ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 177 



IV. 



O waken, winds, waken ! wherever asleep, 



On cloUd or dark mountain, or down in the deep; 



The angler is watching, beside the green springs, 



For the low, welcome sound of your wandering wings. 



Otter. There is no need to invoke the elements at 

 present; the blast is bitter enough, and with piti- 

 less anger tears down the beechen draperies inclos- 

 ing our retreat. How it howls, as if through the 

 monstrous windpipes of many air-fiends! its very 

 pauses are parts of the unearthly concert, enacted 

 by some demon of silence. I would love none to 

 be belated to-night on some moor-stretch. 



May. Nor I, Master Otter. 



Swivel. As we know well ! Recollect you our trip 

 to King's-house up Glen Etive ? Ah ! Bill, who that 

 saw thee then, and beheld not misery in person; a 

 weary, woful, and bewildered wight, famished and 

 courage-fallen. But scowl, Master May-fly, with 

 less unkindness ; neither sharpen thy tongue against 

 me. Bear with my humours, I pray thee. 



May. Were I to do so, Doctor, the charity of the 

 deed would pass without recompence. Of a verity, 

 thou deservest the cudgel. 



Swivel. Confessedly, Master May-fly. 



May. Albeit I shall rest content with a song. 



Leister. You usurp, Bill but agreed. The pe- 

 nalty is ajfitting one ; so, Doctor, strike up. 



o 



