See, there—­the fated victim of mischance;
Read, in that hollow eye, and alter’d look,
The deep anxiety which gnaws the heart,
Incessant struggling ’gainst a tide of care,
Which wears his life away;—­and there, again,
The empty, lucky Fool, who never thought,
Nor ever will, yet lives and smiles, and thrives! 
Mark ye, that Ready-reckoner’s figured face? 
Cold calculation in his thoughtful step;
The heartless wretch, who never trusts his land,
And never is deceived!—­And, next him, comes
Laughing Good-nature, with ruddy cheeks,
And welcome look, determined to be pleased. 
He comes to ask—­or go with friend to dine;
His labour but to dress—­to eat, to sleep: 
He knows no suffering equal to bad wine. 
There—­the prig-Parson, with indented hat,
And formal step—­demanding your respect—­
Yonder, the lovely insect-chasing Child. 
His is, indeed, a life of envious joy;
Hope and anticipation, on the wing,
To him no sad realities e’er bring!

And now, the humble Quaker, plain and proud. 
Humility, is this, indeed, thy type? 
(I know it is not, for I know the man.)
His lovely Daughter bears an angel form
And mind, that glorifies her sex’s charms;
Meekness and charity her life employ—­
A seraph sorrowing for a suffering world! 
Lo! too, the Matron, with her household gods,
The deities she worships night and day. 
Affection has no bounds, nor language words. 
To tell a mother’s tender ceaseless charge. 
Children! can all your future lore repay
The nights of watchfulness, and days of care,
Which a fond parent gives?—­
See, last, sad sight! the hardy British Tar,
Cutlass unsheath’d, unlike the truly brave. 
Here, watching, night and day—­degenerate lot! 
To seize a fisherman, or stop a cart,
Or “fright the wandering spirits from the shore.” 
His “brief authority” has just detain’d
A boat of cockles and a quart of gin! 
The smart Lieutenant’s epaulette, methinks,
Blushes at this degrading, pimping trade.—­
For deeds like these—­let objects be employ’d,
Who never shared their country’s high renown! 
Adieu! vast Ocean, cradle of the brave,
Tablet of England’s glory, and her shield! 
To thee—­and those dear friends who lured me here,
With hospitality’s enchanting smile,
And chased away a little age of woe—­
Gratefully—­I dedicate these tuneful lays!

July, 1826.

[Footnote 1:  My friend, Captain Samuel Brown, of the Royal Navy, whose inventions and improvements of the iron chain cable, and various others connected with the naval service, deserve the gratitude of his country, independent of the admirable Chain-Pier at Brighton, a Suspension Bridge over the Tweed, Pier at Newhaven, Bridge at Heckham, the iron work for Hammersmith Suspension Bridge, and other successful undertakings.]

SONNET.