The Stuffed Owl

On The Cork Packet, 1837 

The breeze grew strong, the waves show’d crests of foam,
While sickness made our landsmen sigh for home.
This scene I won’t describe.—I hasten’d soon,
With many others, to the grand saloon.
Tourists there were, and trav’llers mercantile,
In groups, too, were the sons of Erin’s Isle;
All gay, her youthful beaux were shining forth,
Had seen the greatest city upon earth;
While from their converse (any one could guess!),
Of feasts and revelry to wild excess,
Their grov’lling minds had moved them but to see
Its gaudy side, and have what’s called a spree.
Mere sensualists! such, I regret to find,
Is the low taste in most of humankind,
That e’en Augusta’s high-wrought works of art
Can no ennobling thoughts to them impart!