Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank,

And to the shelving shore slow dragging some

With various hand proportion’d to their force.

If yet too young, and easily deceiv’d,

A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod.’

Him, piteous of his youth, and the short space

He has enjoy’d the vital light of heaven,

Soft disengage, and back into the stream

The speckl’d captive throw; but, should you lure

From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots