THE SHOWKK. 47
And brilliant ribbons ruin d. Glad at heart, Ten weary miles achiev d, the boat we saw Riding beside the pier.
But every change Is not a benefit. The heavy storm Drove to that single cabin, small and low, More than it well could hold. There was a scene Of strange discomfort ; forms that jostled hard Against they knew not who, and jutting arms Reduced from their sharp angle suddenly ; Feet, that their neighbor s rights invaded ; force, Used to no purpose, and complaints as vain ; And fear of pickpockets, and gasping breath That of impure and suffocating air Told more than speech could utter.
There we stood,
Ready to faint, while on the narrow bench That lin d the wall, sat here and there a man, Porter, or sturdy laborer, with square hands And clumsy hobnailed shoes, who gave no place To woman s weaker form. But, from a nook, Struggling, as best he might, with sparkling eye, And beard of richest auburn o er his breast Depending, came a Jewish stranger forth, And gave his seat, and press d it earnestly.
O son of Abraham ! thou hast better learn d Than these, thy brethren, of a higher faith, The lesson by their own Apostle taught, How to " be courteous." Now, my wearied limbs
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