THE DERBYSHIRE WYE. 25 



anglers have essayed their capture. Flies galore, wet, dry and of 

 every imaginable size and pattern, have been cast before their very 

 noses. With dignified grace the wily fish have moved beyond the 

 angler's reach, or have darted lightning-like to a place of shelter; 

 or else they have remained immovable as a rock, ignoring with 

 quiet contempt the rarest and most deftly offered lures. Surely 

 these are the highest members of a most intelligent piscine race 

 veritable superfish, evolved for the sport of the superman ! 



Below Rowsley the river likewise contains a large quantity of 

 trout and grayling, but this length, which is quite short, is strictly 

 private. Here the Wye, reinforced by the waters of the Lathkill, 

 flows through pleasant meadows to join the Derwent. Let John 

 Gisborne describe the scene : 



" The tortuous Wye 



Appears. Mark hoiv reluctant he luithdraws ! 

 How he turns back in many a lingering curve, 

 As if enamoured of the groves and toivers 

 He lately passed : as if well pleased to paint 

 On his effulgent mirrors moving sloiv, 

 A double picture of the enchanting scene, 

 The vale's reflected charms. And who, I ask. 

 Of all that ever roamed these banks or lawns, 

 Can wonder ? Who that hither bends his step 

 What time her stars the primrose first expands 

 Gemming yon haivthorn's root : or fody suns, 

 Pride of the ardent year, invite the trout 

 With oft-repeated circles to disturb 

 The glassy smoothness of their lucid haunts ? 

 Or when, as now, autumnal visions glare, 

 Or e'en when winter's snow, like flowers, enwreathes 

 The pinnacles of Haddon ; ivho can hide 

 1 The forms of beauty smiling at his heart,' 

 Can wonder at the pausing tide of Wye ? " 



