Lo here I sit at Holyhead With muddy ale and mouldy bread All Christian victuals stink of fish I'm where my enemies would wish Convict of lies is every sign, The inn has not one drop of wine I'm fasten'd both by wind and tide I see the ship at anchor ride The Captain swears the sea's too rough He has not passengers enough. And thus the Dean is forc'd to stay Till others come to help the pay In Dublin they'd be glad to see A packet though it brings in me. They cannot say the winds are cross Your politicians at a loss For want of matter swears and frets, Are forced to read the old gazettes. I never was in haste before To reach that slavish hateful shore Before, I always found the wind To me was most malicious kind But now, the danger of a friend On whom my fears and hopes depend Absent from whom all climes are curst With whom I'm happy in the worst With rage impatient makes me wait A passage to the land I hate. Else, rather on this bleaky shore Where loudest winds incessant roar Where neither herb nor tree will thrive, Where nature hardly seems alive, I'd go in freedom to my grave, Than rule yon isle and be a slave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DESERT FLOWERS by KEITH CASTELLAINE DOUGLAS NO LONGER COULD I DOUBT HIM TRUE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ABSENCE by JOHN ARTHUR BLAIKIE THE DEEPER FRIENDSHIP by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HILL CIRCLE by FRANCES HALLEY BROCKETT |