O’er the “soft-flowing Avon,” at evening hour.
And now the fair parties, with Mirth for their guide,
And light-hearted Laughter, a moment divide,
And gaze on the Eagles, the old ruin’d wall,
The Boat-house, the Temple, the Hermitage, all;
Reproved, when their pleasure too freely they quaff,
By that memento mori, the Afric Giraffe.[1]
Some visit the laughing-bird, called Cockatoo,
Who drops them a courtesy, and cries “How d’ ye do?”