Sports (like parentheses) may part the line
Of labour, without breaking the design.
But, as in verse, parentheses (if long
And crowded) mar the beauty of the song:
So pastimes, which engross too large a space,
Disturb life's system, and its work deface.
If Wisdom give her nod, and sports may claim
A safe asylum in her awful name,
Let Wisdom rule the choice; in those engage
Which merit sanction from the COAN (b) sage;
Which rouze, not waste, the spirits, and are good
To push along the tube the loit'ring blood.
Pure air and exercise to health conduce,
If ta'en in season, else they ills produce.
Rash Anglers rue late hours, more cautious I
From night's dark wing and ev'ning vapours fly;
Warn'd by the sinking sun, and deep'ning shades,
When the brown horror woods and streams invades ;
(6) Hippocrates, the father of physic.
Warn'd by the screech-owl, and frog-croaking race,
I close the rod, and homeward urge my pace.
When from the pail I see the lowing herd
Return to pasture on the sav'ry swerd;
I haste away, ere damp, blue steams arise,
And seek dry shelter from the noisome skies;
For Winter's breath still mingles with our Spring,
And the chill eve bears ague on her wing.
Yet some may ask what exercise to stand Hours on one spot, and grasp an idle wand?
To such I answer, that the Angler's art
Changes the scene and variegates his part.
Oft, with the never-resting trowl, he roves
From mead to mead, still casting as he moves,
In deeps, in shoals, the roach suspending hook,
To lure the stream's fell tyrant from his nook:
Sloth will not dare these labours, which demand
The strenuous vigour of no feeble hand.
From these, returning with a sharpen'd gust,
Rich is the feast of ev'ning's homely crust:
The soundest sleep soon seals my wearied eyes,
And, light and brisk, I from my slumber rise.
Then, turning o'er the classic page, my thought
Quick apprehends what ancient wisdom taught;
Or fancy, flowing with recruited vein,
Pours out her pleasures in this rhyming strain.
Therefore do not despise, with cynic mood,
Our pastime, honour'd by the wise and good:
By harmless (c)NOWELL, (d)WOTTON's cheerful age,
(e) COTTON's clear wit, and WALTON's rural page;
With rapture these beheld the peopl'd flood,
The checquer'd meadow, and the waving wood:
(c) NOWELL, the good old Dean of St. Paul's in Queen Elizabeth's reign.
(d) WOTTON, the famous Sir Henry.
(e) COTTON and WALTON, authors of a work in two parts, entitled, the COMPLETE ANGLER.
Here found in solitude, emollient rest
From rugged cares, and tumults of the breast:-
Here virtues learn'd (ill taught by formal rules)
to courts-unknown to wrangling
Patience and peace, and gentleness of mind,
Contempt of wealth, and love of human kind.
These are the Angler's benefits and joys→
Thus, undisturb'd, his leisure he employs:
Yet prudence bids, not let them interfere
With any more important worldly care;
When business calls, be ready at your cue,
And this just maxim ever keep in view→→→
"All pastimes, that engross too large a space,
"Disturb life's system, and its works deface."
Such humble lays may be traduced by spiteThe subject trifling deem'd-the verses light ;
"What, all this stuff about the Angler's sport ?"
The critic cries," and not a word of court?-
"Of camps and soldiers brave; the din of war,
"And groaning captives at the victor's car?
"Of such should be the vig'rous poet's lays,
"Who'd be adjudg'd by Us the laureat bays."
In spheres, like these, let busy mortals shine, A humbler fate, and conscience clear, be mine. I'll trace the meadows while young morning spreads Her mild effulgence o'er the hills and meads; Where on the mountain's sides the green woods grow, Where lilies bloom, and dew-dipp'd roses blow; Where all the charms, which beauteous Nature gave, Smile on the bosom of the azure wave.
When, in the soft ambrosial breath of morn
Health, rosy health, floats o'er the purple lawn;
And all is melody-I'll rove the plains
While gratitude distends the thrilling veins!
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