A hundred scenes, though thousand miles away,
A single thought, amidst much happiness,
May call up others which give sore distress.
At other times, reverse of this is true,
Most pleasing things are placed before our view.
But to return; the first of May appears--
A day for fond embrace and shedding tears!
Some few go with the friends to see them off,
Nor seek to hide their tears, though fools may scoff.
They take the boat; the signal's made to start;
The _"Water-Witch"_ shoots forward like a dart;
Some lingering looks, some tokens of adieu--
Sweet town, dear friends, and all, is lost to view!
Why felt not COOPER then in rhyming mood?
Why did he slight the Muse, who should be wooed?
Why did he not pour forth a parting song
Expressive of his feelings--always strong?
His loving heart was painfully oppressed,
As for some nights he had but little rest;
Most weighty cares, too, seemed his mind to fill,
Or he might then have sung with right good will.
They onward sail, and PRESTON reach at noon;
Then take the coach and travel further on.
At night they gain the port of LIVERPOOL,
All greatly chilled, because the night was cool.
Dear relatives who live there, welcome give,
And take them to the house in which they live.
Next day they visit many different docks,
Or wondering view the buildings huge, in blocks.
Then seek a proper ship without delay,