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ON ANGLING. 3
THE ANGLER'S LIFE.
Tune.—"The Banks of Indermay"
When vernal airs perfume the fields, Ami pleasing views the landscape yields, The limpid stream, the scaly breed, Invite the angler's waving reed. The musing swain what pleasures seize ! The talking brook, the sighing breeze, The active insect's buzzing wing, And buds that tuneful ditties sing.
At latest eve, at early dawn,
The angler quests the scented lawn,
And roams, to snare the finny brood,
The margin of the flow'ry fiood.
Now at some osier wat'ry root
The Chub beguiles, or painted Trout;
No cares nor noise his senses drown,
His pastime, ease and silence crown.
Adieu, ye sports of noise and toil, That crowds in senseless strife embroil ; The jockey's mirth, the huntsman's train, Debauch of health, and waste of gain. More mild delights my life employ, The angler's uuexpensive joy ; Mere 1 can sweeten fortune's frowns. Nor envy kings the bliss of crowns.