Classic Poem

I.

Let ither anglers chuse their ain,
An' ither waters tak' the lead;
O' Hielan' streams we covet nane,
But gie to us the bonnie Tweed!
An' gie to us the cheerfu' burn
That steals into its valley fair —
The streamlets that at ilka turn
Sae saftly meet an' mingle there.

II.

The lanesome Tala and the Lyne,
An' Manor wi' its mountain rills,
An' Etterick, whose waters twine
Wi' Yarrow frae the forest hills;
An' Gala, too, an' Teviot bright,
An' mony a stream o' playfu' speed;
Their kindred valleys a' unite
Amang the braes o' bonnie Tweed.

III.

There's no a hole abune the Crook,
Nor stane nor gentle swirl aneath,
Nor drumlie rill nor faery brook,
That daunders thro' the flowery heath,
But ye may fin' a subtle troot,
A' gleamin' ower wi' starn an' bead,
An' mony a sawmon sooms about
Below the bields o' bonnie Tweed.

IV.

Frae Holylee to Clovenford,
A chancier bit ye canna hae;
So gin ye tak' an angler's word,
Ye'd through the whuns an' ower the brae,
An' work awa wi' cunnin' hand
Yer birzy hackles, black and reid;
The saft sough o' a slender wand
Is meetest music for the Tweed!
Oh the Tweed! the bonnie Tweed!
O' rivers it's the best;
Angle here, or angle there,
Troots are soomin' ilka where,
Angle east or west.