XXXVII

THE HOLY-WELL POOL

When the month is happy June,
And her horns forsake the moon-
When she greets us round and full
Then we'll haunt the Holy-well pool.
Where I ween

'Neath willow green,

Bright fins are ever gliding ;
'Mong the reeds

And water-weeds

They hold their wary hiding.

Not by moonlight need we tread

Mossy bank or river-bed;

No living things 'neath moonlight prowl,
Save beetle and bat and solemn owl;

As she rides

The old trout hides,

Under the still bank deeper;

Nor sweet fly

Nor minnow shy

Can rouse the silent sleeper.

Rather at morn-tide we shall go
To the Holy-well when the sun is low,
Ere the bee visits the new-burst flower
Or the noon breeze shakes the bower;
Then the trout

Sails round about

Beyond the osier bushes,
Or descries

His winged prize

Among the whispering rushes.

Then we'll seek the Holy-well,
Or when eve glides up the dell,
And the cushat all unseen

Coos among the larch-wood green,
Stealing soft

Along the croft

We'll beat the shady water,

Till to rest

With arm opprest

Night turns us from the slaughter.

XXXVIII

THE RIVER

Through sun-bright lakes,
Round islets gay,

The river takes

Its western way,

And the water-chime

Soft zephyrs time

Each gladsome summer day.

The starry trout,

Fair to behold, Roameth about On fin of gold;

At root of tree

His haunt you may see,
Rude rock or crevice old.

And hither dart

The salmon grey, From the deep heart Of some sea-bay ; And herling wild Is here beguiled

To hold autumnal play.

Oh! 'tis a stream

Most fair to see,

As in a dream

Flows pleasantly;

And our hearts are woo'd

To a kind sweet mood

By its wondrous witchery.

"Angling Songs.'

The yellow fins o' Yarrow dale!

I kenna whar they've gane tae;
Was ever trouts in Border vale

Sae comely or sae dainty?

They had baith gowd and spanglit rings,
Wi' walth o' pearl amang them;
An' for sweet luve o' the bonny things,
The heart was laith to wrang them.

But he that angles Yarrow ower

(Maun changes ever wauken ?)

Frae our Lady's Loch to Newark Tower,
Will find the stream forsaken.

Forsaken ilka bank and stane

O' a' its troots o' splendour:

Auld Yarrow's left sae lorn and lane
Ane scarcely wad hae kenn'd her.

Waes me! The ancient yellow fin
I marvel whar he's gane tae;
Was ever trout in Forest rin

Sae comely or sae dainty?