the pent ocean, rising o er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile.
The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain
At Rotterdam, with reverence due;
Erasmus my attention drew;
Then Delft, where thy proud tomb, Nassau,
Claims equal reverence, equal awe!
A country which, between its carillons and its canals, might
be described by a punster as ringing wet.
GAZE upon a city,
A city new and strange;
Down many a watʼry vista
My fancy takes a range;
From side to side I saunter,
And wonder where I am,
And can you be in England,
And I at Rotterdam!
Before me lie dark waters,
In broad canals and deep,
Whereon the silver moonbeams
Sleep, restless in their sleep:
A sort of vulgar Venice
Reminds me where I am,
Yes, yes, you are in England,
And I'm at Rotterdam.
Tall houses, with quaint gables,
Where frequent windows shine,
And quays that lead to bridges,
And trees in formal line,
And masts of spicy vessels,
The face and garb of each!
They deal in foreign gestures,
And use a foreign speech;
A tongue not learned near Isis,
Or studied by the Cam,
Declares that you're in England,
But I'm at Rotterdam.
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 salam,
Who tells me you're in England,
And I'm at Rotterdam.
The coffee-room is open,
I mingle with the crowd;
The dominoes are rattling,
The hookahs raise a cloud;
A flavor, none of Fearon's,
That mingles with my dram,
Reminds me you're in England,
But I'm in Rotterdam.
Then here it goes, a bumper,
The toast it shall be mine,
In Schiedam or in Sherry,
Tokay, or Hock of Rhine; -
It well deserves the brightest
Where sunbeams ever swam,
"The girl I love in England,"
I drink at Rotterdam.
E sleeps not here; in hope and prayer His wandering flock had gone before, But he, the shepherd, might not share Their sorrows on the wintry shore.
Before the Speedwell's anchor swung,
Ere yet the Mayflower's sail was spread, While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, The pastor spake, and thus he said:
"Men, brethren, sisters, children dear!
God calls you hence from over sea; Ye may not build by Haerlem Meer, Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee.
"Ye go to bear the saving word
To tribes unnamed and shores untrod:
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