e and the falcon on my glove;
For the noble bird which graced my hand I feel my spirit swell,
Array'd in all her hunting-gear--hood, jessy, leash, and bell.

I have watch'd her through the moult, till her castings all were pure,
And have steep'd and clean'd each gorge ere 'twas fix'd upon the lure;
While now to field or forest glade I can my falcon bring
Without a pile of feather wrong, on body, breast, or wing.

When drawn the leash, and slipt the hood, her eye beams black and bright,
And from my hand the gallant bird is cast upon her flight;
Away she darts, on pinions free, above the mountains far,
Until in less'ning size she seems no bigger than a star.

Away, away, in farthest flight I feel no fear or dread,
When a whistle or a whoop brings her tow'ring o'er my head;
While poised on moveless wing, from her voice a murmur swells,
To speak her presence near, above the chiming from her bells.

'Tis Rover's bark--halloo! see the broad-wing'd heron rise,
And soaring round my falcon queen, above her quarry flies,
With outstretch'd neck the wary game shoots for the covert nigh;
But o'er him for a settled stoop my hawk is tow'ring high.

My falcon 's tow'ring o'er him with an eye of fire and pride,
Her pinions strong, with one short pull, are gather'd to her side,
When like a stone from off the sling, or bolt from out the bow,
In meteor flight, with sudden dart, she stoops upon her foe.

The vanquish'd and the vanquisher sink rolling round and round,
With wounded wing the quarried game falls heavy on the ground.
Away, away, my falcon fair has spread her buoyant wings,
While on the ear her silver voice as clear as metal rings.

Though high her soar, and far her flight, my whoop has struck her ear,
And reclaiming for the lure, o'er my head she sallies near.
No other sport like falconry can make the bosom glow,
When flying at the stately game, or raking at the crow.

Who mews a hawk must nurse her as a mother would her child,
And soothe the wayward spirit of a thing so fierce and wild;
Must woo her like a bride, while with love his bosom swells
For the noble bird that bears the hood, the jessy, leash, and bells.

THE SALMON RUN.

AIR--_"The brave old Oak."_

Oh! away to the Tweed,
To the beautiful Tweed,
My much-loved native stream;
Where the fish fr