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I went down by " The Angler" to Ditton-
Or haply on some river's cooling bank,
The day is clear, the wind is fair,
Come, fuddle, fuddle, drink about,
Gentle stranger, have you seen,
Young smiling Spring, all clad in green,
On the banks of some peaceful stream,
Thou bonny fish from the far sea
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You see the ways the fisherman doth take
It chanc'd that an angler, who liv'd at Cheapside, 73
Northumberland lads, who use the gads,
Let us love to be merry and wise,
When I was young and in my prime,
There was a gentle angler,
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Come, change your taper rods, my lads
The heavens are bright, the morning gale,
Come, my lads, from your pillows spring,
What equals on earth the delight of the angler,
Angling one summer morn alone,
Care knows not the lad that is merry,
Awake, up, up! and away to the streams,
Albeit, gentle reader, I delight not in my trade,
O'er moorland and mountain,
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How sweet is the breath of the briar,
As pants the hart for water brooks,
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Reclin'd upon a bank of moss,
In day's of old, when first refinement's light
To the stream let us go,
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Haste to the streamlet! see, the sun
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Oh! pleasant are the green banks of the Lea, 97
The Rud, a kind of roach, all ting'd with gold, 99
By purling streams, in shady dell,
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Let's fish and let's sing together,
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Dark is the ever flowing stream,
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Beneath the still waters is the Fen King,
At setting eve and rising morn,
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Το
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campes and courts let others rove,
The dark grey of gloamin', the lone leafy shaw, 107
An angler's life has joys for me,
Let others crowd the giddy court,
When this old rod was new,
Some youthful gallant here perhaps will say,
Farewell to the maid of my heart,
Here's a bumper to rod and to spear!
Sure Whiting is no fasting Dish,
Come, launch the light canoe,
Bright flowers are sinking,
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With rod and line in hand,
Me no pleasure shall enamour,
Tho' jest-loving wight has thought fit to divine, 120
Hail! gentle goddess, blooming Spring, 121
By shady woods and purling streams,
What pleasures wait the angler's life, .
Hark! anglers of the north,
Some morning now with balm unwonted fraught 125
On Till's clear streams that runs so deep, 126
If any so wise is, that angling despises,
He gazed with admiration unsurpassed,
Loe, in a little boat whene one doth stand, 129
Around cap-a-pie, with baskets, bags, and rods, 129
Bring thy rod to the peaceful rill,
Right socially we live, and never disagree,
When cauld winter is past,
Push about the bottle, lads,
Broader rivers please us then,
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But if the breathless chase o'er hill and dale,
Blow, zephyr, and whisper the maid,
It was on a summer's morning,
Away with dull care, and rigid frugality,
Here's good luck to the gad,
Fill, boys, and drink, wine will banish sorrow,
Then get good hair, so that it be not black,
The greedy pike lies basking cool,
Hail, Angling pleasure,
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The lassie by the streamlet side,
It was the charming month of May,
My grandsire is an angler old,
Swift stream, if e'er thy limpid flow,
The rising suu, with ruddy locks,
A brother of the angle must always be sped, 154
The northern lights are flashing,
When I desire to muse alone,
Come, let us laugh, let us angle and sing,
I have climb'd by the mountain rills,
Το you, true fishers, now in town,
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We are all just like brother and brother,
Let landsmen boast of pleasures,
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Come, follow me, right down the lea,
No glory I covet, no riches I want,
In childhood's days, when summer came,
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'Tis life to young anglers in early spring time, 164
Angling and free, for pleasure born,
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O bliss divine! a salmon flound'ring at my line, 165
Think, when thou seest the bait,
When the sun is shining low,
When vernal airs perfume the fields,
What beauties does Flora disclose,
If thou lovest a quiet joy,
Ye fishermen of Scotland,
•
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Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 171
Sportive young River, we've rambled together, 172
Mr. Walton, it's harsh to say it,
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Thy wooded heights, fair Canche, I leave,
I've seen the smiling primrose flower
Vale of bliss! what joy to wander,
The waters not too high, too thick, too clear,
What though the hunter's horn be mute,
When worldly cares corrode the heart,.
A hungry fish once chanc'd to spy,
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O world's deceit ! how are we thrall'd by thee, 191
On Tweed's bonnie banks, in summer's gay light 192
Some friends of mine, for mirth and glee, 193
When blythesome May brings heather bells, 196
By silver streams and tuneful grove,
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The waters, the waters, how clearly they flow, 198
Thou art a frail and lovely thing,
Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch,
The sun of the eve was warm and bright
God quicken'd in the sea, and in the rivers,
This day dame Nature seem'd in love, .
Awake, awake, the May-morn Sun,
Before the fire we sit and sing,
Of all the sports and pastimes,
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Is that dace or perch? said Alderman Birch, 208
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Haste, anglers, arise! from your pillows, arise, 214
When sweet Spring, my friend, shall smiling
All arts and shapes the wily angler tries, .
Through the long morning have I toil'd
Wi' boundin' step and gladsome e'e,
In deeps the silver Salmon loves to rove,
Come over the moor, come over the lea,
The last time I fish'd down this stream,
O, away to the Tweed, to the beautiful Tweed, 225
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