On yon fair brook's enamell'd side,

Awake, my boys-awake, arise!

Mark well the various seasons of the year,

On thy banks, limpid Thames, as I stand,

My lover he lives by the pure river side,

On Tweed's fair banks a castle stands,

No more the angler's silent trade I ply,

O! Mary, look, how sweetly Spring

When smiling felicity warbles her song,

We're all a-fishing, fish, fish, fishing,

Of all the recreations which,

Oh, the days when we went an angling,

No fairer land can meet the

But I'll tak' leave o' queenly Dee,

eye,

I winna sing o' war nor wine,

Come, anglers, come, for work prepare,

Now the finny brood united,

It's late, my lad, to tak' the gad,

Anxious, by the gliding stream,

253

O bold singing spirit of Loch Neagh's lovely vale 254

Up, angler, up, and be off to the river,

Bright blaz'd the fire of crackling wood,

the hoary western hill,

When atop

To you who love the lonely shade,

255

256

257

259

263

267

The Rhine, the Rhine, thou noble stream,

269

Who has not, if he's fond of whim,

With feelings strange and undefined,

Come, fairest land, we owe to thee,

It was on the Liffy's higher streams,

Grown tir'd of the town and its noisy pursuit, 273

The grass is wet with shining dew,

Thou that hast lov'd so long and well,

274

275

SONGS, &c.

ANGLING.

When fair Aurora rising early shews

Her blushing face beyond the eastern hills,
And dyes the heavenly vault with purple rewes,
That far abroad the world with brightness fills;
The Meadows green are hoare with silver dews,
That on the earth the sable night distils,

And chanting birds with merry notes bewray,
The near approaching of the cheerful day.

Then let him go to river, brook or lake,
That loves the sport, where store of fish abound,
And through the pleasant fields his journey make,
Amidst sweet pastures, meadows fresh and sound,
Where he may best his choice of pastime take,
While swift Hyperion runs his circle round;
And as the place shall to his liking prove,
There still remain, or further else remove.
JOHN DENNYS. 1613.

B

THE THAMES.

Glide gently, thus for ever glide,

O Thames! that anglers all may see,
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river come to me.

O glide fair stream! for ever so,
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow
As thy deep waters now are flowing.

FISHING FOR GUDGEON AND ROACHES.

You that fish for dace and roaches,
Carps or trenches, bonus noches,

Thou wert borne betweene two dishes,
When the Friday signe was Fishes.
Angler's yeares are made and spent
All in Ember weekes and Lent;
Breake thy rod about thy noddle,

Throw thy worms and flies by the pottle,

Keep thy cork to stop thy bottle:

Make straight thy hooke, and be not afraid
To shave thy beard;

That, in case of started stitches,

Hooke and line may mend thy breeches.

1656.