Do ye ken hoo to fush for the salmon? If ye'll listen I'll tell ye. Dinna trust to the books and their gammon, They're but trying to sell ye. Leave professors to read their ain cackle And fush their ain style; Come awa', sir, we'll oot wi' oor tackle And be busy the while. 'Tis a wee bit ower bright, ye were thinkin'? Aw, ye'll no be the loser; 'Tis better ten baskin' and blinkin' Than ane that's a cruiser. If ye're bent, as I tak it, on slatter, Ye should pray for the droot, For the salmon's her ain when there's watter, But she's oors when it's oot. Ye may just put your flee-book behind ye, Ane hook wull be plenty; If they'll no come for this, my man, mind ye, They'll no come for twenty. Ay, a rod; but the shorter the stranger And the nearer to strike; For myself I prefare it nae langer Than a yard or the like. Noo, ye'll stand awa' back while I'm creepin' Wi' my snoot i' the gowans; There's a bonny twalve-poonder a-sleepin' I' the shade o' yon rowans. Man, man! I was fearin' I'd stirred her, But I've got her the noo! Hoot! fushin's as easy as murrder When ye ken what to do. Na, na, sir, I doot na ye're willin' But I canna permit ye; For I'm thinkin' that yon kind o' killin' Wad hardly befit ye. And some work is deefficult hushin', There'd be havers and chaff: 'Twull be best, sir, for you to be fushin' And me wi' the gaff. Gavotte (Old French) Memories long in music sleeping, No more sleeping, No more dumb; Delicate phantoms softly creeping Softly back from the old-world come. Faintest odours around them straying, Suddenly straying In chambers dim; Whispering silks in order swaying, Glimmering gems on shoulders slim: Courage advancing strong and tender, Grace untender Fanning desire; Suppliant conquest, proud surrender, Courtesy cold of hearts on fire--- Willowy billowy now they're bending, Low they're bending Down-dropt eyes; Stately measure and stately ending, Music sobbing, and a dream that dies. Imogen (A Lady of Tender Age) Ladies, where were your bright eyes glancing, Where were they glancing yester-night? Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing, Imogen dancing all in white? Laughed she not with a pure delight, Laughed she not with a joy serene, Stepped she not with a grace entrancing, Slenderly girt in silken sheen? All through the night from dusk to daytime Under her feet the hours were swift, Under her feet the hours of play-time Rose and fell with a rhythmic lift: Music set her adrift, adrift, Music eddying towards the day Swept her along as brooks in May-time Carry the freshly falling May. Ladies, life is a changing measure, Youth is a lilt that endeth soon; Pluck ye never so fast at pleasure Twilight follows the longest noon. Nay, but here is a lasting boon, Life for hearts that are old and chill, Youth undying for hearts that treasure Imogen dancing, dancing still. Nel Mezzo Del Cammin