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ON ANGLING. 16C* |
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'Tis she does the virgins excel ;
No beauty with her may compare ; Love's graces around her do dwell ;
She's fairest where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray ?
Oh ! tell me at morn when they feed ; Shall I seek them in angling the Tay ?
Or the pleasanter streams of the Tweed ? J 736. Crawford
LINES.
If thou lovest a quiet joy, Will bid thee forget the tedious dream, The struggle of life for fortune's beam,
Which the worldly-wise employ. O'ershadow'd with newly budding trees, And kiss'd by the gently fanning breeze,
How sweet is the fisherman's haunt ! Life's struggles do not reach him there,
And there ambition is forgot ; There dwells no pride, there springs no taunt.
Nor pining for a prouder lot ; Then let the prey in covert rest,
The game nestle in field and wood, And change the scarlet for fisher's vest,
The stubble and chase for the flood ; For kindly doth nature to sportsmen appear, Though winter is gone, and \hv May-days are here |
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