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216 SONGS. ETC.
LINES, WITH A PRESENT OF ARTIFICIAL FLIES.
When sweet Spring, my friend, shall smiling
Pour her soft and pearly dew, And shall fill each grove and valley
With her flowers of varied hue :
Then shall thou, again delighted,
To the swift brooks haste away ; And, thy slender weapons playing,
Tempt the fearful finny prey.
Yet amid thy healthful pleasure,
Gentle pity shall be thine ; Nor upon thy hook of torture
Rid the worm in anguish twine.
When the western breeze is blowing,
Fatal to the fishy race, And the sun thy sports befriending,
Veils in dusky clouds his face :
Then take thou thy pliant angle,
Every rippling eddy try ; And adown the murmuring streamlets
Draw thy well-dissembled fly. |
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