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قراءة كتاب The Old Hanging Fork and Other Poems
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 6
remembrance reflected with colors as warm—
And in dreams of delight they picture the fun
That we had long ago when we fished in Clark's Run!
With a can full of worms and a heart full of joy,
Up and down the old stream, a bare-footed boy,
A truant from school, my footsteps would stray
To the deep-shaded pool, or where ripples at play,
As they flowed over beds of smooth-polished stones,
Sang a lullaby sweet in soft undertones!
From the dawn of the day to the set of the sun
What pleasures we've had when we fished in Clark's Run!
Up and down the old stream, a bare-footed boy,
A truant from school, my footsteps would stray
To the deep-shaded pool, or where ripples at play,
As they flowed over beds of smooth-polished stones,
Sang a lullaby sweet in soft undertones!
From the dawn of the day to the set of the sun
What pleasures we've had when we fished in Clark's Run!
Equipped with a pole, a hook and a line,
And stowed in some pocket a long piece of twine
On which you could string, if you seined for a week,
Every fish that was found up and down the old creek—
With one "gallus" to pants that were rolled to the knee,
And holes in our hats through which you could see
Where the sunbeams had turned the light hair to dun—
We hied us away to the banks of Clark's Run!
And stowed in some pocket a long piece of twine
On which you could string, if you seined for a week,
Every fish that was found up and down the old creek—
With one "gallus" to pants that were rolled to the knee,
And holes in our hats through which you could see
Where the sunbeams had turned the light hair to dun—
We hied us away to the banks of Clark's Run!
There we baited the hook and threw out the line,
And watched the cork disappear with a rapture divine!
And felt just as proud as a prince or a king
When we landed high up, with a jerk and a swing,
A fish that would measure two inches or more,
Then anchored him fast with the string to the shore!
But unnumbered now are the silver strands spun
With the hair of the head since we fished in Clark's Run!
And watched the cork disappear with a rapture divine!
And felt just as proud as a prince or a king
When we landed high up, with a jerk and a swing,
A fish that would measure two inches or more,
Then anchored him fast with the string to the shore!
But unnumbered now are the silver strands spun
With the hair of the head since we fished in Clark's Run!
O who can there be with a heart in his breast
Would forget the dear scenes which so lovingly rest
In the bosom when life has grown old and cold,
And feel no delight when such pictures unfold,
And would blot out forever from memory's page
The records of childhood which solace old age?
'Till time ends for me and with life I have done,
I'll dream of the days when we fished in Clark's Run!
Would forget the dear scenes which so lovingly rest
In the bosom when life has grown old and cold,
And feel no delight when such pictures unfold,
And would blot out forever from memory's page
The records of childhood which solace old age?
'Till time ends for me and with life I have done,
I'll dream of the days when we fished in Clark's Run!
ROBERT BURNS.
(A PARAPHRASE.)
I.
Thou lingering Star! No less'ning ray
Will e'er bedim thy natal morn,
Or usher in the unhallowed day
When we forget that thou wert born!
O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou again a Highland maid,
Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
Will e'er bedim thy natal morn,
Or usher in the unhallowed day
When we forget that thou wert born!
O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou again a Highland maid,
Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
II.
That sacred day can we forget,
Can we forget the hallowed spot
Where by the winding Ayr was set
The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?
Eternity will not efface
The record dear of time that's past;
Thy memory sweet we still embrace,
And will as long as life shall last!
Can we forget the hallowed spot
Where by the winding Ayr was set
The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?
Eternity will not efface
The record dear of time that's past;
Thy memory sweet we still embrace,
And will as long as life shall last!
III.
Ayr, congealèd to its pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of green;
The leafless birch and hawthorn hoar
Were planted round the wintry scene;
No flowers sprang wanton to be pressed—
No birds sang love on every spray—
But brightest yet o'er all the rest
Will ever shine thy natal day!
O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of green;
The leafless birch and hawthorn hoar
Were planted round the wintry scene;
No flowers sprang wanton to be pressed—
No birds sang love on every spray—
But brightest yet o'er all the rest
Will ever shine thy natal day!
IV.
Still o'er thy songs our rapture wakes,
And memory broods with miser care!
Time but their music sweeter makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou again a Highland maid,
Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
And memory broods with miser care!
Time but their music sweeter makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou again a Highland maid,
Who heard the groans that rent thy breast?
WISHING—FISHING.
I.
Full well I know that wishing never yet has brought
The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,
And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,
Has naught but transitory solace to impart;
And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought
A joy there is that never can depart—
(As long as we are capable of feeling—wishing)—
And that's to leave dull care behind, and—go a-fishing!
The things that seem to us would satisfy the heart,
And that anticipated pleasure, when at last 'tis caught,
Has naught but transitory solace to impart;
And yet, somehow, I've ever felt and thought
A joy there is that never can depart—
(As long as we are capable of feeling—wishing)—
And that's to leave dull care behind, and—go a-fishing!
II.
Some dream of wealth—of place—of fame—
And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;
And some have sighed to win a deathless name
Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,
And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;
But these are dizzy heights attained by few;
So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishing,
I hope that I'll get mine in ample time to—go a-fishing!
And fleeting shadows vainly they pursue;
And some have sighed to win a deathless name
Where fields of carnage corpses thickly strew,
And shrieks of agony are heard 'mid smoke and flame;
But these are dizzy heights attained by few;
So, when Dame Fortune is her favors dishing,
I hope that I'll get mine in ample time to—go a-fishing!
III.
Oh, was there ever any sweeter dream,
Or music with a tone that's more entrancing,
Than just to wander where some mountain stream
Is o'er the rocks and polished pebbles dancing?
And nothing short of heaven itself, I ween,
Is like the moment when, his scales all glancing,
You see the happy consummation of your wishing,
And catch the very fish for which you have been fishing!
Or music with a tone that's more entrancing,
Than just to wander where some mountain stream
Is o'er the rocks and polished pebbles dancing?
And nothing short of heaven itself, I ween,
Is like the moment when, his scales all glancing,
You see the happy consummation of your wishing,
And catch the very fish for which you have been fishing!
POE.