288 



APPENDIX TO THE 



Silks of all colours must their aid impart, 

 And ev'ry fur promote the fisher's art. 

 So the gay lady, with expensive care, 

 Borrows the pride of land, of sea, and air ; 

 Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering thing 



displays, 

 Dazzles our eyes, and easy hearts betrays. 



Mark well the various seasons of the year, 

 How the succeeding insect race appear; 

 In this 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 ihe 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, his eyes ; 

 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. 

 Let not thy wary step advance too near, 

 While all thy hope hangs on a single hair ; 

 The new-form'd insect on the water moves, 

 The speckled trout the curious snare approves ; 



Upon the curling surface let it glide, 



With nat'ral motion from thy hand supplied, 



Against the stream now let it gently play, 



Now in the rapid eddy roll away : 



The scaly shoals float by, and, seized with 



fear, 



Behold their fellows tost in thinner air : 

 But soon they leap, and catch the swimming 



bait, 



Plunge on the hook, and share an equal fate. 

 When a brisk gale against the current blows, 

 And all the wat'ry plain in wrinkles flows, 

 Then let the fisherman his art repeat, 

 Where bubbling eddies favour the deceit. 

 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 fi-her'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 com- 

 mands ; 



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. 

 Would you preserve a num'rous finny race? 

 Let your fierce dogs the rav'nous otter chase : 

 Th' amphibious monster ranges all the shores, 

 Darts through the waves, and ev'ry haunt ex- 

 Or let the gin his roving steps betray, [plores : 

 And save from hostile jaws the scaly prey. 



I never wander where the bord'ring reeds 

 O'erlook the muddy stream, whose tangling 



weeds 



Perplex the fisher ; I nor choose to bear 

 The thievish nightly net nor barbed spear ; 

 Nor drain I ponds, the golden carp to take, 

 Nor trowle for pikes, dispeoplers of the lake. 

 Around the steel no torttir'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 

 Rural Sports* 



THOMSON. 



Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 

 Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away, 

 And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured 



stream 



Descends the billowy foam : now is the time, 

 While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 

 To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, 

 The rod fine tapering with elastic spring, 

 Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating 



line, 



And all thy slender wat'ry stores prepare. 

 But let not on thy hook the tortured worm 

 Convulsive twist in agonising folds ; 

 Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, 

 Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast 



Uf the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch. 

 Harsh pain and horror to the trembling hand- 



When, with his lively ray, the potent snn 

 Has pierced the streams and roused the finny 



race, 



Then issuing cheerful to thy sport repair, 

 Chief should the western breezes curling play, 

 And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds 

 High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, 

 And woodlands warbling round, trace up the 



brooks ; 



The next, pursue their roclcy-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 



