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SONGS. ETC. |
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Think not time will ne'er remove Beauties which will soon decay
Let us wield the rod, and rove, Swiftly flies the spring away.
Rising at the morning hour,
Dew distilling clouds we see, And the gale around the bower
Sweeps along the charming Dee. Let not care the mind remove
From the joys that round us play ; Let us throw the rod, and rove,
Swiftly flies the spring away. Chester. 1839. |
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SONG OF THE ANGLER.
BY FRANCIS B. THOMPSON.
Give me the babbling brook that plays,
Sweet music to the ear, And tempts us there to spend our days All through the livelong year,
With Creel, and Rod and Line, With Creel, and Rod, and Line, With Creel, and Rod, and Line. All through the livelong year. |
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