 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
241
NAY, ASK ME NOT FOR WIT OR RHYME.
Nay, ask me not for wit or rhyme,
While this blue-devil weather lasts,
The muses shun Columbia's clime
During the equinoctial blasts.
While this blue-devil weather lasts,
The muses shun Columbia's clime
During the equinoctial blasts.
Their native home is most serene,
Where bright and cloudless skies are certain,
A mountain's-top—as you have seen
At Chatham Garden, on the curtain.
Where bright and cloudless skies are certain,
A mountain's-top—as you have seen
At Chatham Garden, on the curtain.
They'll not exchange a scene so fair,
Their verdant walks and rural sweets,
To shiver in this misty air,
And wade along our muddy streets.
Their verdant walks and rural sweets,
To shiver in this misty air,
And wade along our muddy streets.
Then let them still enjoy their revels,
Remote from fiends of every hue,
For though they smile on some poor devils,
They never could abide the blue.
Remote from fiends of every hue,
For though they smile on some poor devils,
They never could abide the blue.
In July last, so hot and dry,
When some expired for want of brandy,
When not a cloud obscured the sky,
And fans were worn by every dandy:
When some expired for want of brandy,
242
And fans were worn by every dandy:
Then would they come, and round my taper,
En dishabille, inspire me so,
That, though my sweat bedewed the paper,
I wrote some melting lines, you know.
En dishabille, inspire me so,
That, though my sweat bedewed the paper,
I wrote some melting lines, you know.
But ask me not for wit or rhyme,
While this blue-devil weather lasts,
The muses shun Columbia's clime
During the equinoctial blasts.
While this blue-devil weather lasts,
The muses shun Columbia's clime
During the equinoctial blasts.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |