THE RAID. 203 



VENATOR'S SONG.* 



"When cauld winter is past, and the green ice is gane, 



While ilk curler lays by his bonnie whinstane, 



And the win' frae the south comes kindly and warm, 



All ! then is the time for the fisher to arm, 



Wi' his rod and his creel, and be off to the burn 



Gushing fou to the brim, wi' deep pools at ilk turn. 



When the south-west win' blaws, and the clouds as they pass 



Are changing the shade o' the wide-waving grass ; 



When the ripplin' waves hurry across the deep pool, 



Ah 1 this is the time to be steady and cool. 



An' to wave your wan deftly, ye're flees mauna whistle. 



But fa' on the streamlet like down o' the thistle. 



When yeVe gien twa-three ivaps, an' a fine thumpin grilse, 

 Has lap at ye twice and made flutter your pulse ; 

 When at last ye ha heuk't him, an' he's aff to the deep, 

 Ah ! then tak' your time, an' let him tak' his sweep ; 

 Gie him plenty o' line, an' tak' tent o' your graith. 

 For ye've gut no sae Strang, an" hell sure tyne his breath. 



When wi' fair skilly feshin' ye've warsled him out, 

 A dainty three-pounder, a bonnie sea-trout, 

 Frae the brine freshly run, an' just fit for your creel, 

 Ah ! then is the time that contented ye'll feel. 

 An' care all forgettin', devoutly ye'll say. 

 Thank God, that he let me live on till to-day. 



PiSC. — Bravo, bravo, well sung ! I thank you 

 heartily. That song shall send us to happy slumbers. 

 And now let us all to bed, that we may rise early. Good 

 night to everybody; good night! 



* This song is reprinted, with the omission of two verses and some 

 alterations in the last verse, from Blakey's Anglers' Song Book, 1855, where 

 it appears under the title, " Uncle Will to Uncle John," dated 1702. 



