'Mid thy fair realms, O flower-crowned Florida!
The angler finds his paradise of sport;
Soft airs around him waft perennial sweets,
And welcome him to each belov'd resort.
The rare magnolias ope their flow'ry cones,
The orange groves for him exhale perfumes.
Each leaf and orchid and each frill of fern
Thro' all the woodlands spread delicious blooms.
Here in the river deeps, the channel tides,
Hasten, O angler, with thy tackle fine;
Here cast the luring fly, the mullet bait,
And rarest sport and rich reward be thine!
There tarpon, silver king, leaps high in air,
Yet seeks to break thy barbed hook in vain:
In vain he plunges, dashes o'er the wave,
Then yields, exhausted, to thy steady strain.
Amid the mangrove isles the black drum bask,
The swift crevalle glide by grassy shore;
The mangrove snapper lurks in abyss deep,
The sheepshead feed where inlet salt-tides pour;
In deep recesses of the winding creeks,
In salt lagoons of Indian River tide,
The groupers red, the gamest fish that swim,
Pursuing helpless prey remorseless glide:
And here, O angler, thy supremest care
Is taxed to drag the grouper from his lair!
Amid this lovely land of havens, rivers, isles,
An endless wealth of rarest fish are found;
The rich pompanos. silver fish and jew,
Kingfish and rockfish everywhere abound :
Fiercest of all the sawfish and the shark
Skim the smooth wave or lurk in waters dark!
"The groves were God's first temples."
—Brvant