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ON ANGLING. |
247 |
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MY NATIVE STREAMS.
I winna sing o' war nor wine,
Nor love, though they be peerless themes ; But o' the fav'rite haunts o' mine
By Dee an' Don, ray native streams. There I ha'e sought the lintie's nest,
Or hunted bees upon the braes, There 1 ha'e " stray'd wi' care opprest,"
There I ha'e lilted cheerfu' lays.
There's nae a crook noo roond aboot,
Frae Pognernook to Eildou Tree, Where I've nae catch'd the silver trout,
Upon the winding banks o' Dee. Ilk hour I dookit in her tide,
That I frae school or wark could spare ; There I ha'e gather'd rasps—beside
I woo'd and won my Nannie there.
There 1 ha'e heard, at break o' day,
The blackbird chaunt his early sang, The mavis, at the gloamin' grey,
Wake slumberin' echoes till they rang. Fu' aft, in some bit plantin' snug,
Wi' books I've wiled awa the time ; Or wandered by the auld Craiglug,
An' strung my scraps o' siniplp rhyme. |
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