THE

STEERSMAN'S SONG.

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE,
APRIL 28.*

WHEN freshly blows the northern gale,
And under courses snug we fly;
When lighter breezes swell the sail,
And royals proudly sweep the sky;
'Longside the wheel, unwearied still
I stand, and as my watchful eye
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill,
I think of her I love, and cry

Port, my boy! port.

When calms delay, or breezes blow
Right from the point we wish to steer;
When by the wind close-haul'd we go,

And strive in vain the port to near;

* I left Bermuda, in the Boston, about the middle of April, in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the latter of which was the admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. We separated in a few days, and the Boston, after a short cruise, proceeded to New York.

I think 'tis thus the fates defer

My bliss with one that's far away, And, while remembrance springs to her, I watch the sails, and, sighing, say,

Thus, my boy! thus.

But see, the wind draws kindly aft,
All hands are up, the yards to square,
And now the floating stu'n-sails waft
Our stately ship through waves and air.
Oh! then I think that yet for me

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring,
Some breeze may waft me, love, to thee!
And in that hope I smiling sing,

Steady, boy! so.

TO CLOE.

IMITATED FROM MARTIAL:

I COULD resign that eye of blue,
Howe'er it burn, howe'er it thrill me;
And, though your lip be rich with dew,
To lose it, CLOE, scarce would kill me.

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss,
However warm. I've twin'd about it;
And, though your bosom beat with bliss,
I think my soul could live without it.

In short, I've learn'd so well to fast,
That, sooth my love, I know not whether
I might not bring myself, at last,

To-do without you altogether!

FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL.*

To G. M. Esq.

From Fredericksburgh, Virginia.

JUNE 2.

DEAR George! though every bone is aching, After the shaking

*These fragments form but a small part of a ridiculous medley of prose and doggerel, into which, for my amusement, I threw some of the incidents of my journey. If it were even in a more rational form, there is yet much of it too allusive and too personal for publication.

↑ Having remained about a week at New-York, where I saw Madame Jerome Bonaparte, and felt a slight shock of an earthquake (the only things that particularly awakened my attention), I sailed again in the Boston for Norfolk, from whence I proceeded on my tour to the northward, through Williamsburgh, Richmond, &c. At Richmond there are a few men of considerable talents. Mr. Wickham, one of their celebrated legal characters, is a gentleman, whose manners and mode of life would do honour to the most cultivated societies. Judge Marshall, the author of Washington's Life, is another very distinguished ornament of Richmond. These gentlemen, I must observe, are of that respectable, but at present unpopular, party, the Federalists.

I've had this week over ruts and ridges,*

And bridges,

Made of a few uneasy planks,†
In open ranks,

Like old women's teeth, all loosely thrown
Over rivers of mud, whose names alone

Would make the knees of stoutest man knock,

Rappahannock,

Occoquan-the Heavens may harbour us!
Who ever heard of names so barbarous ?
Worse than M*****'s Latin,

Or the smooth codicil

To a witch's will, where she brings her cat in!
I treat my goddess ill,

* What Mr. Weld says of the continual necessity of balancing or trimming the stage, in passing over some of the wretched roads in America, is by no means exaggerated. «The driver frequently had to call to the passengers in the stage, to lean out of the carriage first at one side, then at the other, to prevent it from oversetting in the deep ruts with which the road abounds. Now, gentlemen, to the right;' upon which the passengers all stretched their bodies half way out of the carriage to balance it on that side: Now, gentlemen, to the left;' and so on." Weld's Travels, Letter 3.

† Before the stage can pass one of these bridges, the driver is obliged to stop and arrange the loose planks, of which it is composed, in the manner that best suits his ideas of safety; and, as the planks are again disturbed by the passing of the coach, the next travellers who arrive have, of course, a new arrangement to make. Mahomet (as Sale tells us) was at some pains to imagine a precarious kind of bridge for the entrance of Paradise, in order to enhance the pleasures of arrival; a Virginian bridge, I think, would have answered his purpose completely.