Poems on Travel Part 13

The coffee-room is open, I mingle in its crowd; The dominoes are rattling, The hookahs raise a cloud; A flavour, none of Fearon's, 45 That mingles with my dram, Reminds me you're in England, But I'm in Rotterdam,

Then here it goes, a b.u.mper,-- The toast it shall be mine. 50 In Schiedam, or in Sherry, Tokay, or Hock of Rhine,-- It well deserves the brightest Where sunbeam ever swam,-- 'The girl I love in England,' 55 I drink at Rotterdam!

T. HOOD.

THE PROGRESS OF ERROR

No plainer truth appears, Our most important are our earliest years; The mind, impressible and soft, with ease Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clue 5 That education gives her, false or true.

Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong; Man's coltish disposition asks the thong; And, without discipline, the favourite child, Like a neglected forester, runs wild. 10 But we, as if good qualities would grow Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow; We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek; Teach him to fence and figure twice a week; And, having done, we think, the best we can, 15 Praise his proficiency, and dub him man.

From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home; And thence, with all convenient speed, to Rome, With reverend tutor, clad in habit lay, To tease for cash, and quarrel with, all day; 20 With memorandum-book for every town, And every post, and where the chaise broke down; His stock, a few French phrases got by heart; With much to learn, but nothing to impart, The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 25 Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands.

Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair, With awkward gait, stretched neck, and silly stare, Discover huge cathedrals, built with stone, And steeples towering high, much like our own; 30 But show peculiar light by many a grin At popish practices observed within.

Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abbe, Remarks two loiterers that have lost their way; And, being always primed with _politesse_ 35 For men of their appearance and address, With much compa.s.sion undertakes the task To tell them--more than they have wit to ask: Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread, Such as, when legible, were never read, 40 But, being cankered now, and half worn out, Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt; Some headless hero, or some Caesar shows-- Defective only in his Roman nose; Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans, 45 Models of Herculanean pots and pans; And sells them medals, which, if neither rare Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care.

Strange the recital! from whatever cause His great improvement and new lights he draws, 50 The squire, once bashful, is shame-faced no more, But teems with powers he never felt before; Whether increased momentum, and the force With which from clime to clime he sped his course, (As axles sometimes kindle as they go) 55 Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow; Or whether clearer skies and softer air, That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran, Unfolded genially, and spread the man; 60 Returning, he proclaims, by many a grace, By shrugs, and strange contortions of his face, How much a dunce that has been sent to roam Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.

W. COWPER.

ADVICE AGAINST TRAVEL

Traverse not the globe for lore! The sternest But the surest teacher is the heart; Studying that and that alone, thou learnest Best and soonest whence and what thou _art_.

_Time_, not travel, 'tis which gives us ready 5 Speech, experience, prudence, tact, and wit.

Far more light the lamp that bideth steady Than the wandering lantern doth _emit_.

_Moor_, Chinese, Egyptian, Russian, Roman, Tread one common down-hill path of doom; 10 Everywhere the names are Man and Woman, Everywhere the old sad sins find _room_.

_Evil_ angels tempt us in all places.

What but sands or snows hath earth to give?

Dream not, friend, of deserts and oases, 15 But look inwards, and begin to _live_!

J. C. MANGAN.

HAD CAIN BEEN SCOT

Had Cain been Scot, G.o.d would have changed his doom,-- Not forced him wander, but confined him home.

J. CLEVELAND.

A SONG OF THE ROAD

The gauger walked with willing foot, And aye the gauger played the flute; And what should Master Gauger play But _Over the hills and far away_?

Whene'er I buckle on my pack 5 And foot it gaily in the track, O pleasant gauger, long since dead, I hear you fluting on ahead.

You go with me the self-same way-- The self-same air for me you play; 10 For I do think and so do you, It is the tune to travel to.

For who would gravely set his face To go to this or t'other place?

There's nothing under Heav'n so blue 15 That's fairly worth the travelling to.

On every hand the roads begin, And people walk with zeal therein; But whereso'er the highways tend, Be sure there's nothing at the end. 20

Then follow you, wherever hie The travelling mountains of the sky.

Or let the streams in civil mode Direct your choice upon a road;

For one and all, or high or low, 25 Will lead you where you wish to go; And one and all go night and day _Over the hills and far away_!

R. L. STEVENSON.