FAREWELL FEAST OF ANGLING CLUB. 185 



IV. 



O waken, winds, waken ! wherever asleep, 

 On cloud or dark mountain, or down in the deep ; 

 The angler is watching, beside the green springs, 

 For the low, welcome sound of your wandering wings. 



Otter. There is no need to invoke the elements at 

 present ; the blast is bitter enough, and with pitiless 

 anger tears down the beechen draperies inclosing our 

 retreat. How it howls, as if through the monstrous 

 windpipes of many air-fiends ! its very pauses are 

 parts of the unearthly concert, enacted by some demon 

 of silence. I would love none to be belated to-night 

 on some moor-stretch. 



May. Nor I, Master Otter. 



Swivel. As we know well ! Recollect you our trip 

 to King's-house up Glen Etive ? Ah ! Bill, who that 

 saw thee then, and beheld not misery in person ; a 

 weary, woful, and bewildered wight, famished and 

 courage-fallen. But scowl, Master May-fly, with less 

 unkindness ; neither sharpen thy tongue against me. 

 Bear with my humours, T pray thee. 



May. Were I to do so, Doctor, the charity of the 

 deed would pass without recompence. Of a verity, 

 thou deservest the cudgel. 



Swivel Confessedly, Master May-fly. 



May. Albeit I shall rest content with a song. 



Leister. You usurp, Bill but agreed. The penalty 



is a fitting one ; so, Doctor, strike up. 



13 



