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When wand'ring by thy purling streams,
We've met with kindly cheer; In many a quiet vale have found
Assistance ever near.
Let no man say, with British pride,
" I'll only fish at home," For surely here an angler may
In gleesome humour roam.
Thy maidens fair, " Old Normandy,"
In cups of every kind,* Beneath whose shade, though varied be,
There beams a glowing mind.
Thy orchards fair, and genial sky, Thy mountains, vales, and rills ;
The tout-ensemble of thv face, The heart with pleasure fills.
Again we give the mead of praise,
To streams so rich in sport ; May anglers here long ply their art,
And give a good report.
* A member ot the Club had taken sketches of upwards* of two hundred diffl-rent Cuts of Cups in Normandy.