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 wheeplin' 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 kind to hamely fare

Is

aye

at Heaton Mill.

FOSTER.

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,

In shady holes and hollow banks, the Perch he dwells, And, for his boldness, the finny race excels;

Roach and Dace the sandy bottom choose,

And Carp the weeds, and Tench the muddy ooze,
In streams with gravel bottoms Gudgeon do delight,
The wanton Bleak will ever sport in sight,

The Pike, the tyrant of the finny brood,
Near woods and sedges lies lurking for his food.
Hammersmith, 1846.

SONG.

Come over the moor, come over the lea,
Come down by the banks of the rippling Dee ;
Bring rod in your hand, with right merry heart,
That nature may sport, and full pleasure impart.

Come forth in the morn, 'fore the lark mounts the sky,
Let firm be your step, and lively your eye;

For stern fate has decreed, and stubborn his will,
That sport we shall have, our baskets we'll fill.

Over the mountain, and over the dale,

On banks of the streams, where zephyr's prevail,
With skill in our throws and an angler's eye,
The haunts of the trout we'll surely descry.

When ev'ning has come, and chill is the dew,
We'll spy out some spot, our strength to renew ;
We'll open the flask with jovial glee,

And cheer for the maids who live near the Dee.
Chester, 1831.

ANGLING REMINISCENCES.

The last time I fish'd down this stream, I pass'd my Anne's cot,

The fleeting scene is like a dream,

Still ne'er to be forgot.

Her rudy cheek and dimpl'd smile,
Caught my enchanted eye;
With coyness shy, devoid of guile,
She beckon'd me hard by.

I threw the rod into the glade,
And press'd her hand a while,
By tales of love, the gentle maid,
I won her graceful smile.

She vow'd to me that true she'd be,
No wandering thought retain ;
And I, in turn, with rapt'rous glee,
Allegiance swore again.

Ere long, by Hymen's happy chains,
Two hearts were made to one,
She's sooth'd for years my growing pains,
And cheer'd me when alone.

To me, therefore, this purling rill,

Has prov'd a source of gain;

May love and peace-the rod and creel, Its future fame maintain.

THE SALMON RUN, AIR,-" The Brave Old Oak." Oh! away to the Tweed, To the beautiful Tweed, My much-loved native stream, Where the fish from his hold, 'Neath some cataract bold, Starts up like a quivering gleam.

To the Tweed, then, so pure, Where the wavelets can lure The King of the waters to roam, As he shoots far and free, Through the boundless sea, To the halls of his silvery home.

From his iron-bound keep,
Far down in the deep,

He holds on his sovereign sway-
Or darts like a lance,
Or the meteor's glance,
Afar on his bright-wing'd prey.

As he roves through the tide, Then his clear glitt'ring side Is burnish'd with silver and gold; And the sweep of his flight Seems a rainbow of light,

As again he sinks down in his hold.

Oh! then hasten with speed To the clear running Tweed, The river of beauty and song, Where the rod swinging high Throws a Coldstream dress'd fly O'er the hold of the salmon so strong.

With a soft western breeze

That just thrills through the trees, And ripples the beautiful bay, Throw the fly for a lure—

That's a rise! strike him sureA clean fish-with a burst he's away.

Hark! the ravel line sweel, From the fast whirring reel, With a music that gladdens the ear ; And the thrill of delight,

In that glorious fight,

To the heart of the angler is dear.

Hold him tight !—for the leap;

Where the waters are deep Give out line in the far steady run; Reel up quick, if he tire,

Though the wheel be on fire,

For in earnest to work he's begun.