Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering thing difplays, Dazzles our eyes, and easy hearts betrays.
Mark well the various seasons of the year,
How the fucceeding infe&t race appear;
In this revolving moon one colour reigns,
Which in the next the fickle trout difdains.
Oft' have I feen a skilful angler try
The various colours of the treacherous fly;
When he with fruitlefs pain hath skimm'd the brook,
And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook,
He fhakes the boughs that on the margin grow,
Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw;
When if an infect fall (his certain guide),
He gently takes him from the whirling tide ;
Examines well his form with curious eyes,
His gaudy veft, his wings, his horns, and fize;
Then round his hook the chofen fur he winds,
And on the back a fpeckled feather binds,
So just the colours fhine through every part,
That Nature feems again to live in Art.
Let not thy wary ftep advance too near,
While all thy hope hangs on a fingle hair;
The new-form'd infect on the water moves,
The fpeckled trout the curious fnare approves ;
Upon the curling furface let it glide,
With natural motion from thy hand fupply'd,
Against the stream now gently let it play,
Now in the rapid eddy roll away.
fcaly fhoals float by, and, feiz'd with fear,
sold their fellows toft in thinner air;
But foon they leap, and catch the swimming bait,
Plunge on the hook, and share an equal fate.
When a brisk gale against the current blows,
And all the watery plain in wrinkles flows,
Then let the fisherman his art repeat,
Where bubbling eddies favour the deceit.
If an enormous falmon chance to fpy
The wanton errors of the floating fly,
He lifts his filver gills above the flood,
And greedily fucks-in th' unfaithful food;
Then downward plunges with the fraudful prey,
And bears with joy the little spoil away:
Soon in fmart pain he feels the dire mistake,
Lashes the wave, and beats the foamy lake;
With fudden rage he now aloft appears,
And in his eye convulfive anguish bears;
And now again, impatient of the wound,
He rolls and wreathes his fhining body round;
Then headlong fhoots beneath the dashing tide,
The trembling fins the boiling wave divide.
Now hope exalts the fisher's beating heart,
Now he turns pale, and fears his dubious art;
He views the tumbling fish with longing eyes,
While the line stretches with th' unwieldy prize;
Each motion humours with his fteady hands,
And one flight hair the mighty bulk commands:
Till, tir'd at laft, defpoil'd of all his ftrength,
The game athwart the ftream unfolds his length.
He now, with pleafure, views the gafping prize
Gnash his fharp teeth, and roll his blood-fhot eyes;
Then draws him to the fhore, with artful care,
And lifts his noftrils in the fickening air :
Upon the burthen'd stream he floating lies,
Stretches his quivering fins, and gasping dies.
Would you preferve a numerous finny race?
Let your fierce dogs the ravenous otter chace
(Th' amphibious monster ranges all the shores,
Darts through the waves, and every haunt explores): Or let the gin his roving steps betray,
And fave from hoftile jaws the scaly prey.
I never wander where the bordering reeds
O'erlook the muddy ftream, whofe tangling weeds 260
Perplex the fisher; I nor chufe to bear
The thievifh nightly net, nor barbed spear;
Nor drain I ponds, the golden carp to take,
Nor trowle for pikes, difpeoplers of the lake;
Around the steel no tortur'd worm fhall twine,
No blood of living infect ftain my line.
Let me, lefs cruel, caft the feather'd hook,
With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook,
Silent along the mazy margin ftray,
And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey.
OW, fporting Mufe, draw-in the flowing reins,
Leave the clear streams a while for funny plains.
Should you the various arms and toils rehearse,
And all the fisherman adorn thy verse;
Should you the wide encircling net display,
And in its fpacious arch inclofe the fea;
Then haul the plunging load upon the land,
And with the foal and turbot hide the fand;
It would extend the growing theme too long,
And tire the reader with the watery fong.
Let the keen hunter from the chace refrain,
Nor render all the plowman's labour vain,
When Ceres pours out plenty from her horn,
And cloathes the fields with golden ears of corn.
Now, now, ye reapers, to your task repair,
Hafte! fave the product of the bounteous year:
To the wide-gathering hook long furrows yield,
And rifing fheaves extend through all the field.
Yet, if for fylvan sports thy bofom glow,
Let thy fleet greyhound urge his flying foe.
With what delight the rapid course I view!
How does my eye the circling race pursue!
He fnaps deceitful air with empty jaws;
The fubtle hare darts fwift beneath his paws;
She flies, he ftretches, now with nimble bound 295
Eager he preffes on, but overshoots his ground;
She turns; he winds, and foon regains the way,
Then tears with goary mouth the fcreaming prey.
What various fport does rural life afford !
What unbought dainties heap the wholefome board! 300
Nor lefs the fpaniel, fkilful to betray,
Rewards the fowler with the feather'd prey.
Soon as the labouring horfe, with fwelling veins,
Hath fafely hous'd the farmer's doubtful gains,
To fweet repaft th' unwary partridge flies,
With joy amid the fcatter'd harvest lies;
Wandering in plenty, danger he forgets,
Nor dreads the flavery of entangling nets.
The fubtle dog fcours with fagacious nofe
Along the field, and fnuffs each breeze that blows; 310
Against the wind he takes his prudent way,
While the ftrong gale directs him to the prey;
Now the warm fcent affures the covey near,
He treads with caution, and he points with fear;
Then (left fome fentry-fowl the fraud descry,
And bid his fellows from the danger fly)
Clofe to the ground in expectation lies,
Till in the fnare the fluttering covey rife.
Soon as the blufhing light begins to fpread,
And glancing Phoebus gilds the mountain's head, 320
His early flight th' ill-fated partridge takes,
And quits the friendly fhelter of the brakes.
Or, when the fun cafts a declining ray,
And drives his chariot down the western way,
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