200 FISHING GOSSIP. 
A LAY OF THE LEA. 
Tm an old man now, 
Stiff limb and frosty pow, 
But stooping o’er my flickering fire, in the winter 
weather, 
I behold a vision 
Of a time elysian, 
And I cast my crutch away, and I snap my tether! 
Up i the early morning, 
Sleepy pleasures scorning, 
Rod in hand and creel on back, I’m away, away ! 
Not a care to vex me— 
Nor a fear perplex me— 
Blithe as any bird that pipes in the merry May. 
O the Enfield meadows, 
Dappled with soft shadows ! 
O the leafy Enfield lanes, odorous of May blossom ! 
O the lapsing river, 
Lea, beloved for ever, 
With the rosy morning light mirrored on its bosom ! 
