60 He shall again be seen when evening comes, And social parties crowd their favourite rooms; Where on the table pipes and papers lie, The steaming bowl or foaming tankard by. 'Tis then, with all these comforts spread around, They hear the painful dredger's welcome sound; And few themselves the savoury boon deny, The food that feeds, the living luxury. Yon is our quay! those smaller hoys from town. Its various wares, for country-use, bring down; 70 Those laden waggons, in return, impart The country-produce to the city mart; Hark to the clamour in that miry road, Bounded and narrow'd by yon vessels' load; The lumbering wealth she empties round the place, Package, and parcel, hogshead, chest, and case; While the loud seaman and the angry hind, Mingling in business, bellow to the wind. Near these a crew amphibious, in the docks, Rear, for the sea, those castles on the stocks: 80 See the long keel, which soon the waves must hide; See the strong ribs which form the roomy side; Bolts yielding slowly to the sturdiest stroke, And planks[37] which curve and crackle in the smoke. Around the whole rise cloudy wreaths, and far Bear the warm pungence of o'er-boiling tar. Dabbling on shore half-naked sea-boys crowd, Swim round a ship, or swing upon the shroud; Or, in a boat purloin'd, with paddles play, And grow familiar with the watery way. 90 Young though they be, they feel whose sons they are; They know what British seamen do and dare; Proud of that fame, they raise and they enjoy The rustic wonder of the village-boy. Before you bid these busy scenes adieu, Behold the wealth that lies in public view, Those far-extended heaps of coal and coke, Where fresh-fill'd lime-kilns breathe their stifling smoke. This shall pass off, and you behold, instead, The night-fire gleaming on its chalky bed; 100 When from the light-house brighter beams will rise, To show the shipman where the shallow lies. Thy walks are ever pleasant; every scene Is rich in beauty, lively, or serene: Rich--is that varied view with woods around, Seen from the seat, within the shrubb'ry bound; Where shines the distant lake, and where appear From ruins bolting, unmolested deer; Lively--the village-green, the inn, the place Where the good widow schools her infant race; 110 Shops, whence are heard the hammer and the saw, And village-pleasures unreproved by law. Then, how serene--when in your favourite room, Gales from your jasmines soothe the evening gloom; When from your upland paddock you look down, And just perceive the smoke which hides the town; When weary peasants at the close of day Walk to their cots, and part upon the way; When cattle slowly cross the shallow brook,