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As, far divided from his parent deep,
The sea-born infant cries and will not sleep,
Raising his little plaint in vain, to rave
For the broad bosom of his nursing wave :
The woods droop'd darkly, as inclined to rcst,
The Tropic bird wheel'd rock-ward to his nest,
And the blue sky spread round them like a lake
Of peace, where Piety her thirst might slake.




But through the palm and plantain, hark, a voice!
Not such as would have been a lover's choice,
In such an hour, to break the air so still!
No dying night-breeze, harping o'er the hill,
Striking the strings of Nature, rock and tree,
Those best and earliest lyres of harmony,
With echo for their chorus; nor the alarm
Of the loud war-whoop to dispel the charm;
Nor the soliloquy of the hermit owl,
Exhaling all his solitary soul,

The dim though large-eyed winged anchorite,
Who peals his dreary pæan o'er the night;-
But a loud, long, and naval whistle, shrill
As ever startled through a sea-bird's bill;

And then a pause, and then a hoarse « Hillo! 430
Torquil! my boy! what cheer? Ho brother, ho!»
Who hails? cried Torquil, following with his eye
The sound. α Here's one,» was all the brief reply.

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to Mr. Landor, the author of Gebir, so qualified, and of some Latin poems, which vie with Martial or Catullus in obscenity, that the immaculate Mr. Southey addresses his declamation against impurity!


But here the herald of the self-same mouth
Came breathing o'er the aromatic south,
Not like a bed of violets » on the gale,
But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,
Borne from a short frail pipe, which yet had blown
Its gentle odours over either zone;

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And puff'd where'er winds rise or waters roll,
Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
Opposed its vapour as the lightning flash'd,
And reek'd, 'midst mountain-billows unabash'd,
To Eolus a constant sacrifice,

Through every change of all the varying skies.
And what was he who bore it ?—I may err,
But deem him sailor or philosopher *.
Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the Tar's labour or the Turkman's rest;
Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides

His hours, and rivals opium and his brides;
Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,



Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand;
Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,

When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;
Like other charmers, wooing the caress
More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;
Yet thy true lovers more admire by far

Thy naked beauties-Give me a cigar!

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Hobbes, the father of Locke's and other philosophy, was an inveterate smoker,—even to pipes beyond computation.


Through the approaching darkness of the wood 460
A human figure broke the solitude,
Fantastically, it may be, array'd,

A seaman in a savage masquerade;

Such as appears to rise out from the deep,
When o'er the Line the merry vessels sweep,
And the rough Saturnalia of the Tar
Flock o'er the deck, in Neptune's borrow'd car; *
And, pleased, the God of Ocean sees his name
Revive once more, though but in mimic game

Of his true sons,
Undreamt of in his native Cyclades.

who riot in a breeze

Still the old god delights, from out the main,
To snatch some glimpses of his ancient reign.
Our sailor's jacket, though in ragged trim,
His constant pipe, which never yet burn'd dim,
His foremast air, and somewhat rolling gait,
Like his dear vessel, spoke his former state;
But then a sort of kerchief round his head,
Not over tightly bound, nor nicely spread;
And 'stead of trowsers (ah! too early torn!
For even the mildest woods will have their thorn)



A curious sort of somewhat scanty mat

Now served for inexpressibles and hat;
His naked feet and neck, and sunburnt face,
Perchance might suit alike with either race.
His arms were all his own, our Europe's growth,

*This rough but jovial ceremony, used in crossing the Line, has been so often and so well described, that it need not be more than alluded to.

Which two worlds bless for civilizing both;

The musket swung behind his shoulders, broad
And somewhat stoop'd by his marine abode,
But brawny as the boar's; and hung beneath, 490
His cutlass droop'd, unconscious of a sheath,

Or lost or worn away; his pistols were
Link'd to his belt, a matrimonial pair-

(Let not this metaphor appear a scoff,

Though one miss'd fire; the other would go off);
These, with a bayonet, no so free from rust
As when the arm-chest held its brighter trust,
Completed his accoutrements, as Night
Survey'd him in garb heteroclite.



<< What cheer, Ben Bunting? » cried (when in full view

Our new acquaintance) Torquil; « Aught of new ? >>

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Ey, ey,» quoth Ben, «not new, but news enow;

A strange sail in the offing.»-«Sail! and how?

What! could you make her out? It cannot be;

I've seen no rag of canvas on the sea. »


Belike, » said Ben', « you might not from the bay, But from the bluff-head, where I watch'd to-day, I saw her in the doldrums; for the wind

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Where lay she? had she anchor'd ?»-«No, but still

She bore down on us, till the wind grew still.» 511


« Her flag ?»-«I had no glass; but fore and aft,

Egad, she seem'd a wicked-looking craft. »

« Arm❜d? »<«< I expect so ;-sent on the look-out;— 'Tis time, belike, to put our helm about. » About?-Whate'er may have us now in chase, We'll make no running fight, for that were base;

We will die at our quarters, like true men. »

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Ey, ey; for that, 'tis all the same to Ben. >>

<< Does Christian know this?»-« Ay; he has piped all


To quarters. They are furbishing the stands

Of arms; and we have got some guns to bear,


And scaled them. You are wanted.»-«That's but fair;
And if it were not, mine is not the soul.

To leave my comrades helpless on the shoal.
My Neuha! ah ! and must my fate pursue
Not me alone, but one so sweet and true?
But whatsoe'er betide, ah, Neuha! now
Unman me not; the hour will not allow
A tear; I am thine, whatever intervenes ! >>

«< Right, quoth Ben, « that will do for the marines.


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That will do for the Marines, but the sailors won't believe it,» is an old saying, and one of the few fragments of former jealousies, which still survive (in jest only) between these gallant services.

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