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156 SONGS, ETC.
When I desire to muse alone On present things, or things bygone, When fancy soars on pinion high, And can an unreal world descry ; To dream, and walk by river's brink, To argue, ponder, or to think,
For such joys and mental treasures, Nought so sweet as angling pleasures.
When I desire to move alone, To brace the mind and give it tone, To draw it from its toils and care, From sorrow sad, or deep despair, To fix it on those aspects bright On which its movements shed a light ; Then we recognise the treasures, Nought so sweet as angling pleasures.
Come, let us laugh, let us angle and sing, The winter is gone, and here is the Spring ;
We care not a feather
For wind nor for weather,
By night and by day,
We'll fish and we'll play,
Comparing our flies together.