Henry Glassford Bell

In Dovedale

ISAAC! still thou anglest near me
  By the green banks of thy Dove,
Still thy gentle ghost may hear me
  Breathe my reverence and love.

Thou, whose ears drank in the warble
  Of all streams in crystal play,—
Will thy bones beneath cold marble
  Lie in peace so far away?*

O my kindly old piscator,
  See’st thou not these waters clear?
Time, thou changeling, Time, thou traitor,
  Give him back,—his home was here!

Lo! at yonder bend he standeth,
  Where round rocks the wave bells out,
See! with skilful touch he landeth
  Now a grayling, now a trout.

Stream of beauty! winding, singing
  Through the world’s divinest dale,
Ever to thy music bringing
  That old spirit calm and pale!

Learnéd in all honest learning,
  Trustful, truthful, pure of heart;
Peaceful, blameless honor earning
  By the magic of his art.

In life’s fitful turmoil often
  Have I longed to be like him,
And have felt my nature soften
  Musing on that phantom dim,—

Now a trout and now a grayling
  Luring from the shaded pool,
God’s white clouds high o’er him sailing,
  All around the beautiful!