All on a happy summer's day
When the air is warm and still,
And thundery clouds are louring grey
Over the landscape green and gay
Around St. Martha's Hill,-

How pleasant it is, with a cheerful friend
Of beautiful Nature fond,
Across the fields our ways to wend,
And here the calm sweet hours to spend
Fishing at Tangley Pond.

I love the tapering rod to wield,
And cast the sensitive float,
Till down it runs with the line outreel'd
And a fierce old pike, still scorning to yield,
Flounders about in the boat:

I love the angle,- to watch and wait
For the perch so subtle and still,
Till deep in his hole he has gorged the bait,
And gluttony fixes a tyrant's fate
With a good gimp-hook in his gill:

I love the quiet,- the lull from care,-
The lake, all clear and calm,-
The flowering reeds, and the wild fowl there,-
The trees asleep in the sultry air,
And all things breathing balm.

Old Tangley Pond,- my boyhood's haunt,
My manhood's holiday rest,-
Let any that will my fondness taunt,
And mock while thus thy praise I chaunt,
Lull'd on thy tranquil breast.

Oh yes,- there is peace and quietness here
If nowhere found beyond;
The way one's spirit to soothe and cheer
Is - angle awhile, in the prime of the year,
At dear old Tangley Pond.