Angling, Or, How to Angle, and where to Go

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Routledge, 1860 - 188 pages
 

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Page 149 - No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread; While, lightly poised, the scaly brood In myriads cleave thy crystal flood ; The springing trout in speckled pride; The salmon, monarch of the tide; The ruthless pike, intent on war; The silver eel and mottled par. Devolving from thy parent lake, A charming maze thy waters make, By bowers of birch and groves of pine, And edges flowered with eglantine.
Page 120 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but nature more...
Page 138 - Once again I see These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms, Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up in silence from among the trees, With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone.
Page 166 - Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood Rolls fair and placid ; where collected all, In one impetuous torrent, down the steep It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round.
Page 148 - Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O
Page 148 - How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace, Our parting was fu...
Page 144 - Twixt resignation and content. Oft in my mind such thoughts awake By lone St. Mary's silent lake ; Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land.
Page 139 - That's to full compass drawn, aloft himself doth throw ; Then springing at his height, as doth a little wand That, bended end to end, and started from man's hand, Far off itself doth cast ; so does the salmon vault ; And if at first he fail, his second summersault He instantly essays ; and from his nimble ring, Still yerking, never leaves until himself he fling Above the opposing stream.
Page 93 - That no person shall fish with any sort of well, reel, night-hook, any other device, except by angling in, or make use of any net, engine, or device to drive the fish out of any place which shall be staked by order of the Lord Mayor of the City of London for the time being, as conservator...
Page 95 - O glide, fair stream! for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing.

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