The Anglican Friar, and the Fish which he Took by Hook and by Crook. active 19th century Novice

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СКАЧАТЬ Nature smile.

      My feelings, as the sea I crossed,

      Are distant from the tale;

      Suffice it that I suffered loss—

      'Twas not a pleasant sail.

      My rising thoughts unable to control,

      I drowned my sorrows in the waves that roll;

      The sickly waves a tribute would demand,

      Nor gave me rest till I obeyed command.

      With much delight I traversed o'er

      The land of Pats and praties,

      And mourned to note from what I saw

      That indolence their fate is.

      A pipe stuck easy in their mouth

      For mind and body food is;

      Their dress, I must say, is uncouth,

      For it next door to nude is....

      I'm speaking of the lower sort,

      Not so bad are their betters;

      Though some, who wealth find ready wrought,

      Rest in luxurious fetters.

      And have they been for ever so?

      Industrious, were they never?

      Some things I've seen would p'rhaps say, "No,

      As now they were not ever."

      But think not, reader, I intend

      To write on why and wherefore;

      I know not what these folks will mend,

      So cannot tell you therefore.

      (Though industry in some to plant

      I tried, and put in training;

      But soon they cried, "O mend-i-cant!"—

      So beggars are remaining.)

      Nor is it now my wish to write

      On Ireland's beauteous scenery;

      Though filled with rapture and delight,

      I'll spare you what I've seen; or I

      Might fill a dozen pages quite,

      Describing lakes and greenery.

      No; such is not my present plan,

      On angling turns my story:

      The pleasures of a fisherman

      I soon shall lay before ye.

      By some mishap at Hull or Cork,

      My tackle was mislaid;

      So fate did inclination baulk,

      And sport some days delayed.

      I just had purchased, all quite new,

      Of flies a complete set;

      And though I had my rod, 'tis true,

      I would not fresh ones get.

      I'll wait, thinks I, and roam about,

      Though some days it may cost.

      I'll find the lucky places out,

      So time will not be lost.

      By telegraph's electric wire,

      Or steam, I'll let them know

      The place to which I'd fain desire

      These luckless flies should go.

      'Twas on a morn as bright as fair

      As any time, or anywhere,

      Mine eyes have ever seen;

      For bright and cloudless was the sky,

      And blue as any maiden's eye,

      Where tears have seldom been.

      It made my heart with pleasure beat;

      A lightness seemed to raise my feet,

      And bear them forth to roam,

      Ere yet the morning meal was laid,

      To ramble down a mossy glade

      Some many miles from home.

      Then climbed I up a dew-bathed steep,

      Just on the other side to peep

      And see what might be there.

      By tangled branches grasped right close,

      Above impediments I rose,

      And, lo, a valley fair!

      Where, 'midst the shade of drooping trees,

      All quiv'ring in the morning breeze,

      Appeared a glitt'ring stream,

      Which ran for miles, than gold more bright;

      Refulgent with the source of light,

      The waves like diamonds gleam.

      Impelled I rushed like some wild deer,

      And bounding o'er each bramble near,

      Like torrent's fearful course,

      Was forced to run a whole field's length

      Before expended was the strength

      Of gravitation's force.

      When at the water's side, I found

      An aged man, who gazed around

      Half terrified, to see

      If some mad bull approached that way,

      Or steam-engine had gone astray;

      And stared surprised at me.

      I СКАЧАТЬ