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ON ANGLING. |
233 |
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Such are our pleasures the summer's (lay long, While there's fish in the streamlets or brooks.
In praise of the angler, let this be our song, \\ ho delight in the line and the hook. |
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SONG.
My lover he lives by the pure river side, Where trout and the salmon in harmouy bide ; He's known far and near for skill with the flv, And the soft twinkle which juts from his eye.
The rod in his hand, and line on his reel, With warmth in his heart, and life in his heel, He treads by the banks of the purling rill, Drops in by my cot when evening is still.
The soft tone of waters that glide through the lea. Fall short of his accents, so loving to me ; Tender and pure, with kindly emotion, He presses my hand with ardent devotion.
No vice mais his fame, but gently he plies, With ardour and glee, his art with his flies ; V\ ith honour and worth his name is entwin'd, And truth and love in his soul are combin'd. |
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Exeter, 17^7- |
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