BRITISH SPORT PAST AND PRESENT 



The wily fish is sullen grown, 



And, like a bright imbedded stone, 



Lies gleaming at the bottom. 



Hark to the music of the reel ! 



Tis hush't, it hath forsaken ; 



With care we ''11 guard the magic wheel 



Until its notes rewaken. 



A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon 's up ! 



Give line, give line and measure ; 



But now he turns ! keep down ahead, 



And lead him as a child is led, 



And land him at your leisure. 



Hark to the music of the reel ! 



'Tis welcome ; it is glorious ; 



It wanding through the winding wheel, 



Returning and victorious. 



A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon 's in 



Upon the bank extended ; 



The princely fish is gasping slow, 



His brilliant colours come and go. 



All beautifully blended. 



Hark to the music of the reel ! 



It murmurs and it closes ; 



Silence is on the conquering wheel; 



Its wearied line reposes. 



No birr ! no whirr ! the salmon 's ours. 



The noble fish — the thumper : 



Strike through his gills the ready gaff, 



And bending homewards we shall quaff 



Another glorious bumper ! 



Hark to the music of the reel ! 



We listen with devotion ; 



There 's something in that circling wheel 



That wakes the heart's emotion. 



T. T. Stoddaut, 

 Songs and Poems, 1839. 



180 



