24.06.2007, 13:15
To Izaak Walton
Old Izaak, in this angry age of ours,
This hungry, angry age, how oft of thee
We dream, and thy divine tranquillity,
And all thy pleasure in the dewy flowers,
The meads enamelled, and the singing showers,
And shelter of the silvery willow-tree,
By quiet waters of the river Lea!
Ah, happy hours! we cry--ah, halcyon hours!
Yet thou, like we, hadst trouble for this realm
Of England: for thy dear Church mocked and rent,
Thy friends in beggary, thy monarch slain,
But naught could thy mild spirit overwhelm.
Ah, Father Izaak, teach us thy content
When Time brings many a sorrow back again!
Old Izaak, in this angry age of ours,
This hungry, angry age, how oft of thee
We dream, and thy divine tranquillity,
And all thy pleasure in the dewy flowers,
The meads enamelled, and the singing showers,
And shelter of the silvery willow-tree,
By quiet waters of the river Lea!
Ah, happy hours! we cry--ah, halcyon hours!
Yet thou, like we, hadst trouble for this realm
Of England: for thy dear Church mocked and rent,
Thy friends in beggary, thy monarch slain,
But naught could thy mild spirit overwhelm.
Ah, Father Izaak, teach us thy content
When Time brings many a sorrow back again!