Tho' in the common drove no bound he finds,
But spreads unmeasur'd waste o'er all the kinds.
Nor else the greedy Trout and glutless Eel
Incesssnt woes, and dire destruction deal.
The lurking Water-Rat in caverns preys,
And in the weeds the wily Otter stays ;
The ghastly Newt in muddy streams annoys,
And in swift floods the felly Snake destroys;
Toads for the swarming fry forsake the lawn,
And croaking Frogs devour the tender spawn.
Neither the habitants of land nor air,
(So sure their doom) the fishy numbers spare!
The Swan, fair 1egent of the silver tide,
Their ranks destroys, and spread their ruin wide;
The Duck her offspring to the river leads,
And on the destin'd fry insatiate feeds;
On fatal wings the pouncing Bittern soars,
And wafts her prey from the defenceless shores ;
The watchful Halcyons to the reeds repair,
And from their haunts the scaly captive bear;
Sharp Herns and Corm'rants too their tribes
A harrass'd race, peculiar in distress;
Nor can the muse enumerate their foes,
Such is their fate, so various are their woes.
ON WORM FISHING.
You must not every worm promiscuous use,
Judgment will tell the proper baits to choose,
The worm that draws a long immod❜rate size,
The trout abhores, and the rank morsel flies.
And if too small, the naked frauds in sight,
And fear forbids while danger does invite.
Those baits will best reward the fisher's pains,
Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains.
Cleanse them from filth, to give a tempting gloss,
Cherish the sully'd reptile then with moss;
Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil,
And from their bodies wipe their native soil.
In genial spring, beneath the quiv'rin shade,
Where cooling vapours breath along the mead,
The patient fisher takes his silent stand,
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand;
With looks unmov'd he hopes the scaly breed,
And eyes the danceing cork, and bending reed.
Our plenteous streams a various race supply,
The bright-ey'd Perch, with fins of tyrian dye;
The silver Eel, in shining volumes roll'd,
The yellow Carp, in scales be-drop'd with gold;
Swift Trouts, diversify'd with crimson stains,
And Pikes, the tyrant of the watry plains.
Oh, while fishing lasts enjoy it,
Let us to the streams repair;
Snatch some hours from toil and study,
Nature's blessed gifts to share.
Ye who stand behind the counter,
Or grone palled at the loom,
Leave the measure and the shuttle,
Come to the rippling stream, come.
He that clothed their banks with verdure,
Dotted them with various flowers;
Meant that ye, though doom'd to labour,
Should enjoy some cheering hours.
Wipe your reeking brows and with us,
With you're basket and your rod;
And with happy hearts look up from
Nature unto Nature's God.
THE FISHERMAN AND THE LITTLE FISH.
The smallest fry grow fish in time,
If not cut off before their prime;
But he that throws them in the stream,
In hopes when grown to take again,
Will very likely lose his aim,
And bait his hook in vain.
A little Carp from span just hatch'd,
Once on a luckless day was catch'd;
The fisher smiling at his prey;
Quoth he, 'tis something to begin,
Into wallet shew the way,
The Carping saw the impending fate,
And strove with all his little prate,
To ward the fatal blow;
Alas! he cry'd, in me
A puny scanty thing you see,
Not worth a Shrimp or Grig;
Indeed you'd better let me go,
And catch me when I'm big.
I then will prove a noble fish,
To grace my Lord Mayor's board;
Thus he will have a dainty dish,
And you increase your hoard.
I'm not a mouthful for a child;
A hundred such as I
Might on a saucer lie,
Unfit for eating, fry'd or boil'd;
Why then shall be broiled,
Our angler he made reply,
And that this very night.
The fisherman was in the right.
This lesson can never be too often conn'd,
A fish in the pan is worth two in the pond.
THE ANGLER'S WISH.
I in those flowery meads would be ;
Those crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice,
Sit here, and see the turtle dove
Court his chase mate to acts of love.
Or, on that bank, feel the west wind
Breath health and plenty: please my mind,
To see sweet dewdrops kiss these flowers,
And then wash'd off by April showers ;
Here, hear
my Kenna sing a song;
There, see a blackbird feed her young.
Or a laverock build her nest;
Here, give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:
Thus free from lawsuits and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice,
Or, with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat,
There see the sun both rise and set:
There bid good morning to next day ;
There meditate my time away;
And angle on; and beg to have
A quiet passage to my grave.
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