An opening rose, a gaudy butterfly,
Turn his light steps and fix his wandering eye;
He plucks ripe berries blushing in the hedge,
And pungent cresses from the watery sedge.
At length he gains the bank, and seeks to fill
His little scrip, and prove his infant skill;
He marks the fish approach in long array—
Then, stamps the ground, to see them glide away.
But lo! one speckled wanderer lurks behind,
’Mid the tall reeds that skirt the stream confined: