FLY FISHING. 



A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon's off ! 



No, no, we still have got him ; 

 The wily fish is sullen grown, 

 And, like a bright imbedded stone, 

 Lies gleaming at the bottom. 

 Hark to the music of the reel ! 



'Tis hush'd, it hath forsaken ; 

 With care we'll guard the magic wheel, 

 Until its notes rewaken. 



A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon's up, 



Give line, give line and measure ; 

 But now he turns ! keep down ahead, 

 And lead him as a child is led, 

 And land him at your leisure. 

 Hark to the music of the reel ! 

 'Tis welcome, it is glorious ; 

 It wanders through the winding wheel, 

 Returning and victorious. 



A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon's in, 



Upon the bank extended ; 

 The princely fish is gasping slow, 

 His brilliant colours come and go, 

 All beautifully blended. 

 Hark to the music of the reel, 



It murmurs and it closes ; 

 Silence is on the conquering wheel, 

 Its wearied line reposes. 



No birr ! no whirr ! the salmon's ours, 



The noble fish, the thumper : 

 Strike through his gill the ready gaff, 

 And bending homewards, we shall quaff 

 Another glorious bumper ! 

 Hark to the music of the reel, 



We listen with devotion ; 

 There's something in that circling wheel 

 That wakes the heart's emotion ! 



