"Mercantile towns where dullness holds her reign And boors, too lazy to manure the plain:-- There, where two creeks divide the sickly lands, Mis-shapen pile, the gloomy college stands, With mingled _chess_ the sophs their vigils keep And _William_ nods to _Mary_--half asleep; The mopish muse no lively theme essays But toils in _law_, that best her toil repays, With modern Latin, ancient trash explains, Or deals in Logic--for the want of brains. "Attach'd to other times, I cast my view To former days, when all was fresh & new, When _Pocahunta_, in her bearskin clad, Sigh'd to be happy with her English lad: Queen of those woods, embarking on the main, (With _Tomocomo_ following in her train) First of her race, she reach'd the British shore But doom'd to perish, saw her own no more! Chang'd is the scene--where once her gardens smil'd A negro race now wander through the wild And with base gabbling, vex that injur'd shade Where Freedom flourish'd and _Powhatan_ stray'd." LOG-TOWN TAVERN[22] [By Hezekiah Salem][23] Through sandy wastes and floods of rain To this dejected place I came, Where swarthy nymphs, in tattered gowns, From pine-knots catch their evening flame: Where barren oaks, in close array, With mournful melody condole; Where no gay fabrics meet the eye, Nor painted board, nor barber's pole. Thou town of logs! so justly called, In thee who halts at evening's close, Not dreams from Jove, but hosts of fleas Shall join to sweeten his repose. A curse on this dejected place Where cold, and hot, and wet, and dry, And stagnant ponds of ample space The putrid steams of death supply. Since here I paced on weary steed Ah, blame me not, should I repine That sprightly girl, nor social bed, Nor jovial glass this night is mine. The landlord, gouged in either eye, Here drains his bottle to the dregs, Or borrows Susan's pipe, while she Prepares the bacon and the eggs. Jamaica, that inspires the soul, In these abodes no time has seen To dart its generous influence round, To kindle wit and kill the spleen. The squire of this disheartening inn Affords to none the generous bowl, Displays no Bacchus on the sign To warm the heart and cheer the soul. To cyder, drawn from tilted cask, While each a fond attention paid All grieved to see the empty flask, Its substance gone, its strength decayed. A rambling hag, in dismal notes Screeched out a song, to cheer my grief; Two lads their dull adventures told, A shepherd each--and each a thief. Dame justice here in rigour reigns-- Each has on each the griping paw: Whoe'er with them a bargain makes, Scheme as he will, it ends in law. With scraps of songs and smutty words Each lodger here adorns the walls: The wanton muse no pencil gives, A coal her mean idea scrawls.