Oh, leave the south, the languid south, Its cloudless skies, its weary calms; The land of heat, and glare, and drouth, Where aloes bloom, and spring the palms. There water is the best of alms, To cool the ever-parched mouth; Oh, with the breezes bearing balms, Fly northward from the languid south. Oh, seek the bitter northern skies, Where falls the snow, and blows the sleet; 'Mid which the stormy sea-bird cries, And circles on its pinions fleet. On rocky shores the surges beat, And icebergs crystalline arise, Life thrills our veins with tropic heat, Beneath the bitter northern skies.…
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