64 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



III. 

 Fleeted now the winter snow 



From the forehead of the mountains, 

 And the mild, sweet waters flow 



Freshly through their several fountains. 



IV. 

 In the secret of the sod, 



Moss and primrose lie together ; 

 But the wild bee shoots abroad, 



Fonder of the April heather. 



V. 

 Fresh and free the breezes blow, 



And the amber stream runs gaily. 

 Forth, and warble as ye go, 



All ye anglers of the valley ! 



May. Finely touched off, Harry. I envy thine 

 ear and throat ; they are replete with melody 

 beyond all compare. What swells, cadences, and 

 quavers ! Such a sea of music as thou hast within 

 thee ! 



Swivel. Take the velvet off that tongue of thine, 

 Master May-fly, and give us a peep of the pike's 

 tooth. Art thou a judge in music, Bill? J Tis 

 strange, of a verity thou, May-fly, who hast 

 neither wit nor reason, head nor heart, the voice 

 of a dormouse, nor the ear of a landrail ! A judge 

 in music! Oh! 'tis of dolorous ditties, such as 

 bedesmen chant, of nasal drones and tooth-sawing 

 discords, of rookery airs and toad symphonies 



