’Tis mony years sin’ first we sat On Coquet’s bonny braes, An’ mony a brither fisher’s gane, An’ clad in his last claithes. 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 and hearty baith, Tho’ frosty are our pows, We still can guide our fishing graith, And climb the dykes and knowes; We’ll mount our creels and grip our gads, An’ throw a sweeping line, An’ we’ll hae a splash amang 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 and tak’ your gad, An’ gae awa’ wi’ me. Come busk your flies, my auld Compeer, We’re fidgen a’ fu’ fain, We’ve fished the Coquet mony a year, And we’ll fish her ance again. An’ hameward when we toddle back, An’ nicht begins to fa, An’ ilka chiel maun hae his crack, We’ll crack aboon them a’. When jugs are toomed and coggens 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 filled, How mony a line we’ve flung, How many a ged and saumon killed, 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. This old Border ballad was written by Mr. Doubleday before 1855, and, whilst being professedly an imitation of Burns, has exquisite pathos and spirit of its own. ――――:o:―――― TO BURNS. And wha is he that syngs sae weel, And pens “Addresses to the Deil?” Wha gies the sang syke bonny turns? Daft Gowk! ye ken it’s sonsie Burns! His gabby tales I looe to hear, They please sae meikle, run sae clear; That ilka time, good traith, I read, I’se wiser baith i’ heart an’ head. I wad advise, when runkled care Begins to mak ye glow’r and stare, That ye wad furst turn ow’r his leaf, ’T’will mak ye sune forget ye’r grief! And should auld mokie sorrow freeten, His blythesome tale ye’r hearts will leeten; And sure I am, ye grief may banter, By looking ow’r his “Tam O’ Shanter.” And, while I breathe, whene’er I’se scant, O’ cheerful friends――and fynde a want Of something blythe to cure my glumps, And free me frae the doleful dumps, I’ll tak his beuk, and read awhile, Until he mak me wear a smile; And then, if I hae time to spare, I’ll learn his “Bonny Banks of Ayr!” From _The Bards of Britain_, contained in _The Remains of Joseph Blachet_, 1811, which work also contains imitations of Chatterton, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Young, Thompson, Shenstone, Collins, Gray, and Goldsmith.