352 AN ANGLER'S RAMBLES 



V. 



Old Druid, he 's the boy to find, 

 And as the scent grows hotter, 

 With chiming tongue and steaming pace 

 Keep up the spirit of the chase ; 



No abler header of the wind 

 Ere grappled with Sir Otter ! 



VI. 



Young Spurgy to old Druid's bell 

 Responds with swatter, swotter ; 

 Shaking his jowls in grim delight, 

 And sniffing up with all his might, 



Among the perfumes of the dell, 

 The fragrance of the otter. 



VII. 



We '11 bring to bear the Grip and Gurl 

 Against the crafty plotter ; 

 The ' wee bit birkies,' Flam and Flor, 

 Will no' be hindmost in the splore, 



And snarling Bob, the mongrel churl, 

 His teeth show to the otter. 



VIII. 



Oh ! little recks the oily thief 

 That harries a' our waters, 

 Of what may be his morrow's fare, 

 Who goes a-prowling, here or there, 



And how may come to sudden grief 

 The j oiliest of otters ! 



