Salmon Fishing. 155 



SUCCESS. 



The glory of the day had gone, and yet there lingered still 

 A gleam of golden sunshine on grand old Glandwr's hill ; 

 While here and there the stream above, shone pictured to 



the eye, 

 Like silvered patchwork, as it swept in circling eddies by. 



On the " Red Bank" stood the angler, and paused a little there, 

 So lovely looked the river, and the landscape, oh, so fair! 

 Again the rod is raised aloft, the line flies straight ahead, 

 And drops upon the water as light as a silken thread. 



Was it a ray of sunlight, a bright, but transient beam, 

 That sparkled for an instant 'neath the surface of the stream? 

 A sudden tight'ning of the line, a momentary shock, 

 "I have thee now," cries the angler, "as firm as any rock." 



Swift as a flash of lightning, or an arrow from a bow, 

 Flies the startled salmon from his lair full sixty yards below ; 

 Aye, sixty yards without a check, and then, O glorious sight ! 

 He bounded from the water, like a wild bird in its flight. 



How still and tranquil is the scene, save when the wild 



bee's wing 



Goes buzzing homeward, or the lark trills forth his evening hymn; 

 Or where the river dances on in merriment and glee, 

 Till drowned for ever in the roar of the far-distant sea. 



Deep down beneath the broken bank the salmon shows no sign, 

 The chain still holds him captive, save the quiv-ring of the 



line, 



As coil after coil keeps tight'ning around the circling wheel, 

 And fainter falls upon the ear, "the music of the reel." 



