184 LONDON ANGLER'S BOOK, 



SONG. MY ANGLING HOME. 

 (TuNE.) *' Oh my dear, my dear Adonis. 1 ' 



1. 



Away from toilsome burly burly, 



Uprising fresb some Summer morn, 

 'Fore the sun, tho' e'er so early, 



Witb beams of gold announces dawn, 

 To our pastime we proudly yet peacefully roam, 

 And leave far bebind us our Angling borne. 

 Then leave awhile life's bubble bubble, 



To seek the sport we think so rare, 

 May Angling ne'er bring toil or trouble, 

 To such hearts as now are here. 



2. 



When we meet, we meet in gladness, 



Then gaily pace the road along, 

 Pressing onward free from sadness, 



Cheer'd by converse, tale, or song ; 

 Bright beams the eye when to the river come, 

 For a time we've no thought of our Angling home. 

 Then when we leave, &c. 



3. 



Up and let the lazy linger, 

 Till the morn's best chance is o'er, 



