Classic Poem

Buxom nymph! all nymphs excelling,
Say, where hast thou fixt thy dwelling?
Hast thou plac'd thy bed of rest
In Arabia the blest ,
Where spicy Zephyrs, all the year,
Breathe upon the atmosphere;
Odours borrowing, and bestowing,
With eternal freshness glowing?
Or, in Afric's auburn downs,
Where the sun the Zenith crowns,
Full of heat, and full of fire,
Do thy tumid veins perspire?
Dost thou, where the lion lies,
Ply the manly exercise,
Skill'd the winged spear to throw,
Or to bend the stubborn bow?
Or rangest thou, where bleak and foul,
The ungenial north-winds howl?
Do Lapland's hamlets charm thy sight,
Candied o'er with glist'ning white?
On solid waters dost thou slide,
Or drawn by rapid rein-deer ride!
Or dost thou flourish strong and hale,
Ermin'd in Siberia's vale?
Wafted o'er th' Atlantic waves,
To the land of gold and slaves;
To the land of fruit and flow'rs,
Constant winds, and punctual show'rs;
Where, far beyond th' Herculean bars,
Columbus found new lands, and stars;
All-coveted, all-courted fair,
Tell me, charmer! art thou there?
Is thy course propitious bent,
To Europa's continent;
Forth to Gallia's southern shores,
Dost thou bear thy balmy stores?
Or the pride of haughty Spain,
In Andalusia dost thou reign?
Or where Brundusium stood of yore,
Or where Lisbon is — no more ?
Or, hither com'st, with all thy smiles,
To fair freedom's western isles?
— Thee, nor Araby can boast,
Thee, nor Afric's tawny coast;
Thou art not of local worth,
Not in west, or south, or north,
Not in climate, or in zone,
But in TEMPERANCE ALONE.