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XXII. THU MODERN PUFFING SYSTEM.
FROM AN EPISTLE TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
In old times, when the god of song
Booked for posterity “all through," -
how different is the story
Her blue-and-yellow pestilence An allusion to the Edinburgh Review, the Edinburgh edition of which has bluo covers, backed with yellow,
PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE.
(That plague so awful, in my time,
XXIII. - MY LITTLE COUSINS. LAUGH on, fair cousins, for to you all life is joyous yet ; Your hearts have all things to pursue, and nothing to regret ; And every flower to you is fair, and every month is May; You've not been introduced to Care, -- laugh on, laugh on, to-day! Old Time will fling his clouds ere long upon those sunny eyes; The voice, whose every word is song, will set itself to sighs; Your quiet slumbers, -hopes and fears will chase their rest away; To-morrow you'll be shedding tears, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day! 0, yes; if any truth is found in the dull schoolman's theme, If Friendship is an empty sound, and Love an idle dream, If Mirth, youth's playmate, feels fatigue too soon on life's long way, At least he'll run with you a league, - laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! Perhaps your eyes may grow more bright as childhood's hues depart; You may be lovelier to the sight, and dearer to the heart; You may be sinless still, and see this earth still
gay; But what you are you will not be, -- laugh on, laugh on, to-day! O'er me have many winters crept, with less of grief than joy; But I have learned, and toiled, and wept, - I am no more a boy! I've never had the gout, 't is true; my hair is hardly gray ; But now I can not laugh like you, -- laugh on, laugh on, to-day! I used to have as glad a face, as shadowless a brow; I once could run as blithe a race as you are running now; But never mind how I behave, — don't interrupt your play, And, though I look so very grave, laugh on, laugh on, to-day!
XXIV. - PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE.
* Murray, the publishor of the London Quarterly Review.
“ You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
with us, why, you 'll have a share ;
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
And its chime rang still the sweetest.
Yet they lived, though nations altered ;
When the voice of friendship faltered !
For ten I've given warning; Up, up, and go, or else you
As it stood in the corner smiling,
The wintry hours beguiling;
As it called at daybreak boldly,
And the early air blew coldly.
For five I've given warning;
PART X. — LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES.
I. – THE DRUM. YONDER is a little drum, hanging on the wall ; Dusty wreaths and tattered flags round about it fall. A shepherd youth on Cheviot's hills watched the sheep whose skin A cunning workman wrought, and gave the little drum its din : And happy was the shepherd-boy whilst tending of his fold, Nor thought he there was in the world a spot like Cheviot's wold. And so it was for many a day; but change with time will come; And he — (alas for him the day !) -- he heard the little drum. "Follow,” said the drummer-boy, “would you live in story! For he who strikes a foeman down wins a wreath of glory.” “ Rub-a-dub! and rub-a-dub!"* the drummer beats awayThe shepherd lets his bleating flock on Cheviot wildly stray. On Egypt's arid wastes of sand the shepherd now is lying; Around him many a parching tongue for "water" faintly crying: 0, that he were on Cheviot's hills, with velvet verdure spread, Or lying 'mid the blooming heath where oft he made his bed ! Or could he drink of those sweet rills that trickle to its vales, Or breathe once more the balminess of Cheviot's mountain gales ! At length upon his wearied eyes the mists of slumber come, And he is in his home again — till wakened by the drum! “Take arms! take arms !” his leader cries; “the hated foe
man 's nigh!” Guns loudly roar, steel clanks on steel, and thousands fall to die. The shepherd's blood makes red the sand : “0! water - give
me some ! My voice might reach a friendly car—but for that little drum!” 'Mid moaning men, and dying men, the drummer kept his way, And many a one by“ glory” lured did curse the drum that day. « Rub-a-dub! and rub-a-dub !” the drummer beat aloud The shepherd died ! and, ere the morn, the hot sand was his shroud. And this is “glory”?— Yes; and still will man the tempter follow, Nor learn that glory, like its drum, is but a sound and hollow.
ANON. (altered). * Tho speakor may hore imitate the action of a drummer.
II. - BELSHAZZAR.