For the fish seems averse to the land.
"Patience, patience!" he said,
Talking inside his head;
"Have you not tried for hours, and have yet taken naught?
Then be patient and wait,
Though it p'rhaps may be late,
Still the fish at the end of your line is half caught."
An hour passed, and every gleam of light
Flies, with the sun afraid of gloomy night.
Yet still our friend is in the selfsame plight,