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ON ANGLING. 187
Soon the bird of darkness ringing, Wakes the woods with solemn song ;
Spirits, too, of night ?eem singing, As they soar the stars among.
Vale of bliss, etc., etc-
O how blest, to dwell for ever,
'Mid these scenes of placid peace! If some Power the past could sever,
If the tones of Mem'ry cease. Ah ! not Faith herself dare cherish
Hopes unstain'd by 'wild'ring fears; Could we dream the past might perish,
What shall quench our future tears ? Vale of bliss, etc., etc.
SEASON FOR ANGLING.
The waters not too high, too thick, too clear, When Sol's bright beams do not at all appear, Nor yet the wind too low, nor over high ; On purling streams, if then you'll cast the fly, That right in season is, and if true make, Well like to such the trout now best will take ; I dare engage, have you but any skill, You will not fail the nimble trout to kill, 1706.