To Mountain Tarn 



other life. Attracted by the pale radiance, as of 

 a low burning taper, they hit the face with a 

 palpable impact. 



The shadow of the far bank broadens and 

 deepens. Along the edge of the shadow, silent 

 rings break and spread over the water, lit with 

 the fading yet fadeless afterglow. In humpy 

 pasture, the land rises into a broken crest. A 

 belt of saffron sky lies along the purple ridge. 



Under this tree will do. No gleam is between 

 it and the far bank. The moth is cast. It 

 vanishes in the uncertain light. No mark tells 

 where it falls ; only the taut line will carry it to 

 the edge of the shadow. Still the rings break 

 in circles half eclipsed, and ere the last die down, 

 new rings ripple into being. The trout are busy. 



Again the moth is sent to where the ripples are 

 thickest. Night-feeding trout are not scared by 

 the false fly. Only they have a habit of leaving 

 it alone, as they do now. The moth travels 

 between tree and shadow. Meantime, the blue 

 dun, scarce bigger than the midge dancing in the 

 sunlight, is having an offer among the rest. 



More frequent is the impact against the pale 

 lamp of the face. Broader and deeper grows the 

 shadow under the bank. At length comes the 

 sullen plunge of a big trout, half caused by 

 the discovery that he has made a mistake. He 

 may have risen out of the water to come down on 

 the lure, and been uncertain against the dull back- 



8 9 



