| |
| ISAAC! still thou anglest near me | |
| By the green banks of thy Dove, | |
| Still thy gentle ghost may hear me | |
| Breathe my reverence and love. | |
| |
| Thou, whose ears drank in the warble | 5 |
| Of all streams in crystal play,— | |
| Will thy bones beneath cold marble | |
| Lie in peace so far away? 1 | |
| |
| O my kindly old piscator, | |
| See’st thou not these waters clear? | 10 |
| Time, thou changeling, Time, thou traitor, | |
| Give him back,—his home was here! | |
| |
| Lo! at yonder bend he standeth, | |
| Where round rocks the wave bells out, | |
| See! with skilful touch he landeth | 15 |
| Now a grayling, now a trout. | |
| |
| Stream of beauty! winding, singing | |
| Through the world’s divinest dale, | |
| Ever to thy music bringing | |
| That old spirit calm and pale! | 20 |
| |
| Learnéd in all honest learning, | |
| Trustful, truthful, pure of heart; | |
| Peaceful, blameless honor earning | |
| By the magic of his art. | |
| |
| In life’s fitful turmoil often | 25 |
| Have I longed to be like him, | |
| And have felt my nature soften | |
| Musing on that phantom dim,— | |
| |
| Now a trout and now a grayling | |
| Luring from the shaded pool, | 30 |
| God’s white clouds high o’er him sailing, | |
| All around the beautiful! | |
