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With good eye, steady hand, and long patience beside, We'll away, we'll away, and the world's pride forget Deeming that its best jewel we land in our net.
Away, to the fisherman's muster away!
For the sun rideth en, and he brooks no delay :
Then ply the dun fly while his glory is onó
We can ply the red wine when his glory is gone ;
The bowl knows no sweetener to glad the free heart,
As the triumphs we win at our innocent art.
The feast board is spread in our old brother's hall, The feasters are met at that old brother's call ; And the old wine is opened, the old stories told, And the old sport is toasted which ne'er will be old; And hearts they leap gladly, and eyes cheerly gleam, For the red trout is captured by Avon-dale's stream. Salisbury, May 22. 1824. J. S.
LINES. Bring tb y rod to the peaceful rill,
The streams that whisper near, Where sweet birds a!! summer do sing,
In carols loud and clear. Should thy heart be oppress'd with love,
Or tender friends deplore ; The flowing and murm'ring streams i'il prove
A cure for inward sore.