INHUMANITY OF ANGLING. 189 



'Tis not for man to lift his murd'ring arm 

 Against an artless unoffending swarm 



To wage unequal combat with a fish. 

 So much, believe me, liberty I prize, 

 I'd rather on their freedom feast my eyes, 



Than view them smoking on the glutton's dish. 



The worm that writhes, too, on the barbed steel 

 Knows not less pain than does the culprit feel 



When legal Vengeance drags him to her den ; 

 His well-knit limbs, his nerves, his sinews firm, 

 Defy not torture better than a worm : 



Reptiles are flesh and blood as well as men. 



Enough for me, if, while I roam at ease, 

 And taste, dear Isis ! on thy banks the breeze 



That wantons there upon its silken wings ; 

 Health's genial hand her bounty shall bestow 

 And on my cheek impress the vivid glow, 



And all the charms the lovely goddess brings. 



Farewell, my rod ! and to my lines farewell ! 



No more shall sports like these my bosom swell 



No more shall ye to cruelty invoke me. 

 Perhaps some fish with patriot rage may burn, 

 Perhaps some trout be savage in its turn, 



And, dying for its injured brethren, choke me ! " 



J. T. 



