. . .With lantern jaw, gnarled hand, vague eye; Huddled in pensive solitariness He had fished existence by. Empty his creel; stolen his bait— Impassively he angled on, Though mist now showed the evening late And daylight well-nigh gone. Suddenly, like a tongueless bell, Downward his gaudy cork did glide; A deep, low-gathering, gentle swell Spread slowly far and wide. 6Wheeped out his tackle from noiseless winch, And furtive as a thief, his thumb, With nerve intense, wound inch by inch A line no longer numb. What fabulous spoil could thus unplayed Gape upward to a mortal air?— He stoops engrossed; his tanned cheek greyed; His heart stood still: for there, Wondrously fairing, beneath the skin Of secretly bubbling water seen, Swims—not the silver of scale and fin— . . . Read More