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ON ANGLING. |
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Ha ! here's Ovingham, famed, whore the Great Bewick lies, Once so dext'rous at haudling the bonny brown flies, As he roav'd, in his youth, by the side of the streams Which he afterwards hallow'd in glory's bright beams.
May his mem'ry be bless'd where he lies by the side Of his own rapid river, his glory and pride ; Few grac'd it as he did throughout the bright day, And—so—fitting it is he should live in our lay.
We'll visit his streamlets, decorous in mood To think that we stand where the Giant One stood ; But, how sacred soever the streamlet may be, We'll still hook "the natives" with hearts full of glee.
Then BymeWs deep pools of some 'thumpers'' we'll
drain, While ev'ry new cast gives new mirth to the strain, And the salmon lie splendid and bright to the eye, As they take their last look of the stream and the sky.
Now, our creels being well fill'd, we will all form a
truce, For a true fisher never takes aught but for use ;
And we'll leave the bright denizens, happy and gay,
Till we pay our next visit another grand day.
And we'll off to the "Matchcm" where Trotter
"hangs out," A rare hand and skilful at cooking a trout;
And with salmon, ham-collops and eggs, too, galore,
We'll eat, drink, and sing, as we've oft done before. |
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