TO THE FISHING AWAY. 69 



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O joyfu' the lark spreads his wee dewy wings, 

 An* far in the blue skies sae sweetly he sings ; 

 The curlew an* pliver wing their way to the west, 

 To the mosses an' flowes, and the knowes they like 



best. 



The flow'rets are springing in clusters, my lad ; 

 The throssels are singing sae blithesome and glad ; 

 Our hearts are sae lightsome, a' nature sae gay, 

 We'll off to the streams, to the fishing away. 



The cuckoo an' swallow ance mair they return, 

 An* the wee water-waggie's away up the burn, 

 On the bou^h o' the hazel the tassels they hing, 

 On the brink o' the streamlet the primroses spring, 

 The gorcock craws crouse on the mossie grey stane, 

 The blackcock croos proud round his bonnie grey 



hen ; 



At the first peep o' morn in the sun's early ray 

 We'll off to the streams, to the fishing away. 



Wi' gad, creel, an' tackle, wi' mossbait an' flee, 

 We'll ower the heather sae gladsome and free, 

 An' doun by the linns where the dun otters hide, 

 And fish the clear streams where the yellow trouts 

 glide. 



