Part 27

Has pierc’d the streams, and rous’d the finny race,

Then, issuing cheerful to thy sport repair;

Chief should the western breezes curling play,

And light o’er ether bear the shadowy clouds,

High to their fount, this day, amid the hills

And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks;

The next pursue their rocky-c-hannel’d maze

Down to the river, in whose ample wave

Their little Naiads love to sport at large.

Just in the dubious point, where with the pool

Is mix’d the trembling stream, or where it boils

Around the stone, or from the hollow’d bank

Reverted plays in undulating flow,

There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly;

And, as you lead it round the artful curve,

With eye attentive mark the springing game.

Straight as above the surface of the flood

They wanton rise, or, urged by hunger, leap,

Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook;

Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank,

And to the shelving shore slow dragging some

With various hand proportion’d to their force.

If yet too young, and easily deceiv’d,

A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod.’

Him, piteous of his youth, and the short space

He has enjoy’d the vital light of heaven,

Soft disengage, and back into the stream

The speckl’d captive throw; but, should you lure