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ON ANGLING. 227
Aroused up at length,
How he rolls in his strength. And springs with a quivering bound :
Then away with a dash,
Like the lightning's flash. Far o'er the smooth pebbly ground.
Though he strain on the thread,
Down the stream with his head— That burst from the run makes him cool—
Then spring out for the land,
On the rod change the hand, And draw down for the deepening pool.
Mark the gleam of his side
As he shoots through the tide— Are the dyes of the dolphin more fair ?
Fatigue now begins,
For his quivering tins On the shallows are spread in despair.
His length now we'll stretch
On the smooth sandy beach, With the flap from his gills waxing slow ;
The sport of an hour
Spent the strength of his power, And the fresh-water monarch lies low. |
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