For a little ground bait.
Oh! how often my slumbering dreams have been broke
By the thought I'm too late, and I've suddenly woke
To discover 'twas dark, and have dozed off again;
But the dose to repeat, hope for rest being vain.
I in fancy have fished in most curious places—
Down a coal-hole, in areas, and off cellar bases;
Where the queerest of things you can name I have caught, or
As I dropt down my line, has retreated the water.
Now that angling's a passion to me appears plain,