Come bring to me my limber gad
I've fish'd wi' mony a year,
An' let me hae my weel-worn creel,
An' a' my fishing-gear;
The sunbeam glint on Linden-Ha',
The breeze comes frae the west,
An' lovely looks the gawden morn
On th' streams that I like best.
I've thrown the flee thae sixty year,
Ay, sixty year and mair,
An' mony a speckled troutie kill'd
Wi' heckle, heuk, an' hair;
An' now I'm old an' feeble groun'
My locks are like the snaw;
But I'll be gang again to Coquet-side,
An' take a farewell thraw.
Ance mair I'll touch, wi' gleesome foot,
The waters clear and cold:
Ance mair I'll cheat the gleg-e-ed trout
An' wile him frae his hold:
Ance mair, at Weldon's frien'ly door,
I'll wind my tackle up,
An' drink "Success to Coquet-side"
Tho a tear fa' in the cup.
An' then farewell! - - - dear Coquet-side!
Aye gaily may thou rin
An' lead thy waters sparkling on,
An' dash frae linn to linn:
Blithe be the music o' thy streams
An' banks thro' afterdays,
An' blithe be every fisher's heart
Shall ever tread thy braes! ~ Thomas Doubleday