And though it was poorish,
It deserved not the flourish
Of that tomahawk cruel
In the saffron and cerule,
Which notch'd it and nick'd it;
In short those wits wicked
Had their sport with the lordling,
Whom they thought a soft bardling,
Too meek to retort it;
But they were not so sorted,
For his next was a stinger;
Master Frank found his finger
Had been burnt in the venture
With one, not a flincher
When his Pegasus skittish
Gave a fling at "Bards British."
If the "Hours" failed in merit,
There was talent and spirit
In this nettle stuff'd satire;
And the blows, like the platter
Of hail, fell by dozens
On our splenetic cousins
Dun-Edin's Reviewers,
Those paddlers in sewers,
Where their mud-ammunition
(Hooting, hissing, derision,)
Is mix'd up for griming
All those who won't chime in
With jacobin shoutings,
And infidel doubtings.
Then came doughty Childe Harold,
With whom the world quarrell'd,
Because this aspirant,
Though observant, enquirant,
Shrewd, keen, energetic,
Sublime, and pathetic-
Contriving to wedge in all,
In one word, original;
Yet betray'd the foot cloven,
Scepticism being inwoven
In his talk upon matters
Best left to his betters.
How plain folks roll'd their gogglers!
How the learned prov'd bogglers!
At the name of the "Giaour."
For sure ne'er to that hour
Did four-fifths of the vowels
Congregate in the bowels
Of a syllable single;
Even yet how to mingle
Their sounds in one's muzzle,
Continues a puzzle.
But the fragments are clever,-
Surpassed has he never,
In his loftiest of stretches,
Two or three of the sketches.
"The Bride of Abydos"
Next sprang up beside us;
From the first time I met her,
The Giaour pleased me better;
Although I must own it,
With reluctance upon it,
Since my preference showing,
O'er a lady so glowing,
Of a wretch with a white face,
Argues not much politeness.
With a head rough as horse hair,
Heaves in sight now "The Corsair.
His Lordship here followed
The metre that's hallowed
By the poets, whose due, d'ye see,
Is no longer sub judice.
Ne'er could fail this fine story
To find fit auditory;
It holds one quite breathless
With interest; yet, nathless,
"Twould accord with my wishes,
If stops, 'stead of dashes,
Were put to the poem,
(How to do it I'd shew 'em ;)
For, I'm sure, I was wearied,
Seeing comma and period
Smash'd, as if punctuation
Were gone out of fashion.
"An Ode," rather warty,
Came to Nap Buonaparte;
Wherein he was scolded
For not having folded
His cloak like a Roman ;
And, indebted to no man,
Kick'd the bucket with glory,
And lived over in story.
Then appear'd Senor "Lara,"
Which, at sight, one could swear a Reappearance of Conrad.
sine," as if it were shapen, All the perils escuping.
All we say of a " Monody"
The attempt though did honour add Is, it issued forth on a day.
To our author, clear sighted;
And ne'er hath he indited
With more perspicacity,
And psychologic sagacity.
To each "Hebrew Melody,"
Alas! and Ah, well-a-day!
For most are but rudish,
And a scantling are goodish;
So let Messrs. Braham
And Nathan enjoy 'em.
After this, the "Third Canto
Of Childe Harold" was sent to
Find its fate with the nation;
And it gained approbation.
"The Prisoner of Chillon"
Was sufficient to mill one;
So doleful,-so grievous,-
With nought to relieve us!
Enter "Manfred;" a serious
Sort of white witch mysterious;
"The Siege," next, "of Corinth," Of our genuine erratic
Illustrates a war in th'
Morea;- but I dare say,
From perusal or hearsay,
Most now think on the munching
Of the dogs, and their "crunching," (On what, in his jargon, Dr. Gall calls an organ,) Stripping off the scalp, rot 'em! "As ye peel figs in autumn."
With Alp to the arena Came the fair "Parisina." That he should not have written, On this subject forbidden, Still sticks in my gizzard, 'Spite of "gruff General Izzard." Who devoid of all mercy is Tow'rds King Leigh and his verses;* And because without panic, That monarch Cockannic, Rhymed lightly on incest, Z., with fury intensest, Pour'd out a full bottlet Of wrath on his noddle; But of Byron he's chary, And lauds this same "Pari
The first effort dramatic,
And so well in that province
He has never come off since.
"Tasso's sad Lamentation"
Much requires condensation;
But 'tis plaintive and striking,
And suits with my liking.
Not so the sarcastic
"Sketch on topics Domestic;"
As the matter has ended,
Least said's soonest mended.
To Venice he hied him,
And that city supplied him
With the matter capricious
For his "Beppo" facetious;
A model, so please ye,
Of a style free and easy.
The story that's in it
Might be told in a minute;
But par parenthèse chatting,
On this thing and that thing,
Keeps the shuttlecock flying,
And attention from dying.
There are some I could mention,
Think the author's intention
Was to sneer and disparage
The vow made in marriage;
But the sneer, as I take it,
Is 'gainst those folks who break it.
The lengthy "Fourth Canto
Of the Childe" makes us pant, oli!
It exceeds altogether
The three first in a tether;
But 'tis greatly applauded,
Yea, exceedingly lauded.
Now, though, without flattery,
It has powerful poetry,
Yet the world henceforth will know
Meo proprio periculo,
That, to my mind, the style of it
Is ambitiously elevate,
Too much in the fashion
Of a prize declamation;
Rather pompous and dullish,
Of falsetto, too, fullish;
As it don't wholly please me,
Of the subject I ease me.
Thunders in now on horseback
66 Mazeppa" the Cossack;
Though he was not a Hettman
In performing that feat, man,
And a wag, for his trouble,
Call'd him John Gilpin's double.
With many an ill-omen,
'Neath no publisher's nomen,"
(Proof that mischief was brewing)
Sneak'd forth, of "Don Juan"
Canto first, Canto second;
But here my Lord reckon'd,
His host unconsulted,-
Staunch admirers revolted,
And made a stern stricture
On the profligate picture;
E'en the wit could not save it
From being upbraided;
And, though read by the many,
No one champion'd Giovanni.
"The Great Doge of Venice"
Little joy stirred within us;
And the purse of Old Drury
Was not burst, I assure ye,
With the weight of the treasure,
When, in spite of displeasure,
And legal injunction,
Abjuring compunction,
This play they enlisted,
And to act it persisted
Till 'twas thoroughly hiss'd at.
The "Three Cantos" more recent "Of Don Juan" are decent Compared with the couple, Of morals more supple, Which first made us wonder. But the three are much under Their loose brethren in satire, And in interesting matter; Though they shew more decorum, We could sooner snore o'er 'em.t Last came to assail us Great" Sardanapalus," "The Two Foscari's History," And "Cain" in a "Mystery." Had they staid in his pinnace On the waters of Venice, His fame had not suffer'd, For though they discover'd Some power in the terrible, They were not all agrecable. Cain's murderous fury He had best, I assure ye, Have left where he found it, Nor essay'd to expound it; For, howe'er he conceit it,
Pray be careful to understand that nomen is set down here, and not gnomon, which would do just as well for the rhyme sake; but then it would not accord with the truth of things; for though Don Juan was not sold under any publisher's name, it was sold under the nose of many a one.-B. F.
† After all that has been said on Don Juan, what comes up to "Don Juan unread?" One of the pleasantest parodies that ever was written. —B. F.
Royal Visit to Ireland.
AUGUST XII., MDCCCXXI.*
The poet fab- As I was sitting on the Shannon side,
Lul'd by the sound of that majestic flood,
A horseman on a sudden I espied,
Galloping by as quickly as he could;
I hail'd him, but he slacken'd not his pace,
Still urging on his steed, a gallant gray,
Unt. he passed me, then he turned his face,
Back towards his horse's tall and this di my,
"I de express with news to strike you dumb,
Our monarch has amived at last-Kag George Le Fourth is
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