Such pleasing scenes Edina cannot boast; For there the slothful slumber sealed mine eyes, Till nine successive strokes the clock had
There not the lark, but fishwives' noisy screams, And inundations plunged from ten house height, With smell more fragrant than the spicy groves Of Indus, fraught with all her orient stores, Roused me from sleep ;-not sweet refreshing sleep,
But sleep infested with the burning sting Of bug infernal, who the live-long night With direst suction sipped my liquid gore. There gloomy vapours in our zenith reigned, And filled with irksome pestilence the air. There lingering Sickness held his feeble court, Rejoicing in the havoc he had made;
And Death, grim Death! with all his ghastly train,
Watched the broke slumbers of Edina's sons.
Hail! rosy Health! thou pleasing antidote 'Gainst troubling cares! all hail, these rural fields!
Those winding rivulets, and verdant shades, Where thou, the heaven-born goddess deign'st to dwell!
With thee the hind, upon his simple fare,
Lives cheerful, and from Heaven no more demands.
But, ah! how vast, how terrible the change With him who night by night in sickness pines! Him nor his splendid equipage can please, Nor all the pageantry the world can boast; Nay, not the consolation of his friends Can aught avail: his hours are anguish all ; Nor cease till envious Death hath closed the
But, Carlos, if we court this maid celestial; Whether we thro' meandering rivers stray, Or 'midst the city's jarring noise remain ; Let Temperance, Health's blithe concomitant, To our desires and appetites set bounds; Else, cloyed at last, we surfeit every joy : Our slackened nerves reject their wonted spring; We reap the fruits of our unkindly lusts, And feebly totter to the silent grave.
Non mira, sed vera, canam.
Ar that sweet period of revolving time When Phoebus lingers not in Thetis' lap; When twinkling stars their feeble influenceshed, And scarcely glimmer thro' th' ethereal vault, Till Sol again his near approach proclaims, With ray purpureal, and the blushing form Of fair Aurora, goddess of the dawn, Leading the winged coursers to the pole Of Phoebus' car:-'Twas in that season fair, When jocund Summer did the meads array In Flora's ripening bloom, that we prepared To break the bond of business, and to roam Far from Edina's jarring noise a while.
Fair smiled the wakening morn on our design;
And we, with joy elate, our march began For Leith's fair port, where oft Edina's sons The week conclude, and in carousal quaff Port, punch, rum, brandy, and Geneva strong, Liquors too nervous for the feeble purse. With all convenient speed we there arrived : Nor had we time to touch at house or hall, Till from the boat a hollow thundering voice Bellowed vociferous, and our ears assailed With, "Ho! Kinghorn, oho! come straight aboard."
We failed not to obey the stern command, Uttered with voice as dreadful as the roar Of Polyphemus, 'midst rebounding rocks, When overcome by sage Ulysses' wiles.
"Hoist up your sails," the angry skipper cries,
While fore and aft the busy sailors run, And lose th' entangled cordage.-O'er the deep Zephyrus blows, and hugs our lofty sails, Which, in obedience to the powerful breeze, Swell o'er the foaming main, and kiss the
Now o'er the convex surface of the flood Precipitate we fly. Our foaming prow
Divides the saline stream.
Ridges of yesty surge dilate apace; But from the poop the waters gently flow, And undulation for the time decays,
In eddies smoothly floating o'er the main.
Here let the Muse in doleful numbers sing The woeful fate of those, whose cruel stars Have doom'd them subject to the languid
Of watery sickness.-Tho' with stomach full Of juicy beef, of mutton in its prime, Or all the dainties Luxury can boast,
They brave the elements,-yet the rocking bark,
Truly regardless of their precious food, Converts their visage to the ghastly pale, And makes the sea partaker of the sweets On which they sumptuous fared.-And this the cause
Why those of Scotia's sons, whose wealthy
Hath blessed them with a splendid coach and
Rather incline to linger on the way,
And cross the river Forth by Stirling Bridge, Than be subjected to the ocean's swell, To dangerous ferries, and to sickness dire.
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