University of Virginia Library


66

THE SAUMON

[_]

Air—“The Angel's Whisper.”

By Tweedside a-standin',
Wi' lang rods our hands in,
In great hopes o'landin' a Saumon were we;
I took up my station,
Wi' much exultation,
While Morton fell a-fishin' farther doun upon the lea.
Across the stream flowin'
My line I fell a-throwin',
Wi' a sou'-wester blowin' right into my e'e;
I jumpt when my hook on
I felt something pookin';
But upon farther lookin' it proved to be a tree.
But deep, deep the stream in,
I saw his sides a-gleamin',
The king o' the Saumon, sae pleasantly lay he;
I thought he was sleepin',
But on further peepin',
I saw by his teeth he was lauchin' at me.

67

The flask frae my pocket
I poured into the socket,
For I was provokit unto the last degree;
And to my way o' thinkin',
There's naething for't like drinkin',
When a Saumon lies winkin' and lauchin' at ye.
There's a bend in the Tweed, ere
It mingles with the Leader—
If you go you will see there a wide o'er-spreadin' tree;
That's a part o' the river
That I'll revisit never—
'Twas there that scaly buffer lay lauchin' at me.
 

Charles Morton, W.S., a school and lifelong friend of Outram.