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SONG TO A SALMON.
BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.
Thou bonny fish from the far sea
Whose waves unwearied roll
In primitive immensity
Aye buffetting the pole !
From millions of thy silvery kind
In that wide waste that dwell
Thou only power and path didst find,
To reach this lonely dell.
That wond'rous region was thy own,
That home upon the deep—
To thee were all the secrets known
In that dark breast that sleep—
Thou, while thy form midst heave and toss
Had still the billows play been,
Perhaps knewest more than Captain Ross,
Or yet than Captain Sabine.
Yea, Fish ! now wise alone was't thou, But happy—what's far better— Ne'er thy fins to Barrow bow, They feared not Crocker's letter— But far and wide theii strokes they plied Smooth thro' the ocean smoother, Nor drab-clad Gifford chilled their pride Nor Leslie's buff and blue there.