14
WINDSOR-FOREST.
Oft', as in airy rings they skim the heath,
The clam'rous Plovers feel the leaden death:
Oft', as the mounting Larks their notes prepare,
They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial Spring, beneath the quiv'ring shade,
Where cooling vapours breath along the mead,
The patient fisher takes his silent stand,
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand;
With looks uomov'd, he hopes the scaly breed,
And eyes the dancing cork, and bending reed.
Our plenteous streams a various race supply;
The bright-ey'd perch with fins of Tyrian die,
The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd,
The yellow carp, in scales bedrop'd with gold,
Swift trouts, diversify'd with crimson stains,
And pykes, the tyrants of the watry plains.
The clam'rous Plovers feel the leaden death:
Oft', as the mounting Larks their notes prepare,
They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial Spring, beneath the quiv'ring shade,
Where cooling vapours breath along the mead,
The patient fisher takes his silent stand,
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand;
With looks uomov'd, he hopes the scaly breed,
And eyes the dancing cork, and bending reed.
Our plenteous streams a various race supply;
The bright-ey'd perch with fins of Tyrian die,
The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd,
The yellow carp, in scales bedrop'd with gold,
Swift trouts, diversify'd with crimson stains,
And pykes, the tyrants of the watry plains.
Now
