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A DAY BY THE SIDE OF THE TYNE.
Come my lads, from your pillows spring, open your
eyes, And look out the best of your rods and your flies: Cast care far behind you—let sorrow go pine— For we swear we'll be off to the Banks of the Tyne.
But, first, let the board be spread, ample and wide, Nor there's no fun in fasting, whatever betide ; Let the eggs come in clusters, the coffee in streams, And the ham, tongue, and fowl, fade away like your dreams.
Now a "caulker," the finest, of rich mountain dews, To add zest to our spirits and strength to our views; Then away ! like true sons of the angle we'll shine, With our rods, creels, and lines on the Banks of the Tyne.
Where Newhurn lies bright, in the rich morning time, With its age-sprinkled turret, all calm and sublime, - We'll start like keen fishermen, up to the chase, Determin'd no fugitive beats us the race.
Then on will we ramble to Wylam's deep holes, Where the large heavy trout lie together in shoals, And we'll hook them, and creel them, and make the
glades ring, As with hearts, like our rods, all elastic, we'll sing.