A yankey outward bound! do but behold.

How the new world supplies with freight the old.
Britannia wasted, and a pauper grown,

4080

To young Columbia makes her bitter moan,
Pleads she's her aged mother, and deniands
Food from her harvests,* succour from her hands.
Old father Thames exalts his hoary head,
With look of wonder, from his oozy bed,

4085

And, as our cargoes make his billows groan,
Scarce knows the hulls that bear them from his own.
Helmsman! the canvass flutters-look well out-
Learn to steer small-don't yaw the ship about.
How head you now?-She lies, Sir, east south east-
She's not her course by two points, then, at least,†
The flood has made-yon schooner in the bay
Is on the swing-our sweet breeze dies away.
Another sail! lo! Caustic heaves in sight,
Emerging from his vault to realms of light,
See where he comes, with telescope in hand,
To feast upon the joy diffusing land.

4095

* At one time, when America was the carrier of the world, there was a constant exportation of her flour to England, averaging half a million of barrels annually; and in the years 1801, 1802, and 1811, exceeding respectively a million.

A ship's course by compass (allowing for the variation of the magnetic needle) from the Land's End to the Lizard point is south east a quarter south.

His costume he has studied-for his side
His dainty dirk adorns in glittering pride-
Unconscious he the wearer gives the sword
Its efficacy when in act to board.

His fore and aft hat, bound with tarnish'd lace,
Imparts grotesqueness to his boding face,

As, at each footstep, his prophetic soul

4100

Bids him beware, and mind the frigate's roll. 4105
A landsman yet! for though the sea is rough,

He looks to windward as he takes his snuff,
And, such his incapacity to learn,

He does not know the ship's head from the stern.

If I remember right, 'tis full a week

Since he was seen the upper deck to seek,

And leave the fetid cockpit to inhale

4110

The wholesome breeze, and view the swelling sail :

As a memorial that he comes at last,

Let a deep notch be cut in every mast.

4115

The tars affirm with oaths his evil cards

Raise gales of wind, and send them on the yards,
Declare his gambling brought around the ship
The Mother Carey's chickens+ seen the trip-

* It is a superstition among seamen that cards played at sea produce heavy gales..

The small sea-bird the petrel, the precursor of bad weather, is called by seamen Mother Carey's chicken; and supernatural powers are ascribed the witch Mother Carey, who is supposed to send it.

That adverse to our canvass turns the vane,

4120

All by the doctor's tricks—the helmsman's bane. He keeps no watch, and crown'd with endless ease, Can in his cot convert to halcyon seas

A Biscay swell :-he has no cares

To break his rest, and interrupt his pray'rs.
What ho, there, leech! the clover-scented air
Calls you on deck*—

Was ever sight so fair!

The crag, the cliff, the promontory steep,

4125

Trees, groves-all Eden springing from the deep.

These, leech, are shadows of a shaping brain,
Engender'd by a ship and irksome main.

See yon fair mansion where the poplars wave
Their boughs, whose roots the billows strive to lave :
See how the swallows round the turrets fly,
It is a spot where one might live and die.

4135

Unus'd, your eye, leech, loves again to rove
O'er pasture pure, rich vale, and nodding grove ;
And conquer'd reason to the fancy yields

Peace in the cot, elysium in the fields.

4140

* The civilians of a ship (the doctor, purser, &c.) seldom come on deck without encountering a sort of amicable and pleasant hostility from the captain, or the lieutenant.

What made them build their dwelling on the shore? But, soft, I see the mistress at the door,

Sitting beneath the trellis overgrown

With vines-and at her side an antique crone,
Who in the ocean's view has fix'd her seat,

With puss and pompey basking at her feet.

4145

Think you they heed the land from whence we came ?

The tender maid-but not the ancient dame.
She, good old lady, pants from year to year
To grace a pew, and chronicle small beer,
And would not, captain, in her life's decay,
On Philadelphia throw a thought away.

You ply your telescope-what see you now?

A telegraph on yonder mountain's brow,

4150

From whose declivity, whose weeping side, 4155
A stream with devious crystal loves to glide.
Here pastures, hills and dales the prospect crown,
A castle here shoots up, and there a town.
Here sits an angler o'er a silver stream—
There roves a ploughman with his toiling team--
Here lies a goatherd on a craggy rock-
There in the shade a shepherd feeds his flock.
Captain, yon coast, where now I point my hand,
Resembles much our Pennsylvanian land—

It looks romantic-with a little scrip

Fill'd with choice drugs, and science on my lip,
Methinks 'twere pleasant o'er the hills to roam,
A travelling leech, and knock at every dome.

4165

A thriftless trade! more money thou wouldst tell,
A merry Andrew, with thy cap and bell,
More sure thy entrance to the lordly hall,
A vagrant juggler with thy cup and ball.

4170

See you yon villa! how the turrets rise,
In gothic grandeur pointing to the skies?
Amaz'd the eye its amplitude explores-
A crowd might enter at its folding doors!

4175

4180

To me far dearer, leech, a sung-thatch'd home
Than the vast lumber of that gothic dome,
Within whose walls one does not rest, but roam.
How would Democritus the pile deride
Which folly thus has sacrific'd to pride-
And yet, no doubt, its painted glass-its gules,
Have England fill'd with imitating fools.
Would Washington have made his villa's gate
An entrance to the pageantry of state?

4185

You muse, good leech, some tender thought employs Your memory, and overcasts your joys.