AN ANGLING TOUR AMONG 

 THE HILLS. 



Come with me where dark hills rise, 

 Towering, cloud-capt, to the skies ; 

 In whose clefts and on whose breast 

 The lordly eagle builds his nest ; 

 At whose bases smooth lakes lie, 

 Reflecting mountain, cloud, and sky. 

 Come where rapid streamlets flow, 

 Making music as they go, 

 In cadence loud yet sweet to him 

 Who loves in dells at twilight dim 

 To walk, and view the fading light 

 Changing to the gloom of night. 



IN the height of summer, when the shade- 

 fishers fall asleep as they dape for trout by 



