THE ANGLER'S GUIDE. 125 



Though but a sportive, harmless fly, 

 He by the trout is sure to 'die. 



"Tis then your arts may tested be, 

 That Elves and Fays around may see, 

 Though trout are sly in what they do, 

 They've not so many wiles as you. 



Steal slily, gently towards the stream, 

 Nor let your shadow on it gleam ; 

 And where you think a trout may lurk, 

 Propel your fly with graceful jerk. 



Then, should he rise, and take your fly 

 Before he finds a line is nigh 

 Your hand must strike the fatal blow, 

 Or, like a dart, away he'll go. 



Should fortune smile, and hook'd he be, 

 Be calm, and very soon you'll see 

 How you may venture with your prize, 

 According to his strength and size. 



Your rod hold high, your line keep tight, 

 And, though he pull with all his might, 

 He'll find your pliant tackle's sway 

 Beat all his arts to get away. 



Recede wind in display your skill, 



He must be brought against his will; 



Tor wills, in trout, as well as we, 



Must yield sometimes, though proud they be. 



And now employ your net to land, 

 And bring him carefully to hand, 

 With joy's enthusiastic glow 

 Which only those who angle know. 



