Before you next pen sentiments so fond,
Study your cycles—I would recommend
Our Airy—and let South be duly conn’d,
And take a dip, I beg, in the great Pond.
“Farewell again! it is farewell for ever!
Before your lamp of night be lit up thrice,
I shall be sailing, haply, for Swan River,
Jamaica, or the Indian land of rice,
Or Boothia Felix—happy clime of ice!
For Trebizond, or distant Scanderoon,