What'er the ills of life,
It chassed them away,
Nor ruff'd long the brow,
Of honest Robin Grey.
Let anglers, then, rejoice,
At such a cheerful creed;
And take the rod and line
When'ere they are in need;
And let them prove a balm,
From Spring, to life's decay,
And an example take,
From honest Robin Grey.
TWO OF A TRADE.
A fisherman one morn display'd
Upon the Steine his net ;
Corinna could not promenade,
And 'gan to fume and fret.
The fisher cried, give o'er the spleen,
We both are in one line;
You spread your net upon the Steine,
Why may not I spread mine?
Two of a trade can ne'er agree,
'Tis that which makes you sore;
I fish for flat fish in the sea,
And you upon the shore.
THE ANGLER'S DISTRESS.
I've lost my rod, my flies, and knife,
Sav'd only fish and purse;
Yet when I think of human life,
Thank Heaven it is no worse.
My friend was sickly, poor, and old,
Was peevish, blind, and crippled ;
My wife was ugly and a scold,
I rather think she tippled.
My rod was plastic, straight, and true,
In angling gave me pleasure ;
I shouldn't care for t'other too,
If I had sav'd this treasure.
1810.
ANGLING FELICITY.
To angle I went to the drains
Which runs from the north to the south,
I caught a fine pike for my pains,
I felt my poor thumb in his mouth.
I stamp'd, and I roar'd, and there came
A nymph who releas'd me from pain,
I gladly relinquish'd my game,
And never have angled again.
THE INVITATION.
The rising sun's resplendent beams,
Now gild the orient sky;
Up, angler, from thy airy dreams,
And to the streamlet hie.
Proud chanticleer has left his shed,
To hail the dawning day;
The lark has left his mossy bed,
To chant his matin lay.
The lowing herd upon the hill,
The lambs upon the lea,
The happy plough-boy's whistle shrill,
The humming of the bee;
The music of the budding grove,
The rippling of the stream,
The milk maid's simple song of love,
The tinkling of the team.
All in one glorious swell unite,
Of harmony divine ;
To hail the rod and tackling light,
Their melody combine.
While sunk in sleep the sluggard steams,
Like hog within the stye;
Up, angler, from thy airy dreams,
And to the streamlet hie.
Hark! the warbling birds around,
Hail the glad return of spring;
Nets, that arching guard the ground,
Far aloof keeps every sting.
Once again the budding grove
With hawthorn's bloom is gay;
Let us fish, and let us rove,
Swiftly flies the spring away.
Flowers again the garden grace,
Brilliant are the hue we see,
Blyth again the stream we trace,
On thy charming banks, O Dee!
Ere the spring deserts the grove,
We may all in death decay,
Let us fish then, let us rove,
Swiftly flies the spring away.
Sol's bright eye illumes the bower,
Round our feet the daisies grow,
Mixt with every painted flower,
Earth's enchanting face can show.
Anglers, then, the hour improve,
Let the gloomy hearth be gay ;
Let us fish, and let us rove,
Swiftly flies the spring away.
Like the maids, whose beauties clear,
Gems of various hues adorn,
Lillies mixt with roses here,
Think not time will ne'er remove
Beauties which will soon decay
Let us wield the rod, and rove,
Swiftly flies the spring away.
Rising at the morning hour,
Dew distilling clouds we see,
And the gale around the bower
Sweeps along the charming Dee.
Let not care the mind remove
From the joys that round us play;
Let us throw the rod, and rove,
Swiftly flies the spring away.
RY FRANCIS B. THOMPSON.
Give me the babbling brook that plays,
Sweet music to the ear,
And tempts us there to spend our days
All through the livelong year,
With Creel, and Rod and Line,
With Creel, and Rod, and Line,
With Creel, and Rod, and Line,
All through the livelong year.
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