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Aneath yon auld saugh tree I'll lean
Upon a mossy seat, Wi' Tiptoe braes afore my een,
Till streamin' at my feet; And list the sandy lav'rock's ca',
Lood wheepliu' out his strain, Or sweet sang o' yon water craw,
Doup doupin' on the stane.
Gude e'en—the day is wearin' ben,
Far wast the sun has row'd, The trees adown steep Twizel Glen
Are steep'd in burnish'd gowd. May peace and plenty mingle there,
And saftly row the Till, For welcome liiud to hamely fare
Is aye at Heaton Mill.
THE HAUNTS OF FISH.
In deeps the silver Salmon loves to rove,
And marly swifts allure the Barbel drove,
Sharp streams delight the Trout; still deeps the
Bream, The fearful Chub, he loves the shaded stream, la shady holes and hollow banks, the Perch he dwells, And, for his boldness, the finny race excels ;