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THE ECHOING HORN. 



The echoing horn calls the huntsman away, 

 The fox or the hare to pursue, 

 As I rise in the morn by break of the day, 

 Ere the sun from the grass drinks the dew. 



O'er hill and through vale I then cheerfully stray. 

 Some murmuring river to find; 

 The birds singing sweetly to hail the bright day, 

 Gives delight to the angler's mind. 



Down to the streamlet I with eagerness Me, 

 For my heart is now all of a glow, 

 To see the bright stream that runs sparkling by, 

 And the trout which are sporting below. 



The morn's overcast and the day is our own, 

 And I for the sport do prepare ; 

 The clouds up the vale fly sluggishly on, 

 And the small whirling dun fills the air. 



Lively small insects on the surface do rida. 

 Near the bank I then see ahold rise ; 

 My line with nice care o'er the circle I guide, 

 For beneath it I know a trout lies. 



Then quick at my fty see he makes a bold spring, 



I striVe, and with terror he flies ; 



He drives through the deep, and he makes the reel ring, 



But at length, to the bank draw iny prize. 



Thus with greyling or trout my basket I fill, 

 Then homeward delighted I trip ; 

 I meet with my friend, and we join in good will 

 O'er a bowl or a bottle of flip. 



