14.2 ANGLING LITERATURE IN 



Enter MICHAEL, trimming a line, from Cottage. R. 



Mich. [sings\. 



With my rod on my arm, to the streams I'll away, 

 The birds are awake, and the fishes at play, 

 I'll wander and troll, &c. 



" What a beautiful morning ; who could look upon a 

 scene like this, and not feel his heart overflow with thank- 

 fulness. Old Thames seems to invite the early boatman 

 to sing and rejoice upon his crystal bosom, and the 

 fisherman to repose and contemplate amongst his beds of 



rushes. 



ARIA. Michael. 



Oh, clear and winding river, 



How I love thy silver stream ; 

 When sun-rays on thee quiver, 



Catching all the rainbow's gleana. 

 My heart with thee discourseth, 



As my feet thy torrents lave : 

 And my very soul rejoiceth, 



In the music of thy wave. 

 Thou art my book, oh river, 



In thy margin page I scan ; 

 Whose bright work floweth ever, 



For the benefit of man. 

 I would thy soft voice murmur, 



Past the turf that wraps my grave ; 

 For I feel my rest were calmer, 



Near the music of thy wave. 



" Not that I've exactly made up my mind to die just 

 at present ; no, no, I hope to tickle many a trout before 



