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with, care, and in the genial and loving spirit of 

 the true angler, we shall experience something like 

 regret on leaving its banks. It is a noble and heart- 

 stirring stream ; and it must be dear to the memory 

 of all who, with rod in hand, have sauntered by its 

 placid waters. In the language of the poet, let us 

 bid it farewell : 



" Sportive young river, we've rambled together 

 Over the mountain-moors, purpled with heather ; 

 On, where the foxglove and bracken wave over 

 The blackcock and curlew, the pewit and plover ; 

 And down the rough rocks with a shout of delight, 

 Where the wild elfin birches are dancing in white : 

 And onwards again with a sparkle and splash 

 To the dark, dusky woods of oak, alder, and ash ; 

 And down deeper still to the green sunny valley, 

 With frolic and laughter, with song and with sally. 



" Beautiful river ! full many a day 

 In that green happy valley we've sauntered away, 

 Watching the flight of the light cloudy shadows, 

 Listing the low of the kine in the meadows, 

 The chirp of the grasshopper, hum of the bee, 

 And sweet loving song of the bird on the tree ; 

 In a world of our own, without sorrow or sin, 

 All peaceful around us, all peaceful within ; 

 While gay pleasant fancies, profuse as the flowers, 

 And musings of calm meditations were ours." 



Now, leaving the Tweed, and turning our steps 

 towards the north, along the sea from Berwick, the 

 first stream we meet with is the Eye. It has but a 

 short run of twelve or fourteen miles. Its waters 

 are preserved from Ay ton bridge down to the paper 



