210 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



Hath lie sprung at the winsome fly, 

 Smitten by the treacherous feather, 

 Heedless of the steel and tether, 



And of human subtlety ? 



SWIVELTOP. 



Alas ! brother angler, nay, 

 Salmon none have I stirred to-day ; 

 Feint, frolic, nor dart, have I beheld ; 

 But round me the wily dark-trout belled 

 One in greed, another in scorn, 



And a third one of pleasure 



Sprang at my fly See, all the treasure 

 Ta'eii by me this live-long morn ! 



MAY-FLY. 



Ply on, brother angler ! hark ! 

 The grey wind warbles across the park ; 

 It ruffles the water from bank to bank, 

 And shakes the green covert of rushes lank. 

 See how it paces round and round, 



Wild of foot, with step unsteady, 



Dancing on the amorous eddy, 

 To a low, uncertain sound ! 



BOTH. 



Ply on, brother angler ! deep 

 Under the rapids the bright fins sweep, 

 And the salmon holdeth his secret track 

 O'er ledges of rock, through fissure black. 

 Oh ! most hath an angler need 



Of sweet patience and of plodding ; 



For the good wand, ever nodding, 

 Better than cunning, bringeth speed ! 



