222 ANGLING. 



the cuckoo's cry from those lone mountain sides ! 

 or buzzard's wailing voice, " a viewless spirit of the 

 elements, 11 far up above those scenes of pastoral 

 melancholy, where ghastly crags seem sometimes 

 silent as gigantic spectres, and anon resound with 

 varied and innumerable bleatings ! Oh ! hoary- 

 headed shepherd, wise and well was thy remem- 

 brance of the Book of Life. Yet not in reckless 

 glee, as thou might est deem, we journied onwards. 

 Thoughts " too deep for tears" lay on our inmost 

 heart, and 'mid the brightness of the new-born day, 

 sad waters dark and deep, and bitter as those of 

 Marah, were over-flowing side by side with those 

 crystalline streams, and so we loved to hear thee 

 then repeat, with tremulous voice and thin uplifted 

 hands, the words of life. A holy fountain seems 

 that sparkling spring by which you then were 

 seated the odorous air fanning thy faded cheek, 

 or gently moving thy silvered locks of " hoar anti- 

 quity." God fearing man ! is still that Bible on 

 thy feeble knee, or is it indeed with thee the " ever- 

 lasting day" that thou did'st pray for, thy body 

 in the grave, thy soul redeemed through blood of 

 Him who died " mighty to save." With hopes 

 assured like thine, 



In that still season of repose and peace, 

 Why should a tear be in an old man's eye ? 



Alas ! he thought of him he could not save a fierce 

 rebellious son, a turbulent mariner, who on the 

 " perilous deep" blasphemed his Maker, trusting 

 an arm of flesh even where astounding floods lift 



