BROOK OR SPECKLED TROUT. 91 



unaptly termed the gentle art. It has heen the 

 theme of some of the most brilliant poets of 

 modern times. No angler can read the following 

 lines from Thompson without feeling a thrill of 

 delight : 



"Just in the dubious point, where with the pool, 



Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils 



Around the stone, or from the hollow'd l>auk 



Reverted, plays in undulating flow; 



There throw nice -judging, the delusive fly; 



And as you lead it round in artful curve, 



With eye attentive mark the springing game. 



Straight as above the surface of the flood 



They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap. 



Then fix with gentle twitch, the barbed hook; 



Some, lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 



And to the shelving shore, slow dragging some, 



With various hand, proportioned to their force, 



If yet too young, and easily deceived, 



A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod. 



Him, piteous of his youth and the short space 



He has enjoyed the vital light of Heaven, 



Soft disengage and back into the stream 



The speckled captive throw. But should you lure 



From his dark haunt beneath the tangled roots 



Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook 



Behooves you then/to ply your finest art. 



Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly; 



And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 



The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 



At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 



Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death 



With sullen plunge. At once he darts along. 



Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthened line; 



Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 



The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode , 



And flies aloft and flounces round the pool 



Indignant of the guile With yielding hand, 



