The Borough by George Crabbe
page 11 of 298 (03%)
page 11 of 298 (03%)
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On the wild waves, and all the danger shows;
But shows them beaming in her shining vest, Terrific splendour! gloom in glory dress'd! This for a moment, and then clouds again Hide every beam, and fear and darkness reign. But hear we not those sounds? Do lights appear? I see them not! the storm alone I hear: And lo! the sailors homeward take their way; Man must endure--let us submit and pray. Such are our Winter-views: but night comes on - Now business sleeps, and daily cares are gone; Now parties form, and some their friends assist To waste the idle hours at sober whist; The tavern's pleasure or the concert's charm Unnumber'd moments of their sting disarm: Play-bills and open doors a crowd invite, To pass off one dread portion of the night; And show and song and luxury combined, Lift off from man this burthen of mankind. Others advent'rous walk abroad and meet Returning parties pacing through the street, When various voices, in the dying day, Hum in our walks, and greet us in our way; When tavern-lights flit on from room to room, And guide the tippling sailor staggering home: There as we pass, the jingling bells betray How business rises with the closing day: Now walking silent, by the river's side, The ear perceives the rippling of the tide; Or measured cadence of the lads who tow |
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