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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,
We've tried the Wansbeck an' the Wear,

The Teviot an' the Tweed;
An' we will try them ance again

When summer suns are fine,
An' we'll thraw the flie thegither yet

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,
We still can guide our fishing graith,

An' climb the dykes and knowes ;
We'll mount our creels an' grip our gads,

An thraw a sweeping line;
An we'll hae a plash among the lads,

For the days o' lang syne.

Tho' Cheviot's top be frosty still,

He's green below the knee,
Sae don your plaid an' tak your gad,

An' gang awa' wi' me.
Come busk your flies, my auld compeer,

We're fidgin' a' fu' fain,
We've fish'd the Coquet mony a year,

An we'll fish her owre again.

Au’ hameward when we toddle back,

An' night begins to fa',
When ilka chiel maun tell his crack,

We'll crack aboon them a':-
When jugs are toom'd an' coggins wet,

I'll lay my loof in thine,
We've shown we're gude at water yet,

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,
How mony a ged an' sawmon kill'd

In days when we were young.
We'll gar the callants a' look blue,

An' sing anither tune:
They're bleezing aye o' what they'll do-

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.

SAMUEL LOVER.

A baby was sleeping,

Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea ;

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-
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
And while they are keeping

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me

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

thee.'

And say

THE RING AND THE WINDING SHEET.

SAMUEL LOVER.

Why sought you not the silent bow'r,

The bow'r nor hawthorn tree,
Why came you not at evening hour,

Why came you not to me?
Say, does that heart beat colder now-

Oh! tell me, truly tell-
Than when you kiss'd my burning brow,

When last you said ' farewell ?"

As late my taper I illumed,

To sigh and watch for thee,
It soon the mystic form assum'd

Which lovers smile to see ;
But fondly while I gaz'd upon

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 ?

A SERENADE.

BARRY CORNWALL,

Awake !—the starry midnight hour

Hangs charm’d, and pauseth in its flight:
In its own sweetness sleeps the flower,
And the doves lie hushed in delight !

Awake! awake!
Look forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake!

Awake!--soft dews will soon arise

From daisied mead, and thorny brake;
Then, sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes,
And like the tender morning break !

Awake! awake!
Dawn forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake.

Awake !-within the musk-rose bower

I watch, pale flower of love, for thee :
Ah, come, and shew the starry hour
What wealth of love thou hid'st from me!

Awake! awake!
Shew all thy love, for Love's sweet sake!

Awake!-ne'er heed, though listening night

Steal music from thy silver voice :
Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright,
And bid the world, and me, rejoice!

Awake! awake!
She comes, at last, for Love's sweet sake!

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