154 AN ANGLER'S RAMBLES 



which, if not quite so girthy as the chestnuts in Greenwich Park, 

 betoken far greater antiquity, and attract more by their gnarled 

 and singularly contorted appearance. Void of leafy life, in their 

 spectral rigidity they stand out to view more like the fragments 

 of an accursed city, wound about with sleeping hydras and con- 

 strictors than what they really are. Turner, it can almost be 

 demonstrated, in his search for the impressive, never hit upon 

 them. Among the many sketches I have seen of his, there is no 

 revelation to that effect ; and my friend Horatio Macculloch has 

 as yet not amalgamated their hoary relics with the productions 

 of his pencil. Among some poetical attempts ventured by me, 

 a number of years ago, to delineate portions of our river and loch 

 scenery, I find embodied, in the shape of a sonnet, the following 

 lines. They merely bear reference, without entering into any- 

 thing like descriptive particulars, to the spot in question. 



SONNET. 



THROUGH Luichart's lone expanse dark Conon flows, 



Of moorland nature, as its tawny blood 



Betokens ; and insensibly the flood 



Glides onward, while continuous hills enclose 



The quiet lake. At length, this soft repose 



The siren bosom of the pastoral deeps 



It rudely spurns, and with terrific leaps 



Descends into the valley. Oft I chose, 



In days bygone, the wild and wizard place 



Wherein to sport, and from the eddy's rout 



Lured with bewitching fly the simple trout. 



This scene hath Time's hand shifted, and its face 



Reft of the life ; yet picture-like to me, 



It hangs within the mind's vast gallery. 



