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SONGS, ETC. |
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SONG.
Ye fishermen of 'Scotland,
Who love the stream and pool, Whose haunts are hy the river side,
Among the shadows cool : Your tackle mount, my gallant hearts,
With minnow, fly, aud roe, It is best from the west,
While the gentle breezes blow.
Old Scotland holds the cataract
Among her mountains steep, With streamy rills and sleepy pools,
Where trout and salmon leap. Mount the line, my gallant hearts,
The hills are clear of snow ; Fling bait in the spate,
While the gentle breezes blow.
The spirit of old anglers gone
Will rise with every cast, And cheer us 'neath the summer sun,
Or winter's angry blast. Where old John Forster fish'd so well,
To Birgham Dub we'll go, And try with the fly,
While the gentle breezes blow. |
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