In those days there was a word trashy, now almost lost to the world. My dear Aunt Charlotte used that epithet when, in her feminine way, she swore at people she did not like.

You're out of your everloving mind!

Her path was on the briny deep; Yet no white sail propell'd her course, Nor measured oar with graceful sweep Urged her to stem the billow's force; Self-moved, with fleecy track she past, Disdaining in her pride To woo the breeze or shun the blast, Or wait the rolling tide;...

Ocra, this has a round green stem, which rises straight up to ten or twelve foot high.