nor spears
  That bristle on his back, defend the perch
  From his wide greedy jaws; nor burnished mail
  The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save
  The insinuating eel, that hides his head
  Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes
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  The crimson-spotted trout, the river’s pride,
  And beauty of the stream.  Without remorse,
  This midnight pillager ranging around,
  Insatiate swallows all.  The owner mourns
  The unpeopled rivulet, and gladly hears
  The huntsman’s early call, and sees with joy
  The jovial crew, that march upon its banks
  In gay parade, with bearded lances armed. 
     This subtle spoiler of the beaver kind,
  Far off, perhaps, where ancient alders shade
  The deep still pool; within some hollow trunk
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  Contrives his wicker couch:  whence he surveys
  His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all
  The finny shoals his own.  But you, brave youths,
  Dispute the felon’s claim; try every root,
  And every reedy bank; encourage all
  The busy-spreading pack, that fearless plunge
  Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream. 
  Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore,
  Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise
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  Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat
  The triumphs of the vale.  On the soft sand
  See there his seal impressed! and on that bank
  Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish,
  Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast. 
  Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more
  His seal I view.  O’er yon dank rushy marsh
  The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course,
  And seeks the distant shallows.  Huntsman, bring
  Thy eager pack; and trail him to his couch.
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  Hark! the loud peal begins, the clamorous joy,
  The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air. 
     Ye Naiads fair, who o’er these floods preside,
  Raise up your dripping heads above the wave,
  And hear our melody.  The harmonious notes
  Float with the stream; and every winding creek
  And hollow rock, that o’er the dimpling flood
  Nods pendant; still improve from shore to shore
  Our sweet reiterated joys.  What shouts! 
  What clamour loud!  What gay heart-cheering sounds
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  Urge through, the breathing brass their mazy way! 
  Nor choirs of Tritons glad with sprightlier strains
  The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides
  In triumph o’er the deep.  How greedily
  They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade
  Rank-scenting clings!  See! how the morning dews
  They sweep, that from their feet besprinkling drop
  Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind. 
  Now on firm land they range; then in the flood
  They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools
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  Rustling they work their way:  no holt escapes
  Their curious search.  With quick