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XIII.
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XIII.

He once had sail'd the world all round,
And could with many a tale astound,
Of the far-fam'd Antipodes,
Where people walk'd on hands and knees,
And thus like flies against the wall,
With back turn'd downwards us'd to crawl,
And sometimes through sheer want of care,
Would tumble off—the Lord knows where.
He too had been on Lapland shore,
Where witches keep such mighty store,
Of winds compress'd in knot so tight,

The Lapland witches, or rather wizards, are one of the last ragged remnants of the ancient pagan mythology, and derive their origin from high antiquity. They are probably the descendants of the priests of Æolus, who, according to Homer, made Ulysses a present, which destroyed his whole fleet, and threw him high and dry on the island of Ciree, who was no other than an arrant Lapland witch. It is difficult to account for people in this remote situation, retaining among them almost the only remnant of ancient classical superstition, now remaining in Europe. But when we consider, that many of the ingenious writers on the subject of the diffusion of mankind, and the consequent diffusion of science and learning, have pointed out the hyperborean regions, as the most probable source of both, it will not appear altogether preposterous, to suppose that Lapland, being the very centre of that genial quarter, is the identical spot. This is rendered more probable, by the universal opinion of the natives who, one and all, agree in calling this seducing territory the terrestrial paradise. If so, it is a circumstance that may humble the pride of the arrogant natives of the east, to be told that they are not only descended, but derive all their pretensions to civilization and refinement, from a little diminutive set of Semi-Trogiodytes, who live half the time by the light of fish oil instead of the sun; who sell nothing but wind; who know no other physic, but moss, mushroons, and turpentine; live on dried fish, and bread made of pine trees; and are at present in such a confirmed state of ignorance, as to serve the father-in-law a whole year, only to get his daughter for a wife!


Not one of them can take a flight,
Or blow a breath without their leave,
As all good seamen well believe.
Sir Captain bought of these a store,
And out to sea in triumph bore;

39

Where like Ulysses he would brag
He had them all tied in a bag.
When e'er becalm'd on wat'ry waste,
He made one of his knots unfast,
And swore the wind did always blow,
The very way he wish'd to go.
 

See Gibbon. Ed.