FAREWELL FEAST OF ANGLING CLUB. 207 

 v. 



Even there you will find him, among 



The glens of Old Scotland afar ; 

 And up through her valleys of song 

 He silently glances along, 



In corslet of silver and star ! 



VI. 



The rivers of Scotland for me ! 



They water the soil of my birth, 

 They gush from the hills of the free, 

 And sing, as they seek the wild sea, 



With a hundred sweet voices of mirth ! 



Otter. And ever may they do so ! and ever may our 

 craft continue to haunt them unrestricted ! May no 

 rude, illiberal enactment, usurp from them the privilege 

 bestowed by nature upon her lowliest children ! 



Leister. I fear, Tom, you supplicate in vain, our 

 rights, alas ! are daily abridged and interfered with. 

 Streams, where one, a few years ago, might angle 

 without challenge, are now shut out and protected ; 

 and ere long our pastime will become fenced in with 

 a set of arbitrary injunctions, compared with which 

 the game laws themselves must appear clement and 

 inoppressive ! But stiffen thy tumbler a degree, and 

 favour us with a stave. 



[OTTER sings. ] 



