The man in righteousness arrayed, <br />A pure and blameless liver, <br />Needs not the keen Toledo blade, <br />Nor venom-freighted quiver. <br />What though he wind his toilsome way <br />O’er regions wild and weary— <br />Through Zara’s burning desert stray, <br />Or Asia’s jungles dreary: <br /> <br />What though he plough the billowy deep <br />By lunar light, or solar, <br />Meet the resistless Simoon’s sweep, <br />Or iceberg circumpolar! <br />In bog or quagmire deep and dank <br />His foot shall never settle; <br />He mounts the summit of Mont Blanc, <br />Or Popocatapetl. <br /> <br />On Chimborazo’s breathless height <br />He treads o’er burning lava; <br />Or snuffs the Bohan Upas blight, <br />The deathful plant of Java. <br />Through every peril he shall pass, <br />By Virtue’s shield protected; <br />And still by Truth’s unerring glass <br />His path shall be directed. <br /> <br />Else wherefore was it, Thursday last, <br />While strolling down the valley, <br />Defenceless, musing as I passed <br />A canzonet to Sally, <br />A wolf, with mouth-protruding snout, <br />Forth from the thicket bounded— <br />I clapped my hands and raised a shout— <br />He heard—and fled—confounded. <br /> <br />Tangier nor Tunis never bred <br />An animal more crabbed; <br />Nor Fez, dry-nurse of lions, fed <br />A monster half so rabid; <br />Nor Ararat so fierce a beast <br />Has seen since days of Noah; <br />Nor stronger, eager for a feast, <br />The fell constrictor boa. <br /> <br />Oh! place me where the solar beam <br />Has scorched all verdure vernal; <br />Or on the polar verge extreme, <br />Blocked up with ice eternal— <br />Still shall my voice’s tender lays <br />Of love remain unbroken; <br />And still my charming Sally praise, <br />Sweet smiling and sweet spoken.<br /><br />John Quincy Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-sally-2/
