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XXXVIII.

Ah, then the Younker gives the fatefull twitch;

Struck with amaze ſhe feels the hook ypight
Deepe in her gills, and, plonging where the beech
Shaddows the poole, ſhe runs in dred affright;
In vain the deepeſt rocke, her late delight,
In vain the ſedgy nook for help ſhe tries;
The laughing elfe now curbs, now aids her flight,
The more entangled ſtill the more ſhe flies,
And ſoon amid the graſs the panting captive lies.

XXXIX.

Where now, ah pity! where that ſprightly play,

That wanton bounding, and exulting joy,
That lately welcomd the retourning ray,
When by the rivletts bancks, with bluſhes coy,
April walkd forth—ah! never more to toy
In purling ſtreame, ſhe pants, ſhe gaſps and dies!
Aye me! how like the fortune of the Boy,
His days of revel and his nights of noiſe
Have left him now, involvd, his Lemman's hapleſs prize.