A sort of vulgar Venice Yes, yes, you are in England, Tall houses with quaint gables, And trees in formal line, And masts of spicy vessels From western Surinam, All tell me you're in England, But I'm in Rotterdam. VOL. II. Those sailors, how outlandish The face and form of each! They deal in foreign gestures, A tongue not learn'd near Isis, Or studied by the Cam, Declares that you're in England, And I'm at Rotterdam. D And now across a market My doubtful way I trace, Where stands a solemn statue, The Genius of the place; And to the great Erasmus I offer my salaam ; Who tells me you're in England, But I'm at Rotterdam. The coffee-room is open- The dominos are noisy- The flavour now of Fearon's, And I'm at Rotterdam. Then here it goes, a bumper The toast it shall be mine, March, 1835. It well deserves the brightest, Where sunbeam ever swam“The Girl I love in England" I drink at Rotterdam! I. TO THE OCEAN. Coblentz, May, 1835.) SHALL I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love, Sending my clay below, my soul above, Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see, Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee! II. LEAR. A POOR old king, with sorrow for my crown, So that unkindly speech may sound for kind,- Foolish and blind-and overcome with years! |