ENGLISH POETS ON FISHING. 129 



And if too small, the naked fraud's in sight, 

 And fear forbids, while hunger docs invite. 

 Those baits will best reward the fishe r's pains 

 Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains : 

 Cleanse them from filth, to give a tempting gloss, 

 Cherish the sullied reptile race with moss ; 

 Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil. 

 And from their bodies wipe their native soil." 



Our last extract must be the description of the angler's 

 tussle with a big salmon — 



" If an enormous salmon chance to spy 

 The wanton errors of the floating fly, 

 He lifts his silver gills above the flood 

 And greedily sucks in th' unfaithful food. 

 Then downright plunges with the fraudful prey, 

 And bears with joy the little spoil away : 

 Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mistake, 

 Lashes the wave, and beats the foamy lake. 

 With sudden rage he now aloft appears, 

 And in his eye convulsive anguish bears : 

 And now again, impatient of the wound. 

 He rolls and wreaths his shining body round, 

 Then headlong shoots beneath the dashing tide ; 

 The trembling fins the boiling wave divide. 

 Now hope exalts the fisher's beating heart, 

 Now he turns pale, and fears his dubious art ; 

 He views the tumbling fish with longing eyes. 

 While the line stretches with th' unwieldy prize ; 

 Each motion humours with his steady hands, 

 And one slight hair the mighty bulk commands ; 

 Till tired at last, despoil'd of all his strength. 

 The game athwart the stream unfolds his length. 

 He now, with pleasure, views the gasping prize 

 Gnash his sharp teeth, and roll his blood-shot eyes ; 

 Then draws him to the shore, with artful care, 

 And lifts his nostrils in the sick'ning air : 

 Upon the burthen'd stream he floating lies. 

 Stretches his quivering fins, and gasping dies." 



Iv 



