PATERSON'S ATTEMPT ON THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

I.

In that same year that Navarinian Ned

Sent Turks to Mahomet by hundreds home,
I saw in vision, slumbering on my bed,
High on a cliff, a fair and goodly dome;
Steep was the way that to its portals led,

Up which the sons of men would sweat and foam "Twas called the Temple-dwelling-place of Fame, Where with a favoured few reposed the lofty Dame.

II.

Methought some guardian spirit of the place
Bore me aloft upon his sounding wings,
And set me in the court-yard's ample space,
Far o'er this scene of sublunary things;
And O! how many of the human race,

Goaded by wild ambition's serpent stings, Strained up the ascent, with danger, toil, and pain! Were still repulsed, and still returned again!

;

III.

Others, although with mighty trouble, wrought Themselves at length into this splendid mansion, Were cheered by those within, who, no doubt, thought They had to it a something of pretension; For these a crown the smiling goddess brought, Of never-fading flowers of fair expansion; And every class had marked a separate entry, Kings, Heroes, Bards, and all such other gentry.

IV.

Down on a long, long, well-worn seat, that stood
Nigh to the door where went the sons of verse in,
I sat, and, with the jealous, selfish brood,
Expected soon to see some little farcing.
I heard 'twas long before the goddess would
Ope unto any-kept them there rehearsing;

And, out of pity, during the probation,

Had found that form for their accommodation.

V.

Scarce had I occupied my seat an hour,
When a loud sound of laughter and of mirth
Burst from within; while, like a thunder shower,
All to the windows sudden rushing forth,

Coughed, sneered, huzzaed, and hooted all their power;

And what to such strange merriment gave birth Was, that a surgeon-bard, despite the porter,

Had passed the gate-his Pegasus a mortar.

VI.

Whose strong right hand a ponderous pestle bore,. With which his steed he laboured till it rang, And undismayed, amid the vast uproar,

In strains like those of bedlamite, still sang, His face had something I've ne'er seen before, Except in folks that are, as some say, wrang;

66

As for his nose, 'twas like a ripe wall-cherry
Pecked by a blackbird-or a big strawberry.

VII.

His satellites this luminary had:

And this I learned, was their determination, That though they murdered Truth and put Fame mad,

They'd take possession of her habitation,

A sketch of them would make a sexton sad-
The real cast-off sons of dissipation;

Mere tippling, shirtless, coinless, would-be fops,
That daily scandal deal in ill-frequented shops.

VIII.

One on the front, whose name was Puny Paul, Held a high place 'mong that enlightened crew: Purveyor of medicines he was withal,

And poet-laureate to a well-known stew : Along his cheek was marked the midnight brawl, In traits conspicuous to the slightest view; Aye, his whole look and visage were as evil As he had been vicegerent of the Devil!

IX.

In bare but well-brushed trowsers, coat and hat,
With shirt scarce reaching to his collar-bone,
Followed the next, who, by the name of Bat,
Among the sad fraternity was known ;

He whirled a cane-had seals, no watch thereat— His boots with Warren's blacking brightly shone, Though, by their hollow, loud, and empty knockings, They told at once his feet were void of stockings!

X.

In widow's weeds of tasteless disarray, Next in procession 'came a stately dame; Though tricky Time had marred her locks with grey, Proud was her air, and quick her eye of flame, And much there told she'd rather do than say; Her sons were numerous, nor unknown to Fame; As for her daughters, I some few have seen, To whom Diana might a handmaid been.

XI.

Old Killie she was called, who ne'er had yet
A son who, with success, had swept the lyre;
And this was one adopted, in a fit

Of fondness did she with the rest conspire
To hoodwink Fame, but now 'twas plainly writ
On all she did she rather would retire;
There was a sad, sad something in her mien
I liked not, yet have in a bridegroom seen.

K

XII.

Last came a lout of most unmeaning face,
Works of the bard he carried in his hand,
And which he hinted, with a queer grimace,

He was to circulate throughout the land.
Yet, from the whole, I easily could trace,

Self did supreme in's estimation stand; And where he lacked address and penetration, Had got a substitute called-affectation.

XIII.

With these, and more 'twere dangerous to describe, Our daring hero safely passed the portal, Trumpet procured from herald, by a bribe,

And ranked his name among the bards immortal.

Then what a riot rose among the tribe!

Eager they seemed, and keen at the retort all;

Bawled Burns, above the rest,

"Do ye

no ken,

"The proverb says, 'Self-praise comes stinkin' ben?" "

XIV.

Still all unconscious of their wrath and din,

He only listened to the other band Echo his tale; then with important grin

Looked round, esteem and notice to command.

The real attitude he then was in,

If fitly drawn, would be a treat most grand;

I've never yet beheld such selfish stare,
Such bold, presumptuous, unbecoming air.