He shall again be seen when evening comes, And social parties crowd their favourite rooms: Where on the table pipes and papers lie, The steaming bowl or foaming tankard by ; 'Tis then, with all these comforts spread around, They hear the painful dredger's welcome sound; And few themselves the savoury boon deny, The food that feeds, the living luxury.

Yon is our Quay! (1)those smaller hoys from town, Its various ware, for country-use, bring down; Those laden waggons, in return, impart

The country-produce to the city mart;
Hark! to the clamour in that miry road,
Bounded and narrow'd by yon vessel's load;
The lumbering wealth she empties round the place,
Package, and parcel, hogshead, chest, and case:
While the loud seaman and the angry hind,
Mingling in business, bellow to the wind.

Near these a crew amphibious, in the docks,
Rear, for the sea, those castles on the stocks:
See the long keel, which soon the waves must
hide;

See the strong ribs which form the roomy side; Bolts yielding slowly to the sturdiest stroke,

And planks (2) which curve and crackle in the smoke.

(1) [The Quay of Slaughden, where the poet, in early life, was employed by his father in piling up butter casks, &c. in the dress of a common warehouseman; and whence, in the year 1779, he embarked on board a sloop, with three pounds in his pocket, to seek his fortune in the metropolis. See Vol. I. pp. 19. 31. 45.]

(2) The curvature of planks for the sides of a ship, &c. is, I am informed, now generally made by the power of steam. Fire is, nevertheless, still used for boats and vessels of the smaller kind.

Around the whole rise cloudy wreaths, and far
Bear the warm pungence of o'er-boiling tar.

Dabbling on shore half-naked sea-boys crowd,
Swim round a ship, or swing upon the shroud;
Or in a boat purloin'd, with paddles play,
And grow familiar with the watery way:

Young though they be, they feel whose sons they

are,

They know what British seamen do and dare;
Proud of that fame, they raise and they enjoy
The rustic wonder of the village-boy.

Before you bid these busy scenes adieu,
Behold the wealth that lies in public view,
Those far-extended heaps of coal and coke,

Where fresh-fill'd lime-kilns breathe their stifling smoke.

This shall pass off, and you behold, instead,

The night-fire gleaming on its chalky bed;
When from the Light-house brighter beams will
rise,

To show the shipman where the shallow lies.
Thy walks are ever pleasant; every scene
Is rich in beauty, lively, or serene

Rich-is that varied view with woods around,
Seen from the seat, within the shrubb'ry bound;
Where shines the distant lake, and where appear
From ruins bolting, unmolested deer;

Lively-the village-green, the inn, the place, Where the good widow schools her infant-race. Shops, whence are heard the hammer and the saw, And village-pleasures unreproved by law:

Then how serene! when in your favourite room,
Gales from your jasmines soothe the evening gloom;
When from your upland paddock you look down,
And just perceive the smoke which hides the town;
When weary peasants at the close of day
Walk to their cots, and part upon the

way;

When cattle slowly cross the shallow brook,

And shepherds pen their folds, and rest upon their crook. (1)

We prune our hedges, prime our slender trees, And nothing looks untutor'd and at ease,

On the wide heath, or in the flow'ry vale,
We scent the vapours of the sea-born gale;
Broad-beaten paths lead on from stile to stile,
And sewers from streets, the road-side banks defile;
Our guarded fields a sense of danger show,
Where garden-crops with corn and clover grow;
Fences are form'd of wreck and placed around,
(With tenters tipp'd) a strong repulsive bound;
Wide and deep ditches by the gardens run,
And there in ambush lie the trap and gun;

Or yon broad board, which guards each tempting prize,

“Like a tall bully, lifts its head, and lies.” (2)

(1) ["Without the romantic mellowness which envelopes the landscape of Goldsmith, or the freshness and hilarity of colouring which breathe in that of Graham, this sketch is, perhaps, superior to both in distinctness, animation, and firmness of touch; and to these is added a peculiar air of facility and freedom.”— - GIFFORD.]

(2)

["Where London's column, pointing to the skies,

Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.-"

-Pope's allusion being to the anti-catholic inscription on the monument erected after the great fire of London.]

There stands a cottage with an open door,
Its garden undefended blooms before:
Her wheel is still, and overturn'd her stool,

While the lone Widow seeks the neighb'ring pool:
This gives us hope, all views of town to shun-
No! here are tokens of the Sailor-son;

That old blue jacket, and that shirt of check,
And silken kerchief for the seaman's neck;
Sea-spoils and shells from many a distant shore,
And furry robe from frozen Labrador.

Our busy streets and sylvan-walks between,
Fen, marshes, bog and heath all intervene ;
Here pits of crag, with spongy, plashy base,
To some enrich th' uncultivated space :

For there are blossoms rare, and curious rush,
The gale's(1) rich balm, and sun-dew's crimson blush
Whose velvet leaf with radiant beauty dress'd,
Forms a gay pillow for the plover's breast.

Not distant far, a house commodious made,
(Lonely yet public stands) for Sunday-trade;
Thither, for this day free, gav arties go,
Their tea-house walk, their tippling rendezvous;
There humble couples sit in corner-bowers,
Or gaily ramble for th' allotted hours;
Sailors and lasses from the town attend,
The servant-lover, the apprentice-friend;
With all the idle social tribes who seek
And find their humble pleasures once a week.
Turn to the watery world!—but who to thee
(A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint-the Sea?

(1) [Another name for the candle-berry.]

Various and vast, sublime in all its forms,

When lull'd by zephyrs, or when roused by storms ('),
Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun
Shades after shades upon the surface run;
Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene,
In limpid blue, and evanescent green;
And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie (2),
Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye.(3)
Be it the Summer-noon: a sandy space

The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
Then just the hot and stony beach above,
Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
(For heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
And with the cooler in its fall contends)-

(1) ["Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,

Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime

Dark-heaving;-boundless, endless, and sublime-
The image of Eternity- the throne

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone

Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone."

BYRON.]

(2) of the effect of these mists, known by the name of fog-banks, wonderful and, indeed, incredible relations are given; but their property of appearing to elevate ships at sea, and to bring them in view, is, I believe, generally acknowledged.

(3) [One of the most remarkable facts respecting aërial images, presented itself to Mr. Scoresby, in a voyage to Greenland, in 1822. Having seen an inverted image of a ship in the air, he directed to it his telescope; he was able to discover it to be his father's ship, which was at the time below the horizon. "It was," says he, "so well defined, that I could distinguish, by a telescope, every sail, the general rig of the ship, and its particular character; insomuch, that I confidently pronounced it to be my father's ship, the Fame, which it afterwards proved to be; though, on comparing notes with my father, I found that our relative position at the time gave a distance from one another of very nearly thirty miles, being about seventeen miles beyond the horizon, and some leagues beyond the limit of direct vision."- BREWSTER.]