FAREWELL FEAST OF ANGLING CLUB. 221 



ii. 



O fill it high ! the joyous draught 



Is native to our heather ; 

 If bravely drained and largely quaffed, 



'Twill bind oar hearts together. 



m. 



Now wintry winds, with rapid pace, 

 O'er mead and mountain sally ; 



And gloomily the waters race 

 Through each deserted valley 



iv. 



No more sweet birds, in merry strain, 

 Sing from their bowers of beauty ; 



Lay down the wand the spring again 

 Will call it forth for duty. 



v. 



Lay down the wand no longer now 

 The fearful trout is belling ; 



All leafless left, the alder bough 

 Moans o'er his glassy dwelling. 



VI. 



Then heap, heap high our social hearth ! 



Why should the good fire flicker ? 

 And quaff ! quaff on ! The best of mirth 



Lies deepest in the liquor ! 



