The Every-day Book and Table Book, v. 1 (of 3) / or Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac

by William Hone

THE SEASON.

To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

Sir,

The perusal of your remarks on the season and the winds, in the Every-Day Book, [page 707], reminded me of some lines I wrote at Ramsgate. If you know Wellington-crescent, where they were composed, you know a very pretty place, for either summer or winter residence.

I am, Sir, &c.

June 6, 1825.

J. S.

THE EAST WIND.

A summer sun in brightness glows,
But, ah! the blighting east wind blows,
And weighs the spirit down!
All smiling is th’ enlivening ray,
That tips with silvery tinge the spray,
O’er ocean’s bosom thrown!

Yet, all inviting though it seems,
And tempts one forth to court its beams
I tremblingly retire:
For I am one who hate and dread
That eastern blast, and oft have fled
Its pestilences dire!

But the young shoots that round me rise
And make me old,—(though still unwise)
Feel no such fear as I
Brimful of joy they venture forth
Wind blowing west, south, east, or north,
If cloudless be the sky!

They tripping lightly o’er the path,
To them yet free from grief or scath,
Press on—and onward still,
With brow unwrinkled yet by care,
With spirit buoyant as the air—
They breathe at freedom’s will.

Where shipwreck’d seamen oft deplore
The loss of all their scanty store,
They rove at ebb of tide
In quest of shells, or various weed,
That, from the bed of ocean freed,
Their anxious search abide.

Proud and elated with their prize,
(All eagerness with sparkling eyes,)
The treasures home are brought
To me, who plunged in gloom the while.
At home have watch’d the sea bird’s guile:—
Or, in a sea of thought,

Have sent my spirit forth to find
Fit food for an immortal mind,
Else of itself the prey!
And in th’ abstraction of that mood.
Full oft I’ve realized the good,
We boast not every day.

Sometimes tho’, with a courage bold,
As ever faced the arctic’s cold,
I pace the Colonnade;[173]
And then am soon compelled to beat,
And seek a cowardly retreat,
Within the parlour’s shade!

Sometimes the place,[174] warm shelter’d close,
Where Sharwood’s decorated house,
From roof to step all flowers,
Shines forth as Flora’s temple, where
Dominion falls to sea and air;—
Napoleonic powers!

There, snugly shelter’d from the blast,
My eyes right pensively I cast
Where famed sir Williams’s bark
Lies moor’d, awaiting the time when
That Noah of citizens again
Shall venture on such ark!

But, ah! still round the corner creeps,
That treach’rous wind! and still it sweeps
Too clean the path I tread:
Arm’d as with numerous needle points,
Its painful searchings pierce my joints,
And then capsize my head!

So home again full trot I speed,
As, after wound, the warrior’s steed;
And sit me down, and sigh
O’er the hard-hearted fate of those
Who feel like me these east-wind woes
That brain and marrow try!

Again upon the sea I look,
Of nature that exhaustless book
With endless wonder fraught:—
How oft upon that sea I’ve gazed,
Whose world of waters has amazed
Man—social or untaught.

And, spite of all that some may say,
It is the place from day to day,
Whereon the soul can dwell!
My soul enkindles at the sight
Of such accumulated might;
And loves such grandeur well!

J. S.

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[173] Wellington-crescent.

[174] Albion-place.

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