44 AN ANGLER'S RAMBLES 



ir. 

 The valleys of England are wide, 



Their rivers rejoice every one ; 

 In grace and soft beauty they glide, 

 And water-flowers bloom at their side, 



As they gleam at the set of the sun. 



in. 

 But where are the speed and the spray 



The dark lakes that welter them forth, 

 Tree and mist nodding over their way 

 The rock and the precipice gray, 



That environ the streams of the North ? 



IV. 



Who would seek for the salmon a home 



In track of the barbel or bream 1 

 Rather holds he his fastness of foam 

 Where the wraiths of the dark tempest roam, 

 At the break of a wandering stream. 



v. 

 Ay ! 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 broad sea, 



With a hundred sweet voices of mirth ! 



