Thick alders grow. We steal upon the spot
With cautious step, and peering out, survey
The restless flood. No object meets our eye.
But hark what sound is that approaching near,
“Down close,” The wild-ducks come, and darting down,
Throw up on ev’ry side the troubled wave;
Then gayly swim around with idle play,
With breath restrain’d, and palpitating heart,
I view their movements, whilst my well-taught dogs
Like lifeless statues crouch. Now is the time,