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ON ANGLING. '2'69
And when we've seen each rocky dale,
Where hang the dews of morn, Each winding, deep, romantic vale,
Each snow-white blossom'd thorn ; From every charm I'll turn to you,
And think my loving bride More sweet than aught that meets my view
By charming Wansbeck side.
When smiling felicity warbles her song,
The soul-touching numbers harmoniously flowr
The moments of gladness come swiftly along, And bid all the feelings of ecstacy glow.
Thus, reclined with his rod, by the banks of a brook The swain of the mountains melodiously sung ; Joy trilled in the sound of his musical tongue,
The sunshine of happiness beamed in his look.
The Bard of Glamorgan.