402 AN ANGLER'S RAMBLES 



trained as such at the foot of Gamaliel, who entered with spirit 

 into the study of zoology, and was well versed in all its branches ; 

 one, I shall only add, who, irrespective of any regard entertained 

 for him as the eldest son of Christopher North, was valued, loved, 

 and idolized by all who really knew him ; for a more unselfish 

 nature never breathed, and a nobler, yet gentler heart never 

 throbbed. 



Under this series of afflictions I have prepared, with a troubled 

 heart, these trifles for the press, one of the motives for their pub- 

 lication being the recognition of them as a souvenir of the ' Auld 

 Lang Syne ' by the sharers with me in the sports of my youth. 



THE ANGLER'S GRAVE. 



SORROW, sorrow, bring it green ! 



True tears make the grass to grow, 

 And the grief of a friend, I ween, 



Is grateful to him that sleeps below. 

 Strew sweet flowers, free of blight 



Blossoms gather'd in the dew ; 

 Should they wither before night, 



Flowers and blossoms bring anew. 



ii. 



Sorrow, sorrow, speed away 



To our angler's quiet mound ; 

 With the old pilgrim twilight grey 



Enter thou on the holy ground. 

 There he sleeps whose heart was twined 



With wild stream and wandering burn. 

 Wooer of the western wind ! 



Watcher of the April morn ! 



