Classic Poem

I

Gaily rock the lily beds
On the marge of Lomond lake;
There the lonely angler treads
Nature round him — all awake,
Heathy mountain
And sweet fountain
Stealing through the ferny brake

II

Swiftly from the water edge
Shoots the fierce pike wing'd with fear,
To its lair among the sedge,
As the angler wanders near,
All elated,
Primely baited,
Seeking solitary cheer.

III.

Throbs aloud the eager heart
And the hand in tremor moves,
When some sly fish all alert
Round his tempting tackle roves,
Boldly daring,
Or bewaring,
While the gleamy lure it proves

IV.

Then at length, each doubt subdued
Turns the lake-shark on his prey;
Quickly gorged the fatal food,
Suddenly he darts away,
All enshackled,
Trimly tackled,
Out into the deep'ning bay.

V.

But with steady caution schooled,
Soon his wonted vigour fails,
By the angler's sceptre ruled
Maimed the sullen pirate sails,
Shoreward wending
Uncontending
Him the joyous captor hails.

VI.

And along the margin hauled,
All his fretful fins aspread,
Tho' by subtle iron galled,
Still he rears his gasping head
Uncomplaining,
Fear disdaining —
See him as a trophy led!