Angling; Or, How to Angle and where to Go

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Routledge, Warne, & Routledge, 1859 - Всего страниц: 188
 

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Стр. 160 - Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene; and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
Стр. 138 - Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, 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.
Стр. 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
Стр. 144 - 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. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view...
Стр. 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.
Стр. 149 - Arcadian plain. Pure stream, in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limpid source, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread...
Стр. 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...
Стр. 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.
Стр. 165 - Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild, O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power Of botanist to number up their tribes : Whether he steals along the lonely dale, In silent search ; or through the forest, rank With what the dull incurious weeds account, Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain-rock, Fired by the nodding verdure of its brow.
Стр. 139 - ... compass drawn, aloft himself doth throw; Then springing at his height, as doth a little wand, That, bended end to end, and flirted from the hand, Far off itself doth cast; so doth the salmon vault: And if at first he fail, a second somersault He instantly essays; and from his nimble wing Still gerting, never leaves until himself he fling Above the streamful top of the surrounding heap.

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