A Border Prose

Come when the leaf come, angle with me,
Come when the bee hums, crossing the lea;
Come with the wild flowers,
Come with the mild showers,
Come when the singing bird calleth for thee!


Then to the stream-side gladly we'll hie,
Where the grey trout glide temptingly by;
Or in some still place,
Over the hill-face,
Cast, ever hoping, the magical fly.

Then when the dew falls homeward we'll speed,
To our own loved walls down on the mead;
There, by by the bright hearth,
Holding our night mirth,
We'll drink to sweet friendship in need and in deed!

Thomas Tod Stoddart, An Anglers Rambles, 1866