« VorigeDoorgaan »
Parties are much like fish, 't is said,
E'er shed such guiding glories from it,
Blazed from our old Colonial comet! If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were,
(As Wellington will be anon)
But no, alas! thou hadst but one,
A tale of other times-is gone!
Fate las not yet of all bereft us;
We've Ellenborouglis curls still left us;-
And oft in thundering talk comes pear him;Except that, there the speaker nodded,
And, here, 't is only those who hear him. Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil
Of that fai cranium may ye tlourish, With plenty of Macassar oil,
Through many a year your growth to nourish! And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath
His barbarous shears such locks to sever,
A hair-loom to our sons for ever.
Here, sly Arians flock unnumber'd,
And Socinians, slim and spare, Who, with small belief encumber'd,
Slip in easy any where :Methodists, of birds the aptest,
Where there's pecking going on; And that water-fowl, the Baptist, --
All would share our fruits anon : Ev'ry bird, of ev'ry city,
That, for years, with ceaseless din, Hath reversed the starling's dilly,
Singing out « I can't get in.» «God forbid!» old Testy snivels;
« God forbid !») echo too; Rather may ten thousand devils
Seize the whole voracious crew! If less costly fruit won't suit 'em,
Hips and haws and such like berries, Curse the corm'rants ! stone 'em, shoot 'em,
Any thing-to save our cherries.
STANZAS WRITTEN IN ANTICIPATION OF
DEFEAT." Go, seek for some abler defenders of wrong, If we must run the gauntlet through blood and es
pense; Or, Goths as ye are, in your multitude strong,
Be content with success, and pretend not to sense. If the words of the wise and the gen'rous are vain,
If Truth by the bow-string must yield up ber breath, Let Mutes do the office,-and spare ber the pain
Of an loglis or Tiodal to talk her to death. Chain, persecute, plunder, -do all that you will,
But save us, at least, the old womanly lore Of a Gloucester, who, dully prophetic of ill,
Is, at once, the two instruments, AUGUR 3 and BOLE. Bring legions of Squires— if they 'll only be m
And array their thick heads against reason and right, Like the Roman of old, of historic repule, 3
Who with droves of dumb animals carried tbe fight Pour out, from each corner and hole of the Court,
Your Bedchamber lordlings, your salaried slaves, Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter what sort,
Have their consciences tack'd to their patents and
See those cherries, how they cover
Yonder sunny garden-wall ;Had they not that net-work over,
Thieving birds would eat them all. So, to guard our posts and pensions,
Ancient sages wove a net, Through whose holes, of small dimensions,
Only certain knaves can get. Shall we then this net-work widen?
Shall we stretch these sacred holes, Through which, ev'n already, slide in
Lots of small dissenting souls ? « God forbid!» oid Testy crieth;
«God forbid!» so echo l; Every ravenous bird that flieth
Then would at our cherries fly. Ope but half an inch or so,
And, behold, what bevies break in ;Here, some curst old Popish crow
Pops his long and lickerish beak in:
Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal sings,
Are the Treasury's creatures, wherever they swim,i With all the base, time-serving toadies of Kings, Who, if Punch were the monarch, would worship
ev'n him : And while, on the one side, cach name of renown,
That illumines and blesses our age is combined; While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the Cannings look down,
And drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of Mind; Let bold Paddy Holmes show his troops on the other,
And, counting of noses the quantum desired,
During the discussion of the Catholic Quostion in the House of Commons last session.
: This is more for the ear than the eye, as tbe carpenter's tool is spelt auger.
· Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against the enemy. • Res Fisci est, ubicumque natat.--Juvenal.
1. Shakes bis ambrosial curls, and gives the nod..
POPP's Homer. • Written during the late discussion on the Test and Corporation Acts.
For, lo, what a service we Irish have done thee:
Thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more; By St Patrick, we've scrawld such a lesson upon thee
As never was scrawld upon foolscap before. Come, --on with your spectacles, noble Lord Duke, (Or O'Connell has green ones he haply would lend
you,) Read Vesey all o'er-as you can't read a bookAnd improve by the lesson we bog-trotters send
you; A lesson, in large Roman characters traced,
Whose awful impressions from you and your kin Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be effaced,
Unless, 'stead of paper, you 're sheer asses' skin. Shall I help you to construe it? ay, by the Gods,
Could I risk a translation, you should have a rare
ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS.
BY ONE OF TAE BOARD.
Let other bards to groves repair,
Where linnets strain their tuneful throats, Mine be the Woods and Forests, where
The Treasury pours ils sweeter notes. No whispering winds have charms for me,
Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask;:
Be all our sylvan zephyr's task!
And all such vulgar irrigation,
Divert its « course of liquid-ation.»
What Woods and Forests ought to be, When, sly, he introduced in Hell
His quinea-plant, his bullion-lrec.' Nor see I why, some future day,
When short of cash, we should not send Our Herries down-he knows the
way To see if Woods in hell will lend, Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts, Beneath whose « brunches of
expense » Our gracious King gets all he wants,
Except a little taste and sense. Long, in your golden shade reclined,
Like him of fair Armida's bowers, May Wellington some wood-nymph find,
To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours : To rest from toil the Great Untaught,
And soothe the panys his warlike brain Must suffer, when, unused to thought,
It tries to think, and-tries in vain. Oh long may Woods and Forests be
Preserved, in all their teeming graces, To shelter Tory Bards, like me,
Who take deliglie in Sylvan places ! ?
On tidings of freedom! oh accents of hope!
Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue sca, And refresh with their sounds every son of the Pope,
From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee. If mutely the slave will endure and obey,
Nor clanking his fetters, nor breathing his pains, His masters, perhaps, at some far distant day,
May think (tender tyrants !) of loosening bis chains.» Wise «if» and « perhaps!»-precious salve for our
wounds, If he, who would rule thus o'er mapacled mutes, Could check the free spring-lide of Mind, that re
sounds, Even now, at his feet, like the sea at Canute's.But, no, 't is in vain-the grand impulse is given, Man knows his high Charter, and knowing will
STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF THE
Take back the virgin page..
Moure's Irish Melodies.
No longer, dear Vesey, feel hurt and uneasy
At hearing it said by thy Treasury brother, That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my Vesey, And he, the dear innocent placeman, another. I Called by Virgil, botanically, a species auri frondentis.. - Tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem loca
clair; And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven, Be theirs, who have forged them, the guilt and the
I Written after bearing a celebrated speech in the House of Lords, June 10, 828.
Ev'n now I feel the coming light,
Ev'n now, could Folly lure
Emancipation is sure.
Old Rome was sa ved from ill;
on, etc. Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to style,
Nor beat for sense about,-
You 're better far without.
Such miracles were done;
And Freedom's cause is won!
If the slave will be silent!»—vain Soldier, beware
There is a dead silence the wrong'd may assume, When the feeling, sent back from the lips in despair,
But clings round the heart with a deadlier gloom;When the blush, that long buro'd on the suppliani's
cheek, Gives place to th' avenger's pale, resolute bue; And the tongue, that once threaten'd, disdaining to
speaki, Consigns to the arm the high office-to do. If men, in that silence, should think of the hour,
When proudly their fathers in panoply stood, Presenting, alike, a bold front-work of power
To the despot on land and the foe ou the flood;-That hour, when a Voice had come forth from the west,
To the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant alarms; And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught the opprest,
That kings are as dust before freemen in arms! If, awfuller still, the mute slave should recall That dream of his boyhood, when Freedom's sweet
day At length seem'd to break through a long night of
thrall, And Union and Hope went abroad in its ray ;If Fancy should tell him, that Day-spring of Good,
Though swiftly its light died away from his chain,
Now wants but invoking to shine out again;-
The chords of remembrance, and thrill as they come, Then, perhaps,-ay, perhaps—but I dare not say
more ; Thou hast will'd that thy slaves should be mute-I
WRITE ON, WRITE ON.
Ara-Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear.
A RECENT DIALOGUE.
Both heroes in their way,
Unto each other say :- Dear Bishop !» quoth the brave Hussar,
« As nobody denies That you a wise logician are,
And I am-otherwise;
Stick each to his own art-
And mine the fighting part.
Like that of Wellington,
Save Her of Babylon;'
If laughing reasoners flout us,
The sole things sharp about us.»
«'T is true for war thou art meant; And reasoning (bless that dandy head!)
Is not in thy department. « So leave the argument to me
And, when my holy labour Hath lit the fires of bigotry,
Thou 'lt poke them with thy sabre. « From pulpit and from sentry-box
We'll make our joint attacks, 1, at the head of my cassocks,
And you, of your cossacks. * So here 's your health, my brave Hussar!
My exquisite old fighter-
The musket and the mitre.»
While YORK, just entering then,
His nose the cue) « Amen!»
Salvete, fratres Asini.--St Francis.
WRITE on, write on, ye Barons dear,
Ye Dukes, write hard and fast;
Your quills will bring at last.
To match Lord Kenyon's two,
Write on, write on, etc. Sure, never, since the precious use
Of pen and ink began,
Such signal good to mao.
Is marching on, they say,
Write on, write on, etc.
Look on it now! deserted, bleachd, and grim,
Is this, thou feverish man, thy festal bowl ?
Each brighter chalice to thy lip denies?
The worm that will not sleep, and never dies ? Woe to the lip to which this cup is held !
The lip that's palld with every purer draught ; For which alone the rifled grave can yield
A goblet worthy to be deeply quaffid.
Restore the relic to its tomb again,
The blessed bowl that never flow'd in vain!
THE DAY-DREAM.' Taey both were hush'd, the voice, the chords ;
I heard but once that witching lay; And few the notes, and few the words,
My spell-bound memory brought away; Traces, remember'd here and there,
Like echoes of some broken strain;Links of a sweetness lost in air,
That nothing now could join again. Ev'n these, too, ere the morning, fled;
And, though the charm still lingerid on
The song itself was faded, gone ;-
On summer days, ere youth had set; Thoughts bright, we know, as cummer flowers,
Though what they were, we now forget. In vain, with hints from other strains,
I wood this truant air to come,-As birds are taught, on eastern plains,
To lure their wilder kindred home. In vain :-the song that Sappho gave,
In dying, to the mournful sea, Not muter slept beneath the wave
Than this within my memory. At length, one morning, as I lay
In that half-waking mood, when dreams Unwillingly at last give way
To the full truth of day-light's beams, A face,– the very face, methought,
From which had breathed, as from a shrine Of song
and soul, the notes I sought,Came with its music close to mine;
the long-lost measure o'er,Each note and word, with every tone And look, that lent it life before,
All perfect, all again my own.
They meet again, each widow'd sound
Of its sweet mate, till all were found. Nor ev'n in waking, did the clue,
Thus strangely caught, escape again;
So well as now I knew this strain.
Is talk'd of in our tranquil bower,
The vision of that morning hour.
ALARMING INTELLIGENCE-REVOLUTION IN
THE DICTIONARY-ONE GALT AT THE HEAD
OF IT. Gop
preserve us! there's nothing now safe from assault, Thrones toppling around, churches brought to the
hammer; And accounts have just reach'd us that one Mr Galt
Has declared open war against English and grammar! He had long been suspected of some such design
And, the better his wicked intents to arrive at, Had lately 'mong C-Ib-rn's troops of the line
(The penny-a-line men) enlisted as private. There school'd, with a rabble of words at command,
Scotch, English, and slang, in promiscuous alliance, lle at length against Syntax bas taken bis siand,
And sets all the nine parts of speech at defiance. Next advices, no doubt, further facts will afford ;
In the mean time the danger most imminent grows, Ile has taken the Life of one eminent Lord, And who he 'll next murder the Lord only knows!
Wednesday Evening. Since our last, matters, luckily, look more serene
Though the rebel, 'l is stated, to aid his defection, Has seized a great Powder-no-Puff Magazine,
And th’ explosions are dreadful in every direction. What his meaning exactly is, nobody knows,
As he talks (in a strain of intense botheration) Of lyrical « ichor,»' « gelatinous » prose, a
And a mixture called « amber immortalization,»3 Now he raves of a bard, he once happen'd to meet, Seated high « among rattlings » and « churming » a
sonnet, 4 Now talks of a Mystery, wrapp'd in a sheet,
With a halo (by way of a night-cap) upon it! We shudder in tracing these terrible linesSomething bad they must mean, though we can't
make it out; For whate'er may be guess'd of Gali's secret designs,
That they're all anti-English no Cliristian can doubt. 1. That dark diseased ichor, wbich coloured his effusions, Galt's Life of Byron.
*. That gelatinous character of their effusions..-H.
1. The poetical embalminent, or rather amber immortalization." -H.
•. Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, churming an inarticulate melody.» --Id.
s. He was a mystery in a winding-sheet, crowned with a halo. -Id.
TO LORD BYRON,
ON READING HIS STANZAS ON THE SILVER FOOT OF A SKULL
MOUNTED AS A CUP FOR WINE.
Why hast thou bound around, with silver rim,
This once gay peopled palace of the soul ?
In these stanzas I bave done little more than relate a fact in verse ; and the lady, whos: singing gave rise to this curious instance of the power of memory in sloup, is Mrs Robert Arkwright.
( The following are very generally attributed to Mr Moore, and though not acknowledged by that geotleman, their wit, grace, and
spirit, sufficiently attest the truth of the report, and sanction their insertion in a completo collection of bis Poetical Works.)
A VOICE FROM MARATHON.
O for a voice, as loud as that of Fame,
To breathe the word-Arise!
Let every Greek arise!
Hear my despairing cries!
Arise! arise! arise!
Upborne by cloudy sighs
Ev'n l-ev'n 1-arise!
Blood should not blind these eyes! -
Weeping-arise! arise! Hear ye the
that heave this burial-field !-Old Græcia's saviour-band Cry from the dust—« Fight on! nor DARE to yield!
Save ye our father-land! « Blunt with your bosom the barbaric spear!
Break it within your breast;
In our immortal rest!»
Cover the land with slaves ?-
Cover it with their graves !
Ye have fought long and well!
Seem'd with a storm to swell!
Ile leap d upon his throne!
« Another Marathon !)
The feverish war-drum mingles with the fife
In dismal symphony,
For both, strike harder ye!
Calls to the utmost shores!
His adamantine doors!
Cries— « Youth, ye must be men!»
« Greeks, become Greeks again!» The stone first brought, bis living tomb to close,
Pausanias' mother piled :
Than she did for her child ?
Do each what each can do!
Strike deep-strike home-strike through! Be wise, be firm, be cautious, yet be bold !
Be brother-true! be ONE!
Divide, and be undone!
Who for his country dies ; A light, a star, to all futurityArise
ye, then ! arise!
By earth-and seas--and skies-
Arise ! arise! arise!
THE GHOST OF MILTIADES.
Ah quoties dubius scriptis exarsit amator!-Ovid.
Dodona, 'mid her fanes and forests hoar,
Heard it with colemn glee:
Told it from sea to sea!.
Broke forth in glorious song!
Thunder'd the notes along!
Now rise, or ever fall!
Better not fight at all!
The ghost of Miltiades came at night,