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The business done—the dealer gone,
John left the place instanter ; Though he was fat, and hot the morn,
He set off in a canter.
He turn'd the corners one by one,
For have a ride he would not: He wisely argu’d, he could run
Where cabs and 'busses could not.
Well, hat in hand, he trudges through
Close streets, and lanes, and alleys; At last the steam appears to view, And towards the
Now safe on board, Oldstock looks out
For friends—but they had started; And swift the steamer tack'd about,
And through the flood it darted.
The Custom-house then met his
gaze, And now he views the Tower A fabric reard in by-gone days,
To curb the City's power.
And now the vessel paddles through
The floating forest's mazes: Eight hundred sail, of every hue
With home and foreign faces.
At length the Captain's voice is heard,
As from the bridge) he sees her Flying along—he gives the word
The boy cries, “Stop her! ease her!”
Now through the Pool she stately goes,
And Limehouse Reach is neared ; Where round the Isle(3) the river flows,
The horse-shoe form is cleared.
And Deptford town and Greenland docks,
Add to the eye's confusion;
Warehouses in profusion.
The Ravensbourne here runs to seek
Its sire, with fond embraces : Throws all its charms into the Creek,
And mingles all its graces.
THE boat to Greenwich runs amain,
And round the point is steered;
To British hearts endeared.
When John beheld his native place,
His heart with joy was swelling; Bright thoughts pass'd through his mind apace
All sense of gloom dispelling.
“Lo ! there's the spot that gave me birth ;
And yon's the far-fam’d hill, (4) Where lads and lasses roll in mirth,
And romp with right good-will.
“ And there's the princely pile of stone, (5)
For British veterans reared, Whose fiery ardour long has flown
By foes no longer feared !
“ Ah! generous spot ! I love thee still !
Though forc'd from thee to sever; Thy noble Park, (6) with One-tree Hill, (*)
Shall grace my memory ever.”
And long he gaz'd, and thought withal
Of childhood's days unclouded ;Meanwhile the steamer reach'd Blackwall,
East India Docks, so crowded.
And Woolwich Arsenal, I ween
Its town 'mid scenes inviting;
The Thames and Lea uniting.
Now Shooter's-hill bursts o'er the sight,
In native grandeur rising : Here Health, and Peace, and Joy alight,
The city's walks despising.
And Barking Creek is distanc'd quite;
And Dagenham likewise; O'er land and wave the sun shone bright
And great was John's surprise.