Art of Angling

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Crosby, 1814 - 259 páginas

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Página 188 - A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay. A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon. A swarm of bees in July is not worth a fly.
Página 142 - Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook, Behoves you then to ply your finest art. Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly ; And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear.
Página 150 - Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours : Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants ; So that to us no thing, no place is strange...
Página 143 - With yielding hand, That feels him still, yet to his furious course Gives way, you, now retiring, following now Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage; Till floating broad upon his breathless side, And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore You gaily drag your unresisting prize.
Página 138 - Resounds the living surface of the ground: Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum, To him who muses through the woods at noon...
Página 150 - Cooper's Hill, My eye, descending from the Hill, surveys Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays ; Thames ! the most loved of all the Ocean's sons, By his old sire, to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity. Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold, His genuine and less guilty wealth t...
Página 142 - When with his lively ray the potent sun Has pierced the streams, and roused 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-channel'd maze, Down to the river, in whose ample wave Their little naiads love to sport at large.
Página 111 - And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook, He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow, Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw ; When, if an insect fall (his certain guide), He gently takes him from the whirling tide ; Examines well his form, with curious eyes, His gaudy vest, his wings, his horns and size. Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds, And on the back a speckled feather binds, So just the colours shine through every part, That Nature seems to live again in Art Let not thy wary...
Página 111 - Oft have I seen a skilful angler try The various colours of the treacherous fly ; When he with fruitless pain hath skimm'd the brook, And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook, He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow, Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw ; When, if an insect fall (his certain guide), He gently takes him from the whirling tide ; Examines well his form, with curious eyes, His gaudy vest, his wings, his horns and size. Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds, And on...
Página 177 - Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise; So plain the signs, such prophets are the skies. The wary crane foresees it first, and sails Above the storm, and leaves the lowly vales...

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