384 BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS. 



Then a swirl upon the surface of the pool ? 

 My hand responsive to the sudden thrill, 

 Strikes in the steel ; the wary Bass is hook'd. 

 With light'ning speed he darts away toward his 

 Ark of refuge his lair beneath the roots. 



The singing reel, 



And hissing line, proclaim him almost there, 

 When I " give the butt." The faithful rod, 

 In horse-shoe curve, now checks his headlong flight. 

 Egad ! he tugs and pulls right lustily ; 

 But still the barb is there. The rod now bending 

 Like a reed, resists the tight'ning strain, and 

 Turns him in his course. 



In curving reaches, 



Back and forth, he darts in conscious strength ; 

 Describing arcs and segments in the shadows 

 Of the ruffled pool. Ha ! nobly done ! 

 With a mighty rush he cleaves the crystal flood, 

 And at one bound, full half a fathom in 

 The realm above, he takes an serial flight; 

 His fins, extended with bristling points ; 

 His armor, brightly flashing in the sun ; 

 Shaking, in his rage, his wide-extended jaws, 

 To rid him of the hook. 



Gracefully, now, I lower 

 The pliant rod, in courtesy to the brave ; 

 The line, relieved of steady strain, baffles 

 The wily Bass; the hook holds fast and firm. 

 Back he falls with angry splash, to the depths, 

 For friendly aid of snag, or stone, or root 

 'Of tree for thus, my friend, he oft escapes, 

 By fouling line, or hook. But, he never sulks ! 

 Not he ; while life remains, or strength holds good, 

 His efforts are unceasing. 



Now up the stream 



Now down again I have him well in hand ; 

 Keeling in, or giving line ; fast and slow, 



