OFT did a wat'ry grave await
The sailor in Messina's strait;
Oft did the pilot seek in vain
His post of peril to retain.
A threat'ning whirlpool yawn'd around,
The madd'ning surges fierce rebound:
Plung'd in its waves the bark was lost,
Its wreck thrown on the distant coast.
Those who from Europe have unfurl'd
Their sails, and sought the western world,
Tell of a navigable stream,
Which sporting in the solar beam
Twelve hundred miles, uncurb'd and free,
Till it approaches Kentucky,
Near New Madrid (no longer single)
Does with the Mississippi mingle.
King John, (as our historians say,)
In a large shallow estuary
'Twixt Lincolnshire and Norfolk found,
(When passing o'er, was nearly drown'd.
And though himself and courtly train,
At length contrive the shore to gain;
His baggage and his jewels gone,
Betray the risk themselves had run.
In the south part of Somersetshire,
Is found a river deep and clear,
Which in its progress, (as well known,)
Receives the Ordred and the Thone.
But ere long, at Bridgewater Bay,
It does itself its tribute pay,
With an accelerated motion,
To the monopolizing ocean.
In Westmoreland a stream we trace,
Which, wand'ring on with native grace,
Passes by Appleby to cheer
A lovely county bord'ring near:
And round its capital (Carlisle)
Sheds many a fertilizing smile,
Till seven miles from that city's walls,
Into the Solway Frith it falls.
Behold a beauteous lake appear,
To the north-west of Wigtonshire;
Into it, through a narrow pass,
The sea imports a living mass
Of fish called herrings, which are found
Within its precincts to abound;
Although of late it is asserted,
It has been partially deserted.
Now designate each varied spring,
The muse has ventured here to sing;
A poet's honoured name they'll give,
Which will to distant ages live:
The music of his well-tun'd lyre,
(Which truth and piety inspire,)
Pleases and soothes the virtuous mind,
And but exalts the most refined.
The sailor in Messina's strait;
Oft did the pilot seek in vain
His post of peril to retain.
A threat'ning whirlpool yawn'd around,
The madd'ning surges fierce rebound:
Plung'd in its waves the bark was lost,
Its wreck thrown on the distant coast.
Those who from Europe have unfurl'd
Their sails, and sought the western world,
Tell of a navigable stream,
Which sporting in the solar beam
Twelve hundred miles, uncurb'd and free,
Till it approaches Kentucky,
Near New Madrid (no longer single)
Does with the Mississippi mingle.
King John, (as our historians say,)
In a large shallow estuary
'Twixt Lincolnshire and Norfolk found,
(When passing o'er, was nearly drown'd.
And though himself and courtly train,
At length contrive the shore to gain;
His baggage and his jewels gone,
Betray the risk themselves had run.
In the south part of Somersetshire,
Is found a river deep and clear,
Which in its progress, (as well known,)
Receives the Ordred and the Thone.
But ere long, at Bridgewater Bay,
It does itself its tribute pay,
With an accelerated motion,
To the monopolizing ocean.
In Westmoreland a stream we trace,
Which, wand'ring on with native grace,
Passes by Appleby to cheer
A lovely county bord'ring near:
And round its capital (Carlisle)
Sheds many a fertilizing smile,
Till seven miles from that city's walls,
Into the Solway Frith it falls.
Behold a beauteous lake appear,
To the north-west of Wigtonshire;
Into it, through a narrow pass,
The sea imports a living mass
Of fish called herrings, which are found
Within its precincts to abound;
Although of late it is asserted,
It has been partially deserted.
Now designate each varied spring,
The muse has ventured here to sing;
A poet's honoured name they'll give,
Which will to distant ages live:
The music of his well-tun'd lyre,
(Which truth and piety inspire,)
Pleases and soothes the virtuous mind,
And but exalts the most refined.
