ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 169 



asm, and was drowned, aged seventy-one, at a swol- 

 len ford on the river Clyde. It was nature's way 

 of taking him from the world, and could scarcely 

 be termed a death of violence. Another of our fra- 

 ternity lies buried in this very church-yard ; but 

 the head-stone, owing to some accident or other, has 

 been removed, and I know not the exact turf under 

 which he sleeps. Nor is it of much matter ; he has 

 lain nigh half a century, and there is nought in the 

 treasure-house of our memories whereby to call up 

 in his behalf a single, solitary regret. Some brief 

 verses, which now glance across my recollection, re- 

 lative to the death of one of our fraternity, you 

 will allow me on this fitting occasion to repeat. 



OJtabe. 



Sorrow ! sorrow ! bring it green ; 



True tears make the grass to grow; 

 And the grief of the good, I ween, 



Is grateful to him that sleeps below. 

 Strew sweet flowers, free of blight ; 



Blossoms gathered 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 gray, 

 Enter thou on the holy ground. 



