ON THE RHINE.

The Rhine, the Rhine, thou noble stream,
Where warlike deeds are told;

Where on thy banks St. Goar once stood,
His mission to unfold.*

Thy waters pure from mountain top,
Come rushing down the vale;
A pointed emblem of those feats,
Wrapp'd in thy wond'rous tale.

The peaceful angler treads the banks,
Where warriors oft hath led
Their armies; and patriots bold

For freedom's cause hath bled.

With waves of clouds-rich and glowing,
That hang upon thy breast,

Thou seem'st a spot to charm the sense,
Where angler might be blest.

In summer heats I've sought thy shades,
Where cooling breezes blow;

Thy glorious landscapes, fresh and fair,
Make angler's bosoms glow.

Thy murmuring streams, pour'd o'er the rock,
Fall sweetly on the ear;

And soothes the troubled mind to rest,

When sadd'ning thoughts appear.

* St. Goar was the first preacher of Christianity to the inhabitants in this part of Europe.

Flow on, proud Rhine, and may thy streams

For ever sacred flow,

For those who tread their margins gay,
The "gentle" fly to throw.

WRITTEN AT A CLUB OF BRITISH AN-
GLERS IN NORMANDY, IN 1841.

Come, fairest land, we owe to thee
Our gratitude and thanks,

Thy splendid streams have yielded sport
And joys have cheer'd their banks.

The Rille, and Toncques, and Colonne,
Sweet waters cold and clear,
Have each the anglers hopes sustain'd,
And crown'd the bygone year.

The scatter'd cots, and hamlets rude,
Which greet the angler's eye,
Have nooks of shelter often prov'd,
When storms were passing by.

At Contance, Avranche, and Malo,
Fair towns of note and trade,
We've brother craftsmen recognis'd,
And jolly comrades made.

When wand'ring by thy purling streams,
We've met with kindly cheer;
In many a quiet vale have found
Assistance ever near.

Let no man say, with British pride,
"I'll only fish at home,"
For surely here an angler may
In gleesome humour roam.

Thy maidens fair, "Old Normandy,"
In cups of every kind,*

Beneath whose shade, though varied be,
There beams a glowing mind.

Thy orchards fair, and genial sky,
Thy mountains, vales, and rills;
The tout-ensemble of thy face,
The heart with pleasure fills.

Again we give the mead of praise,
To streams so rich in sport;
May anglers here long ply their art,
And give a good report.

* A member of the Club had taken sketches of upwards of two hundred different Cuts of Cups in Normandy.

IRISH SONG.

It was on the Liffy's higher streams,
I first began to fish ;

My father's cot, it stood hard by.
Secured me every wish.

I lov'd to roam, I lov'd to scan
The face of nature fair;

Her glance so rich, so fraught with love,
It banish'd every care.

When Spring her radiant smiles arise,
And pierce the running rills;
And Summer dews, among the flowers,
Their nectar sweet instils ;

Then rod in hand, and joyous step,

I

pace the river streams,

As long as day his course doth run,
And twilight's murky beanis.

No pleasures ere engross me more,
No sounds delight my ear,
Compared with those murmurings
From waters pure and clear,
Let Dublin, then, send forth sons
To Liffy's warbling banks;

Here's joys pour'd out in richest store,
For anglers of all ranks.

Dublin, 1831.

ANGLING.

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

I sat off one morning in June;

Resolv'd my

dull spirits once more to recruit,

I at Richmond arrived about noon.

Stopp'd there, where the current the royal shore hems, With a thousand gay objects in front;

At the old Silver Cross, by the side of the Thames, I hir'd me a fisherman's punt.

I circled the isle, for the day was serene,

All things seem'd my pleasures to court;
So I anchored my boat off the meadows so green,
And prepar'd for a summer's day sport.
My tackle was charming, and plenty in store,
My fly-line in order, my rod to my wish;
And clear of the bull-rushy sedge by the shore,
I began to look out for the fish.

Roach, dace, and brisk gudgeons, in numbers arise,
With the barbel that skulk by the mill;
And Fortune, inclin'd to present me a prize,
Sent a salmon to cope with my skill.
The sun was now suuk the horizon below,
When old Time, that importunate friend,
Told me, in friendship, the way I'd to go,
So unwilling the sage to offend.

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