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THE ANGLER'S THOUGHTS ON THE APPROACH OF WINTER
Bright flowers are sinking,
Streamlets are shrinking, Now the deep ravine seems cheerless and sear ;
Light clouds are flying,
Cold winds are sighing, The angler is thoughtful, for winter is near.
Blossoms are cherished,
Have withered and perished, The streams which we smiled on, are chilly and
Feelings of sadness, [jlrear ;
O'ershadow our gladness, And make the mind thoughtful, for winter is near.
Thus all that is fairest,
And sweetest and rarest, Must shortly be severed, and call for a tear;
Then let each emotion,
Be warm with devotion, Let anglers be thoughtful, for winter is near. Bristol, 1815.
With rod and line in hand,
Let's usher in the day ; The sport's exceeding grand,
Arise, make no delay !
Now the stream is just before us,
Away, comeŚcome, away.