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ON ANGLING- 10/
LINES
WRITTEN IN PENCIL, ON THE DOOR OF AN INN, IN A REMOTE DISTRICT OF WESTMORLAND.
The dark grey of gloamin',
The lone leafy shaw, The loo of the cushat,
The scent of the haw ; The brae of the burnie,
All deck'd out with flowers, Where two kindred anglers
Spent many sweet hours.
A flask of good whisky,
Sandwiches and ale, A smiling good housewife,
When our fishing doth fail; With plenty of joking,
And singing and fun, Give zest to the sporting,
With rod and with gun.
Ye, lost to all pleasure,
Whom nothing can move, Ne'er to stir from your lairs,
Nor by streamlet to move ; Away with your sounds,
Away with your store. Ye know not the pleasure:
Of angling an hour. |
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