34 



And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks ; 



The 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 tne pool 



Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils 



Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank 



Eeverted plays in undulating flow, 



There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly ; 



And, as you lead it round in artful curve, 



With eye attentive mark the springing game. 



Strait as above the surface of the flood 



They wanton rise, or, urg'd by hunger, leap, 



Then fix, with gentle 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 deceiv'd, 



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 heaven, 



Soft disengage, and back into the stream 



The speckl'd captive throw ; but, should you lure 



From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 



Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, 



Behoves you then to ply your finest art. 



Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly, 



And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 



The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 



At last, while haply o'er 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, 



