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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 171 |
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And, darting through reflected skies,
The wary trout retreat or follow; A "coachman " now their fancy takes,
Or now a " miller " or now a " hackle " And many a plungin' beauty breaks,
To try our skill and test our tackle.
Still higher, higher mounts the sun,
The morn hastes on and noon is nearing; Now varying sounds come borne upon
The breeze that blows o'er copse and clearing: The far cock-crow, the jangling bell
That tells where browsing herds are straying; The quail's clear pipe in lonely dell,
The woodman's call, the hounds' deep braying.
Still down the grassy marge we go,
Now list'ning to the tall trees moaning, Now catching from a glade below
A drowsy mill's perpetual droning. Still on:—the miller's brown-faced boy
Stands knee-keep in the shining water, And near, with startled glance and coy,
The miller's comely, dark-eyed daughter.
So through the long, bright balmy days
In shade and sun alternate ranging We speed the hastening hours away,
Where scene and sound are ever changing, Till all thehills are dashed with gold,
That pales eve's dimly dawning crescent, And twilight falls on field and wold,
Like veiling gauze o'er forms quiescent. |
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