SONG.

On thy banks, limpid Thames, as I stand,
To hook the keen glutton below,

As the breeze flows refreshing and bland,
I am tempted my hair-line to throw.

Nor thy waters alone can delight,

The herbage, the landscape, appear To enrapture my wandering sight,

As the music of birds charms the ear.

If my cork, faithful friend, sinks below,
At the bite of the barbel or bream,
To see what thy clear currents bestow,
I draw up my prize from the stream.

In the sunbeams he glitters, for liberty tries,
But his efforts are vain, and he tires;
And, finding no way of escape to devise,
In the pure open air he expires.

Your heroes, (I sing), round the world let them

Or for honour seek death in the field; We anglers are happy, in quiet at home, With such sports as the rivulets yield.

[roam,

At our humble pursuits let the casuist go frown,
Our pastime 'tis mine to defend ;

But not like the lowman, bred up in the town,
To beggar the purse of a friend,

Such are our pleasures the summer's day long, While there's fish in the streamlets or brooks, In praise of the angler, let this be our song, Who delight in the line and the hook.

SONG.

My lover he lives by the pure river side,
Where trout and the salmon in harmony bide;
He's known far and near for skill with the fly,
And the soft twinkle which juts from his eye.

The rod in his hand, and line on his reel,
With warmth in his heart, and life in his heel,
He treads by the banks of the purling rill,
Drops in by my cot when evening is still.

The soft tone of waters that glide through the lea,
Fall short of his accents, so loving to me;
Tender and pure, with kindly emotion,
He presses my hand with ardent devotion.

No vice mais his fame, but gently he plies,
With ardour and glee, his art with his flies;
With honour and worth his name is entwin'd,
And truth and love in his soul are combin'd.

Exeter, 1767.

BALLAD.

Written, but never published, on a fracas al a Meeting of Anglers at the Duke of Buccleuch's seat in Scotland.

On Tweed's fair banks a castle stands
O'erspread with mossy green,
And round its walls a moat remains,
Fell foes to intervene.

"Twas in the days of angling feats,
When Jim Hogg held the sway,
Whose name and memory yet survive,
Until this very day ;

That Wilson on a visit came,

With many an angling knight,
To Buccleuch, lord of these domains,
In fishing armour bright.

Duke Buccleuch said, come, seated be,
All at the welcome board;

And, ladies kind, who honour me,
Take what these walls afford.

It would be long to give detail
Of such a sumptuous fair;
But, for a part, I'll take the whole,
And artlessly declare :

For choicest meats, and richest viands,
And wines of foreign climes ;

A banquet such was scarcely seen,
Before, or till these times.

Now, cloth withdrawn, and dinner o'er,

Was on the table placed

A cup of curious massive gold,
With mantling fish enlac'd.

This Buccleuch took in both his hands,
And says unto the King

A health I give, long may he live,
And we of victories sing.

Then to his lips he press'd the cup,
And drank it from the brim ;
His face he lav'd in crimson dye,
And wash'd his locks so trim.

And unto Wilson next he said,
Thy prowess is well known,
For it appears this angling day,

That thou hast gained renown.*

The writer of this affirms. that the Professor had, the day alluded to, killed eleven dozen of trout and three salmon, in less than three hours.

Oft had the goblet flow'd with wine,
And oft its course had run,

When Wilson rose with pleasantry,
Divested of all fun :-

"Jim Hogg," said he, "a toast I give,
And to my heart most dear,
It's our NOCTES, old Scotland's pride,
Who ne'er a foe did fear."

Jim Hogg raised up his nervous arm,
And, by the temple, swore
That language such as he had us'd,
Should be allow'd no more. *

Christopher North, with downcast look,

"I own the fault in me,
And of Earl Buccleuch pardon ask,

For such a liberty.

The boon old Kit has craved is given,

But first a reprimand;
Then friendship, peace, and unity,

Gave Buccleuch, in demand.

Hogg had frequently remonstrated with Blackwood's people about the liberty they took with his conversations in the NOCTES, but little or no attention was paid to him. At last he grew very testy upon the subject. This was the cause of his taking the Professor's joke so hotly up at this convivial party. The Duke of Buccleuch was a kind friend to the shepherd.

R. B.