14£ PESTS ART OF ANGLING 



Plarsh p.'.iij and hoiror to the tender hand. 



When with his lively ray the potent sun 



Has pierced ti)o streams, and rous'd the finny racc^ 



Then, issuing cheerful to thy sport repair; 



Ghiel siiould the western breezes curling play, 



And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 



High to their ibunt, this day, amid tlfe hills 



And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks; 



Then next pursue their rocky channel'd maze 



Down to the river in whose ample wave 



Their little naiads love to sport at large. 



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 bank 



Reverted plays in undulating tiow, 



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 geiitle twitch the barbed hook; 



Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank. 



And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, 



With various hand, proportion'd 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 enjoy'd the vital light of heav'n, 



Soft disengage, and back into the stream 



The speckled captive throw ; but should you lure 



From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 



Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook, 



Behoves you l^hen to ply your finest art: 



Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly, 



And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 



The dimpl'd water speaks his jealous fear: 



At last, while haply over 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 lengthen'd 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, . 



That feels him still, yet to his furious course 



