THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 183 



Snatch' d from the hoary stud the floating line, 

 And all thy slender wat'ry stores prepare ; 

 But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm 

 Convulsive twist in agonizing folds, 

 Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, 

 Gives, as you tear it, from the bleeding breast 

 Of the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch, 

 Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand !" 



" When, with his lively ray, the potent sun 

 Has pierc'd the streams, and rous'd the finny race, 

 Then, issuing cheerful to thy sport repair j 

 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 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 the pool 

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

 Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank 

 Reverted 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. 

 Straight as above the surface of the flood 

 They wanton rise, or, urged by hunger, leap, 

 Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook 5 

 Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 

 And to the shelving shore slow dragging some 



