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His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric
slaves! Oh, horror! e'en the ship was black that plough'd
the inky waves !
“ Alas!” I cried, “ for love of truth and blessed
mercy's sake, Where am I ? in what dreadful ship? upon what
dreadful lake? What shape is that, so very grim, and black as
any coal ? It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gain'd
my soul ! Oh, mother dear! my tender nurse ! dear meadows
that beguild My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless
child, My mother dear—my native fields, I never more
shall see: I’m sailing in the Devil's Ship, upon the Devil's
sea!” Loud laugh’d that SABLE MARINER, and loudly
in return His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from
stem to sternA dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on
the nonceAs many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once :
[fit, A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoy'd the merry
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like de
mons of the Pit. They crowd their fill, and then the Chief made
answer for the whole ; “Our skins,” said he, “are black ye see, because
we carry coal ; You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your
native fieldsFor this here ship has pick'd you up—the Mary
Ann of Shields !”
A NEW VERSION.
Ham. “ The air bites shrewdly-it is very cold. : Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.”
: Come, gentle Spring! ethereal mildness come !"
Oh! Thomson, void of rhyme as well as reason, How couldst thou thus poor human nature hum?
There's no such season.
The Spring! I shrink and shudder at her name!
For why, I find her breath a bitter blighter ! And suffer from her blows as if they came
From Spring the Fighter.
Her praises, then, let hardy poets sing,
And be her tuneful laureates and upholders, Who do not feel as if they had a Spring
Pour'd down their shoulders !
Let others eulogize her floral shows,
From me they cannot win a single stanza,
Her cowslips, stocks, and lilies of the vale,
Her honey-blossoms that you hear the bees at, Her pansies, daffodils, and primrose pale,
Are things I sneeze at !
Fair is the vernal quarter of the year !
And fair its early buddings and its blowingsBut just suppose Consumption's seeds appear
With other sowings!
For me, I find, when eastern winds are high,
A frigid, not a genial inspiration; Nor can, like Iron-Chested Chubb, defy
Smitten by breezes from the land of plague,
To me all vernal luxuries are fables,
Stiff as a table's ?
I limp in agony,—I wheeze and cough;
And quake with Ague, that great Agitator; Nor dream, before July, of leaving off
What wonder if in May itself I lack
A peg for laudatory verse to hang on ?Spring mild and gentle !—yes, a Spring-heeled