EPITAPHS ON ANGLERS. 235 



Nae mair he'll scan wi' anxious eye 

 The sandy shores of winding Heed ; 

 Nae mair he'll tempt the finny fry, 

 The king o> tinkers, Allan's dead ! 



Nae mair at mell or merry night, 

 The cheering bagpipes Wull shall blow j 

 Nae man* the village throng delight, 

 Grim death has laid the minstrel low. 



Now trouts exulting in the wave, 

 Triumphant see the otter glide ; 

 Their deadly foe lies in the grave, 

 Charlie and Phebe by his side." 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE TOMB OF G. MERTON, ESQ. 



By the Southampton Anglers' Club. 

 Come, pensive breeze, that steals along, 

 And sigh congenial to our song ! 

 And thou, pure brook, that softly flows, 

 Stream sympathetic to our woes ! 

 Night spreads around a kindred gloom, 

 And silence reigns o'er Merton's tomb. 



Beneath, a zealous angler lies 

 (His lofty soul's above the skies), 

 Yet while on earth, kind, gen'rous soul, 

 Thou ever didst with want console ; 

 Thou chas'd the tear from widow's eye, 

 And sorrow fled when thou cam'st nigh. 



A manly form, with noble mind, 

 In thy fair person were combin'd ; 

 But treach'rous death fell, ruthless foe ! 

 Soon laid thy high perfections low ; 

 Then fondly o'er thy dust we'll mourn, 

 With sorrow greet thy marble urn. 



