The cat-bird cries “for shame!” and darts away
Before her leafy resting-place is seen;
And when the cloud of death has floated on,
The victim bird is found a gory thing,
While the proud hero of this manly sport,
Struts down the lane like Cæsar entering Rome.
The patient Angler threads the winding brook,
Tempting the dainty trout with gilded bait;
And ever and anon, as fleecy clouds
Pass o’er the sun, the fish voracious darts