72 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



in. 



Fleeted now the winter snow 

 From the forehead of the mountains, 



And the mild sweet waters flow 

 Freshly through their several fountains. 



IV. 



In the secret of the sod, 



Moss and primrose lie together ; 

 But the wild bee shoots abroad, 



Fonder of the April heather. 



v. 



Fresh and free the breezes blow, 



And the amber stream runs gaily, 

 Forth, and warble as ye go, 



All ye anglers of the valley ! 



May. Finely touched off, Harry. I envy thine ear 

 and throat ; they are replete with melody beyond all 

 compare. What swells, cadences, and quavers ! Such 

 a sea of music as thou hast within thee ! 



Swivel. Take the velvet off that tongue of thine, 

 Master May-fly, and give us a peep of the pike's 

 tooth. Art thou a judge in music, Bill ? 'Tis 

 strange, of a verity thou, May-fly, who hast neither 

 wit nor reason, head nor heart, the voice of a dor- 

 mouse, nor the ear of a landrail ! A judge in 

 music ! Oh ! 'tis of dolorous ditties, such as bedes- 

 men chant, of nasal drones and tooth-sawing 

 discords, of rookery airs and toad symphonies 



