190 



now protruding. The *'puss" more chronic 

 heaves, yes, I still can fish ! These cheeks, 

 how pale (their hones ''can't grind"), once 

 rosy, the pride of more than "Eeva's" lovely 

 blooming rose, my blessed bosom friend, my 

 wife, whose lamp is trimmed. 0, " Ephemera! " 

 friend, when shall we meet, with rod in hand, 

 on pure and crystal Shin? — 



" When summer comes, 

 The heather bells entice, 

 Our feet to roam. 

 The mournful dove, 

 Within the dale invites, 

 To peace and love." 



O, summer's glorious sun ! I await thee, to 

 tan this shrivelled, shorn hide. O ! come, 

 and regenerate this sapless tree with heavenly 

 warmth. 



My heart's in the Highlands, 



My heart is not here ; 

 My heart's in the Highlands, 



Chasing the deer. 

 Chasing the wild deer, 



And following the roe. 

 My heart's in the Highlands, 



Wlierever I go. 



I cannot add a fly to the list for the Shin in i 

 the " Book of the Salmon," by " Ephemera," 



