ENGLISH POETS ON FISHING. 127 



Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine, 



No blood of living insect stain my line. 



Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook. 



With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, 



Silent along the mazy margin stray. 



And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey." 



The above lines are from his Rural Sports, inscribed to 

 Pope (1720) ; and further on, in the same poem he describes 

 the fly-fisher, who ties his own flies on at the stream-side — 



" Mark well the various seasons of the year. 

 How the succeeding insect race appear. 

 In their revolving moon one colour reigns. 

 Which in the next the fickle trout disdains. 

 Oft have I seen a skilful angler try 

 The various colours of the treach'rous fly ; 

 When he with fruitless pain hath skimm'd the brook, 

 And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook. 

 He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow, 

 Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw ; 

 When, if an insect fall (his certain guide), 

 He gently takes him from the whirling tide ; 

 Examines well his form with curious eyes. 

 His gaudy vest, his wings, his horns, and size ; 

 Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds, 

 And on the back a speckled feather binds ; 

 So just the colours shine through every part, 

 That Nature seems to live again in Art." 



And the poet is evidently one of the " up-stream " 

 fishing advocates, for he goes on — 



" Far i(p the stream the twisted hair he throws, 

 Which down the murmuring current gently flows ; 

 When if or chance or hunger's powerful sway 

 Directs the roving trout this fatal way. 

 He greedily sucks in the twining bait. 

 And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat." 



