Classic Poem

The fellow-anglers of my youthful days,
(Of past realities we form our dream,)
I watch them re-assembling by the stream,
And on the group with solemn musings gaze;
For some are lost in life's bewildering haze,
And some have left their sport and tak'n to toil,
And some have faced the Ocean's wild turmoil,
And some — a very few — their olden ways
By shining lake and river still pursue;
Ah! one I gaze on 'mid the fancied band,
Unlike the rest in years, in gait, in hue —
Uprisen from a dim and shadowy land —
Ask what loved phantom fixes my regard!
Yarrow's late pride, the Angler, Shepherd, Bard!