THE BLACK BASS AS A GAME FISH. 385 



High and low, the steady strain maintaining; 

 The good rod swaying like a rush, as he 

 Surges through the flood. 



Another leap ! 



Ye gods, how brave ! Like a lion shaking 

 His shaggy mane, he dives below again. 

 Did you mark, my friend, his shrewd intent, 

 As he fell across the line ? If he then 

 Had found it stretched and tense, his escape 

 Was surely made. But the tip was lowered ; 

 And with yielding line, the hook still held him fast. 



Now, truly, friend, he 

 Makes a gallant fight ! In air, or water, 

 All the same, his spiny crest erect, 

 He struggles to the last. No sulking here ; 

 But like a mettl'd steed, he champs the bit, 

 And speeds the best with firm-held, tighten'd, rein. 

 Now down the stream, he's off again, like shaft 

 From long-bow swiftly sped his last bold spurt 

 The effort cost him very dear ; his strength 

 Is ebbing fast. 



In decreasing circles 

 Now he swims, and labors with the tide. 

 As I reel the line, he slowly yields, 

 And now turns up his breast-plate, snowy white 

 A vanquish'd, conquered knight. 



Now, my friend, 



The landing-net; 'neath the surface hold it, 

 With firm and cautious hand. There, lift him 

 Gently out ; and as gently lay him down. 

 His bright sides rival the velvet sward, in 

 Kich and glossy green. 



See the great rent 



The hook hath made ! How easily 'tis withdrawn ! 

 You marvel how I held him, safe? By the 

 Equal and continued strain of willowy rod, 

 And ever faithful reel. 

 33 



