ODE TO THE SEA:
(WITH INTERRUPTIONS).
Written on Margate sands, by Miss Belinda Bucklersbury.
Oh! lovely Sea; sweet daughter of the sky!
To thee I pour my soul; on thee I cry:
Oh! let some sister Naïad float this way,
Lend me her wand, then 'mid the waves I'll stray.
[Here you are, my lady. Bathe you for a shilling. Comfortablest machine on the beach; and no hextry charge for soap and towels.]
Oh! for the merry sea-bird's wing, to fly
To where yon sunny cloud floats in the sky,
And seems a fairy palace built of light,
A happy home, where all is gay and bright.
[Try a donkey, ma'am. He'll carry you as quviet as a lamb, and nuffink von't tire him.]
Ocean! how strange, how wondrous strange thy power,
At morning's dawn, or glowing sunset hour!
Ev'n now my heart earth's narrow bounds hath pass'd;
My swelling brain for its cribbed cell's too vast.
[Take a pair o' sculls, ma'am. I'll row you a mile out and a mile in for half-a-crown; and there aint a trimmer little craft in all Margate, than "Moll o' Wapping.">[
All sweet emotions on thy shores abound:
All gentle passions gentler here are found.
'Twas here first sprang to life bright Beauty's Queen;
Nurtured and cradled on thy billows green.
[Buy a Wenus's ear, Miss? or a box o' powders to perwent sea-sickness? Only von and sixpence the lot.]
Here soothing thoughts come borne on zephyr's wing,
And round the heart, like summer flowers, spring,
Sweet thoughts of love, that all thoughts else control,
And in one mighty passion bind the soul.
[Here's a prime box o' smuggled cigars, Miss, for your sweet-heart! or a nice little keg o' rale French brandy, for yourself! Let you have 'em a bargain.]
While yet a child, Ocean, I loved to stand
Gazing and list'ning on thy pebbly strand;
And, even now, the song I seem to hear—
The mariner's song, to my young heart so dear.
[Yoi-hoi!—Yoi-ee-ho!—Yow!—Yoi-ee-hey!—Eiugh?—Yoi-oi!—Oi-yoi!—Ee-ow-oi-yo hough! &c. &c.]
Oh! mighty, wondrous world; what fearful forms
Of giant force thou nursest in thy storms!
Here pond'rous whales 'mid crashing icebergs stray;
There vast leviathans with tempests play.
[Here's your perriwinkles! penny a pint! Winkle-winkle-winkle-winkle-winkle-man! Fine fresh winkles, only a penny a pint!]
Behold, along the beach, these beauteous shells!
In each, I ween, some ocean-spirit dwells:
Pluck we the first. It's pearly depths behold!
What hues of crimson, em'rald, azure, gold!
[Oh! crikey, Bill; vot a conch that lady's got!]
Alas! I'm but a hapless child of earth;
I cannot stray where syren songs of mirth
Are heard in coral bowers with pearls bedight;
On me sweet Fortune never smiled so bright!
[Try your luck, marm, in the Lottery? A musical box, two paper nautiluses, and a piece of the wreck of the Royal George. Only von shilling a ticket, and only two numbers wacant.]
Ofttimes at eve, when the pale moon shines clear,
And soft winds sigh, those notes I seem to hear:
Ev'n now, methought I heard the magic strain,
Oh! syren, sing that well-known song again!
[Nix, my Dolly, pals, fake away—
Ni-ix, my Dolly, pals, fake away.]
But, oh! a weight oppresses my sad soul;
My spirits sink beneath its dread control.
[Ease her!—Ease her!]
Thy boiling waves my daring footsteps spurn;
To earth again in grief I'm forced to turn.
[Half turn astarn!—Half turn astarn! Go on!—Go on!]
Farewell! farewell! though I could stay and gaze
On thy bright tide, sweet Sea, for endless days;
But earthly voices call me to the shore,
I must away; fare—fare-thee-well once more!
(In a very small voice, half a mile off.)
[Holloa, marm, you can't get back! you've let the tide come up all roun you, and if you attempt to stir you're a drownded woman. Stop where you are, and hold fast by your camp-stool till the man comes; and he'll bring you ashore wery comfortable on his back for half-a-crown.]
A WATER PARTY.
TEA-TOTALLERS IN THEIR CUPS.
T
T
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Tea-Total T
A poet, a tea-totaller, lay losing of his breath,
And rhapsodizing, as it were, within the jaws of death.
Mad scraps of most perverted verse, from Campbell, Scott, or Hemens
And full of spirits, as of song, in his delirium tremens,
He gasped a cup and couplet—both were finished in a minute,
Then died of drinking too much tea, with too much brandy in it.
A lawyer turned tea-totaller, from drink to get reliefs,
Brief was his vow, and broken soon, perhaps, for want of briefs;
One summer's day, near Temple Bar, with temperance to look big,
He tied its medal to his gown, its riband to his wig
When, all at once, a sudden thirst of his resolve made sport,
The inn he turned into, alas! was not an inn of court:
And that tea-totaller was found in a curious place to find one,
Not bright with wit before a bar, but as drunk as a beast behind one!
A lady with a ruby nose, and skin all blotched about,
Who suddenly perceived that gin put her complexion out,
Soon took a "water vow," right well determined none should warp it,
And kept it till, one day, she fell for dead upon the carpet!
They took her up, they chafed her hand, they rubbed her temples over;
How was it, then, that lady dear did never more recover?
Why the drunken waterman had turn'd—(some horrid death he merits),
As temperance had made water scarce—her cistern on with spirits!
It's odd what things befal men of a temperance way of thinking,
Most strange the best tea-totallers should always die of drinking
Soaking the stomach so with tea, as if its coats were fustian,
Yet, somehow, bursting with, at last, spontaneous combustion;
The teapot is the sign from which, most vigorous, too, their sups they are,
Yet when they meet they're sure to be discover'd in their cups, they are;
And when their next procession comes, just take a notice cursory,
How many totallers will die of their sober anniversary.
4. Oyster days begin. Milton's Paradise Lost. 11. Dog days end.
Barking
in
Essex.
Tom was a martyr—but it was to spirits, wine, and prog;
The name that people called him by was always—Jolly Dog!
He died of surfeit—and his friends, all at a funeral splendid,
Wept tears of pious grief to find his jolly-dog days ended!
Company's Terminus at Houndsditch
AUGUST—Idées Napoliennes.