THE breeze grew strong, the waves show'd crests of foam, While sickness made our landsmen sigh for home. This scene I won't describe.—I hasten'd soon, With many others, to the grand saloon. Tourists there were, and trav'llers mercantile, In groups, too, were the sons of Erin's Isle; All gay, her youthful beaux were shining forth, Had seen the greatest city upon earth; While from their converse (any one could guess), Of feasts and revelry to wild excess, Their grov'lling minds had moved them but to see Its gaudy side, and have what's called a spree. Mere sensualists! such, I regret to find, Is the low taste in most of humankind, That e'en Augusta's high-wrought works of art Can no ennobling thoughts to them impart! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST PROVING by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL HERO-WORSHIP; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE JOY OF WRITING by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA |