lone and lovely haunts are thine! Soft, soft the river flows, Wearing the shadow of thy line, The gloom of alder-boughs; And in the midst a richer hue, One gliding vein of heaven’s own blue.

And there but low sweet sounds are heard-- The whisper of the reed, The plashing trout, the rustling bird, The scythe upon the mead; Yet, through the murmuring osiers near, There steals a step which mortals fear.

’Tis not the stag, that comes to lave At noon his panting breast; ’Tis not the bittern, by the wave Seeking her sedgy nest; The air is fill’d with summer’s breath, The young flowers laugh--yet look! ’tis Death!

But if, where silvery currents rove, Thy heart, grown still and sage, Hath learn’d to read the words of love That shine o’er nature’s page; If holy thoughts thy guests have been Under the shade of willows green;

Then, lover of the silent hour By deep lone waters pass’d! Thence hast thou drawn a faith, a power, To cheer thee through the last; And, wont on brighter worlds to dwell, May’st calmly bid thy streams farewell.

This, and the following poem, were originally written for a work entitled Death’s Doings, edited by Mr Alaric Watts.

DEATH AND THE WARRIOR.

“Ay, warrior, arm! and wear thy plume On a proud and fearless brow! I am the lord of the lonely tomb, And a mightier one than thou!

“Bid thy soul’s love farewell, young chief-- Bid her a long farewell! Like the morning’s dew shall pass that grief: Thou comest with me to dwell!

“Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep, Thy steed o’er the breezy hill; But they bear thee on to a place of sleep, Narrow, and cold, and chill!”

“Was the voice I heard thy voice, O Death! And is thy day so near? Then on the field shall my life’s last breath Mingle with victory’s cheer!

“Banners shall float, with the trumpet’s note, Above me as I die! And the palm-tree wave o’er my noble grave, Under the Syrian sky.

“High hearts shall burn in the royal hall, When the minstrel names that spot; And the eyes I love shall weep my fall.-- Death, Death, I fear thee not!”

“Warrior! thou bear’st a haughty heart, But I can bend its pride! How shouldst thou know that thy soul will part In the hour of victory’s tide?

“It may be far from thy steel-clad bands That I shall make thee mine; It may be lone on the desert sands, Where men for fountains pine!

“It may be deep amidst heavy chains, In some deep Paynim hold; I have slow, dull steps and lingering pains Wherewith to tame the bold!”

“Death, Death! I go to a doom unblest, If this indeed must be; But the Cross is bound upon my breast, And I may not shrink for thee!

“Sound, clarion! sound!--for my vows are given To the cause of the holy shrine; I bow my soul to the will of heaven, O Death!--and not to thine!”

SONG FOR AN AIR BY HUMMEL.

Oh! if thou wilt not give thine heart, Give back my own to me; For if in thine I have no part, Why should mine dwell with thee?

Yet no! this mournful love of mine I will not from me cast; Let me but dream ’twill win me thine By its deep truth at last!

Can aught so fond, so faithful, live Through years without reply? --Oh! if thy heart thou wilt not give, Give me a thought, a sigh!

The first verse of this song is a literal translation from the German.