 | The Works of Mr. Henry Needler |  |
OF THE Seasons proper for Angling.
The Months, o'er which the nearer Sun displays
His warmer Influence and directer Rays,
Are most Propitious to the Angler's Toil,
And crown his Labours with the largest Spoil.
His warmer Influence and directer Rays,
Are most Propitious to the Angler's Toil,
And crown his Labours with the largest Spoil.
When Birds begin in brisker Voice to sing,
And hail with chearful Notes returning Spring;
When Western Winds in tepid Breezes fly,
And brush with downy Wing the brighten'd Sky;
When teeming Buds their verd'rous Issue yield,
And with their tender Offspring grace the Field;
Then let the Angler, with industrious Care,
His guileful Arms and Implements prepare,
Break Winter's Truce, and wage the watry War.
And hail with chearful Notes returning Spring;
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And brush with downy Wing the brighten'd Sky;
When teeming Buds their verd'rous Issue yield,
And with their tender Offspring grace the Field;
Then let the Angler, with industrious Care,
His guileful Arms and Implements prepare,
Break Winter's Truce, and wage the watry War.
But, when Autumnal Blasts have strip'd the Wood,
And o'er the Ground its yellow Honours strew'd;
When stormy Boreas reassumes his Reign,
And with malignant Breath deforms the Plain,
Let him a while his Snary Wiles forbear;
'Till, by the Course of the revolving Year,
The fairer Order of the Months returns,
And Nature with fresh Bloom her Face adorns.
Then, soon as Morn has chas'd the Shades of Night,
And streak'd the purple East with rosie Light;
Soon as the Lark displays her early Wings,
And to the fragrant Air her Matins sings,
The Angler, chearful with the Hopes of Prey,
Takes to the reeking Brook his dewy Way.
And o'er the Ground its yellow Honours strew'd;
When stormy Boreas reassumes his Reign,
And with malignant Breath deforms the Plain,
Let him a while his Snary Wiles forbear;
'Till, by the Course of the revolving Year,
The fairer Order of the Months returns,
And Nature with fresh Bloom her Face adorns.
Then, soon as Morn has chas'd the Shades of Night,
And streak'd the purple East with rosie Light;
Soon as the Lark displays her early Wings,
And to the fragrant Air her Matins sings,
The Angler, chearful with the Hopes of Prey,
Takes to the reeking Brook his dewy Way.
| The Works of Mr. Henry Needler | |