ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 213 



II. 



O fill it high ! the joyous draught 



Is native to our heather; 

 If bravely drained and largely quaffed, 



'Twill bind our hearts together. 



III. 

 Now wintry winds, with rapid pace, 



O'er mead and mountain sally ; 

 And gloomily the waters race 



Through each deserted valley. 



IV. 



No more sweet birds, in merry strain, 



Sing from their bowers of beauty ; 

 Lay down the wand the spring again 



Will call it forth for duty. 



V. 



Lay down the wand no longer now 



The fearful trout is belling ; 

 All leafless left, the alder bough 



Moans o'er his glassy dwelling. 



VI. 

 Then heap, heap high our social hearth ! 



Why should the good fire flicker ? 

 And quaff! quaff on ! The best of mirth 



Lies deepest in the liquor ! 



