Classic Poem

I.

W E part not thus! nay, anglers, nay —
A farewell to the season!
So fill the bowl and drink away;
Who drinks not harbours treason.

II.

Oh fill it high! the joyous draught
Is native to our heather;
If bravely drain'd and largely quaff'd,
'Twill bind our hearts together.

III.

Now wintry winds with rapid pace
O'er mead and mountain sally;
And gloomily the waters race
Through each deserted valley.

IV.

No more, sweet birds, in merry strain,
Sing from their bowers of beauty;
Lay down the wand — the spring again
Will call it forth for duty.

V.

Lay down the wand — no longer now
The fearful trout is belling;
All leafless left, the alder bough
Moans o'er his glassy dwelling.

VI.

Then heap, heap high our social hearth!
Why should the good fire flicker?
And quaff! quaff on! the best of mirth
Lies deepest in the liquor!