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THE FISHER'S WELCOME.
THOMAS DOUBLE DAY.
We twa hae fish'd the Kale sae clear,
An' streams o’ mossy Reed,
The Teviot an' the Tweed;
When summer suns are fine,
For the days o' lang syne.
'Tis mony years sin' first we met
On Coquet's bonny braes, An' mony a
brither fisher's gane, An' clad in his last claes ; An' we maun follow wi’ the lave,
Grim Death he heucks us a', But we'll hae anither fishing bout
Afore we're ta'en awa'.
For we are hale an’ hearty baith,
Tho' frosty are our pows,
An' climb the dykes and knowes ;
An thraw a sweeping line;
For the days o' lang syne.
Tho' Cheviot's top be frosty still,
He's green below the knee,
An' gang awa' wi' me.
We're fidgin' a' fu' fain,
An we'll fish her owre again.
Au’ hameward when we toddle back,
An' night begins to fa',
We'll crack aboon them a':-
I'll lay my loof in thine,
An' we're little warse at wine.
We'll crack how mony a creel we've fill’d,
How mony a line we've flung,
In days when we were young.
An' sing anither tune:
We'll tell them what we've dune.
[From a Fisher's Garland, published in Newcastle, about ten or eleven years back.]
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, · Derinot, darling! Oh, come back
to me! Her beads while she number'd
The baby still slumber'd, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee. ‘Oh, bless'd be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning-
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
thou would'st rather They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.'
The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing, Said, 'I knew that the angels were whispering with
THE RING AND THE WINDING SHEET.
Why sought you not the silent bow'r,
The bow'r nor hawthorn tree,
Why came you not to me?
Oh! tell me, truly tell-
When last you said ' farewell ?"
As late my taper I illumed,
To sigh and watch for thee,
Which lovers smile to see ;
And trimm'd the flame with care, The pledge of plighted love was gone
The sign of death was there !
Oh, say, was this foreboding truth,
And wilt thou break thy vow, And wilt thou blight my opening youth?
And must Imust I now Meet death's embrace for that chaste kiss,
That holy kiss you vowd? And must I for my bridal dress
Be mantled in the shroud ?
Awake !—the starry midnight hour
Hangs charm’d, and pauseth in its flight:
Awake!--soft dews will soon arise
From daisied mead, and thorny brake;
Awake !-within the musk-rose bower
I watch, pale flower of love, for thee :
Awake!-ne'er heed, though listening night
Steal music from thy silver voice :