PISHING AS A FINE AET. 101 



As men their foe, so these pursue their fate, 



And closely press the still receding bait. 



Nor long in vain the tempting morsel pleads, 



A hungry anthia seizes, snaps, and bleeds ; 



The fraud soon felt, he flies in wild dismay, 



Whizz goes the line — begins Piscator's play ! 



His muscles tense, each tendon on the rack, 



Of swelling limbs, broad loins, and sinewy back 



Mark yon fine form, erect with rigid brow, 



Like stately statue sculptured at the prow, 



Prom wary hand who pays the loosening rein 



Manoeuvring holds, or lets it run again ! 



And see ! the anthia not a moment flags, 



Resists each pull, and 'gainst the dragger drags ; 



With lashing tail, to darkest depths below 



Shoots headlong down, in hopes t' evade the foe. 



' Now ply your oars, my lads ! ' Piscator bawls ; 



The huge fish plunges — down Piscator falls ! 



A second plunge, and, lo ! th' ensanguined twine 



Plies through his fissured fingers to the brine. 



As two strong combatants of balanced might 



Porce first essay, then practise every sleight, 



So these contend — awhile a well-match'd pair — 



Till frantic efforts by degrees impair 



The anthia's strength, who drain'd of vital blood, 



Soon staggers feebly through the foaming flood, 



Then dying turns his vast unwieldly bulk 



Reversed upon the waves, a floating hulk. 



Tow'd to his side, with joy Piscator sees 



The still leviathan ; still on his knees, 



With arms outstretch'd, close clasps the gurgling throat, 



Makes one long pull and hauls him in the boat." 



There is a true piscatorial ring about these lines ; but 

 however much the anglers of old enjoyed their sport, they 

 are far distanced by the moderns in fishing as a fine art. 

 The truth is ancient tackle, notwithstanding the skill of 

 Messrs. Tubal- Cain and Co., was of rough construction 



