IX. 



TROUT FLIES. 



" Around the steel no tortured worm shall twine, 



No blood of living insect stain my line ; 



Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook 



With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, 



Silent along the mazy margin stray, 



And with the fur- wrought fly delude the prey." 



" Mark well the various seasons of the year, 

 How the succeeding insect race appear ; 

 In this revolving moon one colour reigns, 

 Which in the next the fickle trout disdains. 

 Oft have I seen a skilful angler try 

 The various colours of the treach'rous fly, 

 When he with fruitless pain hath skim'd the brook, 

 And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook. 

 He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow, 

 Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw ; 

 When, if an insect fall (this certain guide) 

 He gently takes him from the whirling tide, 

 Examines well his form with curious eyes, 

 His gaudy vest, his wings, his horns, and size ; 



