ODE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS VISIT TO OXFORD'1

'Now, Night descending, the proud scene is o'er,
But lives in Settle's numbers one day more.'

Pope-On the Lord Mayor's Show.

O WORTHY Mayor !-I mean to say Ex-Mayor !
Chief Luddite of the ancient town of Lud!

Incumbent of the City's easy chair!-
Conservator of Thames from mud to mud!
Great river-bank director !

And dam inspector !

Great guardian of small sprats that swim the flood!

See the published work of the Rev. Mr. Dillon, the Lord Mayor's Chaplain, who, in his zealous endeavour to stamp immortality upon the civic expedition to Oxford, has outrun every production in the annals of burlesque, even the long renowned 'Voyage from Paris to St. Cloud.' It was entitled 'The Lord Mayor's Visit to Oxford in the month of July, 1826, written by the desire of the party by the Chaplain to the Mayoralty.'

Lord of the scarlet gown and furry cap!

King of Mogg's map!

Keeper of Gates that long have gone their gait!'
Warder of London stone and London log!
Thou first and greatest of the civic great,
Magog or Gog !—

O Honorable Ven

(Forgive this little liberty between us),
Augusta's first Augustus !-Friend of men
Who wield the pen !
Dillon's Mæcenas !

Patron of learning where she ne'er did dwell,
Where literature seldom finds abettors,

Where few except the postman and his bell-
Encourage the bell-letters !—

Well hast thou done, Right Honorable Sir—
Seeing that years are such devouring ogresses,
And thou hast made some little journeying stir,—
To get a Nichols to record thy Progresses!

Wordsworth once wrote a trifle of the sort;
But for diversion,

For truth-for nature—everything in short-
I own I do prefer thy own

The stately story

Of Oxford glory

'Excursion.'

The Thames romance-yet nothing of a fiction-
Like thine own stream it flows along the page-

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And thou-to where the Thames is turned to Isis !1

I like thy setting out!

Thy coachman and thy coachmaid boxed together! 2

I like thy Jarvey's serious face-in doubt

Of 'four fine animals '-no Cobbetts either!

I like the slow state pace-the pace allowed
The best for dignity and for a crowd,

4

1 The Chaplain doubts the correctness of the Thames being turned into the Isis at Oxford: of course he is right-according to the course of the river, it must be the Isis that is turned into the Thames.

2 As soon as the female attendant of the Lady Mayoress had taken her seat, dressed with becoming neatness, at the side of the well-looking coachman, the carriage drove away.'-Visit.

The coachman's countenance was reserved and thoughtful, indicating full consciousness of the

test by which his equestrian skill would this day be tried. Visit.

The carriage drove away; not, however, with that violent and extreme rapidity which rather

And very July weather,

So hot that it let off the Hounslow powder ! 1
I like the She-Mayor's proffer of a seat
To poor Miss Magnay, fried to a white heat 2;
'Tis well it didn't chance to be Miss Crowder !
I like the steeples with their weathercocks on;
Discerned about the hour of three, P.M.;

I like thy party's entrance into Oxon,
For oxen soon to enter into them!

I like the ensuing banquet better far,
Although an act of cruelty began it;—
For why-before the dinner at the Star-

Why was the poor Town-clerk sent off to plan it?

I like your learned rambles not amiss,
Especially at Bodley's, where ye tarried

The longest-doubtless because Atkins carried
Letters (of course from Ignorance) to Bliss ! 3

The other Halls were scrambled through more hastily;
But I like this-

I like the Aldermen who stopped to drink
Of Maudlin's classic water' very tastily 4,
Although I think-what I am loth to think-
Except to Dillon, it has proved no Castaly !

I like to find thee finally afloat;
I like thy being barged and Water-Bailiff'd,
Who gave thee a lift

To thy state-galley in his own state-boat.
I like thy small sixpennyworths of largess
Thrown to the urchins at the City's charges;
I like the sun upon thy breezy fanners,
Ten splendid scarlet silken stately banners!
Thy gilded bark shines out quite transcendental!
I like dear Dillon still,

Who quotes from 'Cooper's Hill,'

And Birch, the cookly Birch, grown sentimental 5;
I like to note his civic mind expanding

And quoting Denham, in the watery dock

Of Iffley lock

Plainly no Locke upon the Understanding!

astounds than gratifies the beholders; but at that steady and majestic pace, which is always an indication of real greatness.'

On approaching Hounslow, there was seen at some distance a huge volume of dark smoke. The Chaplain thought it was only a blowing up for rain, but it turned out to be the spontaneous combustion of a powder-mill.'

2 The Lady Mayoress, observing that they (the Magnays) must be somewhat crowded in the chaise, invited Miss Magnay to take the fourth seat.'

The Rev. Dr. Bliss, of St. John's College, the Registrar of the University, to whom Mr. Alderman Atkins had letters of introduction.-Page 32.

The buttery was next visited, in which some of the party tasted the classic water.'-Page 57; Mr. Alderman Birch here called to the recollection of the party the beautiful lines of Sir John Denham on the river Thames :-"Tho' deep yet clear," &c.'-Page 90.

I like thy civic deed
At Runnymede,

Where ancient Britons came in arms to barter
Their lives for right—Ah, did not Waithman grow
Half mad to show

Where his renowned forefathers came to bleed—
And freeborn Magnay triumph at his Charter?
I like full well thy ceremonious setting
The justice-sword (no doubt it wanted whetting !)
On London stone; but I don't like the waving
Thy banner over it, for I must own

Flag over stone

Reads like a most superfluous piece of paving !

I like thy Cliefden treat; but I'm not going
To run the cívic story through and through,
But leave thy barge to Pater Noster Row-ing,
My plaudit to renew.—

Well hast thou done, Right Honorable rover,
To leave this lasting record of thy reign,
A reign, alas! that very soon is

over

And gone,' according to the Rydal strain !
'Tis piteous how a mayor

Slips through his chair.

I say it with a meaning reverential,

But let him be rich, lordly, wise, sentential,
Still he must seem a thing inconsequential-
A melancholy truth one cannot smother;
For why? 'tis very clear

He comes in at one year
To go out by the other!

This is their Lordship's universal order!—

But thou shalt teach them to preserve a name-
Make future Chaplains chroniclers of fame!
And every Lord Mayor his own Recorder !

ODE TO EDWARD GIBBON WAKEFIELD, ESQ.

Oн, Mr. Gibbon !—

I do not mean the Chronicler of Rome,

He would have told thee loftily, that no man
In modern times may play the antique Roman,
And tear a Sabine virgin from her home :—
But Mr. Gibbon,

Thou, with the surreptitious rib on,

'It was also a part of the ceremony, which, though important, is simple, that the City banner should wave over the stone.'-Page 144.

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