Where spring the drooping bulbs, which meet again
The limpid stream that lily-kissed flows by,
And bobs the cork, there waits with watchful eye
The patient angler, happiest of men.
His couch of fern is formed; and, close beside,
The wattles, laced with gold, rich perfume spread,
And drop their blooms to deck the grassy bed
Where wild-flowers sweet in wealth of setting hide.
No care he knows but that the finny prey
Soon victims to his subtle snare may fall,
When clicks the reel and bends the willow tall:
Thus calm contentment fills his lazy day.
Some soothing power, ’twould seem, of magic, moves
Along the line, such peace the holding proves.
William Blocksidge, Songs o’ the South, London: Watts, 1908, p. 46
’twould = (vernacular) a contraction of “it would”