Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant

To die for England-why then live?-for rent!
The peace has made one general malcontent
Of these high-market patriots; war was rent!
Their love of country, millions all misspent,
How reconcile? by reconciling rent!
And will they not repay the treasures lent?
No; down with everything, and up with rent!
Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent,
Being, end, aim, religion-rent, rent, rent!
Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau! for a mess;
Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less;
Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy demands
Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands.
Such, landlords! was your appetite for war,
And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar!
What! would they spread their earthquake even
o'er cash?

And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash?
So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall,
And found on 'Change a Fundling Hospital!
Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes,
Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, Tithes;
The prelates go to-where the saints have gone,
And proud pluralities subside to one;
Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark,
Toss'd by the deluge in their common ark.
Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends,
Another Babel soars-but Britain ends.
And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants,
And prop the hill of these agrarian ants.
'Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;
Admire their patience through each sacrifice,
Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride,
The price of taxes and of homicide;
Admire their justice, which would fain deny
The debt of nations :-pray, who made it high?

XV.

Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks,
The new Symplegades-the crushing Stocks,
Where Midas might again his wish behold
In real paper or imagined gold.
That magic palace of Alcina shows
More wealth than Britain ever had to lose,
Were all her atoms of unleaven'd ore,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the
stake,

And the world trembles to bid brokers break.
How rich is Britain! not indeed in mines,
Or peace, or plenty, corn or oil, or wines;
No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey,
Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money:
But let us not to own the truth refuse,
Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews?
Those parted with their teeth to good King John,
And now, ye kings! they kindly draw your own;

Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less
Fresh speculations follow each success;
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.
Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march;
'Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's
arch.

Two Jews, a chosen people, can command
In every realm their scripture-promised land :-
Two Jews keep down the Romans, and uphold
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old :
Two Jews-but not Samaritans-direct
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
What is the happiness of earth to them?
A congress forms their New Jerusalem,'
Where baronies and orders both invite-
Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight?
Thy followers mingling with these royal swine,
Who spit not on their Jewish gaberdine,'
But honour them as portion of the show-
(Where now, oh Pope! is thy forsaken toe?
Could it not favour Judah with some kicks?
Or has it ceased to kick against the pricks?')
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,
To cut from nations' hearts their 'pound of flesh.'

[blocks in formation]

All states, all things, all sovereigns they control, in the minister, received a handsome compliment at Verona

And waft a loan from Indus to the pole.' The banker-broker-baron-brethren, speed To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need.

• Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author from a literary sovereign: Ah! Monsieur C., are you related to that Chateaubriand who-who-who has written something ?' (écrit quelque chose ) It is said that the author of Atala repented him for a moment of his legitimacy. + The Duke de Reichstadt, Napoleon's son.

The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen
I hat earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare
A daughter? What did France's widow there?
Her fitter place was by St Helen's wave,
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
But, no-she still must hold a petty reign,
Flank'd by her formidable chamberlain ;
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries.
What though she share no more, and shared in
vain,

A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas!
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese,
Where Parma views the traveller resort,
To note the trappings of her mimic court.
But she appears! Verona sees her shorn
Of all her beams-while nations gaze and

mourn

Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time
To chill in their inhospitable clime;
(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold ;-
But no, their embers soon will burst the mould;)
She comes!-the Andromache (but not Racine's,
Nor Homer's,)-Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans!]

Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptr: through,

Is offer'd and accepted? Could a slave
Do more? or less?-and he in his new grave!
Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife,
And the ex-empress grows as ex a wife!
So much for human ties in royal breasts!
Why spare men's feelings, when their own are
jests?
XVIII.

But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home,
And sketch the group-the picture's yet to come.
My muse 'gan weep, but ere a tear was spilt,
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt!
While throng'd the chiefs of every Highland clar
To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman!
Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar,
While all the Common Council cry Claymore!'
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt
Gird the gross surloin of a city Celt,
She burst into a laughter so extreme,
That I awoke,-and lo! it was no dream!
Here, reader, will we pause :-if there's no
harm in

This first- you'll have, perhaps, a second 'Carmen.'

THE BLUES:

A LITERARY ECLOGUE.

1822.

'Nimium ne crede colori.-VIRGIL,

O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue,

Though your hair were as red as your stockings are blue

ECLOGUE THE FIRST.

London. Before the Door of a Lecture Room. Enter Tracy, meeting Inkel.

Ink. YOU'RE too late.

Tra.

Ink.

Is it over?

Nor will be this hour.

Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my patience

With studying to study your new publications. There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co.

With their damnableInk.

Hold, my good friend, do you know

But the benches are cramm'd like a garden in Whom you speak to? flower, [the fashion; With the pride of our belles, who have made it So, instead of beaux arts,' we may say 'la belle passion

Tra. Right well, boy, and so does the Row:" You're an author-a poet

Ink.

And think you that I Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry

For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
The world, and set all the fine gentlemen read-The Muses?
ing.

Count Neipperg chamberlain and second husband to
Maria Louisa

Tra.

Excuse me: I meant no offence To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

To their favours is such but the subject to drop,

Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many.

But we two will be wise.
Ink.

Pray, then, let us retire.

Tra. I would, but——

I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop,
(Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces, Ink. There must be attraction much higher
As one finds every author in one of those places :) Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp he nicknames
Where I just had been skimming a charming To call you to this hot bed.
[his lyre,
critique,
[Greek! Tra.
I own it-'tis true-

So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with A fair lady-
Where your friend-you know who-has just

[freshing.

got such a threshing, That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely 'reWhat a beautiful word!

Ink. Very true; 'tis so soft And so cooling-they use it a little too oft; And the papers have got it at last-but no So they've cut up our friend, then? [matter. Tra. Not left him a tatterNot a rag of his present or past reputation, Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation.

Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know

Our poor friend !—but I thought it would terminate so,

[it. Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket?

Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others

(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)

All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps,
And on fire with impatience to get the next
Ink. Let us join them.
[glimpse.

Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture? Ink. Why the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre.

Ink.

retreat

Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurdTra. How can you know that till you hear him? I heard Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my [heat. Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the Tra. I have had no great loss, then? Ink. Loss!-such a palaver! I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours [pours,

To the torrent of trash which around him he Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour,

[blocks in formation]

Ink.

A spinster?

[blocks in formation]

Tra.

The angel

Ink.

The devil! why, man, Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. You wed with Miss Lilac! 'twould be your perdition:

She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician.
Tra. I say she's an angel.
Ink.

Say rather an angle. If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? [alliance Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. [cerning She's so learned in all things, and fond of conHerself in all matters connected with learning, That

Tra. What?

Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong. [Jew.

Tra. You forget Lady Lac's as rich as a Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you

pursue?

Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with yousomething of both. The girl's a fine girl. Ink. And you feel nothing loth To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Her life is as good as your own, I will bet. Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand (and hand. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen.

Tra. Apropos Will you write me a song now and then?

Ink. To what purpose?

Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose,
My talent is decent, as far as it goes;
But in rhyme--

Ink.
You're a terrible stick, to be sure.
Tra. I own it: and yet, in these times,
there's no lure

For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;
And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few ?
Ink. In your name?
Tra.

copy them out,

In my name. I will

To slip into her hand at the very next rout. Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?

Tra. Why,

sublime?

Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme [eye, What I've told her in prose, at the least, as [Muse. Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the Blues.' [to say. Ink. As sublime !-Mr Tracy-I've nothing Stick to prose-As sublime ! !—But I wish you good day.

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-considerI'm wrong;

I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. Ink. As sublime!!

Tra. I but used the expression in haste. Ink. That may be, Mr Tracy, but shows damn'd bad taste. [what Tra. I own it-I know it-acknowledge itCan I say to you more? Ink. I see what you'd be at: You disparage my parts with insidious abuse, Till you think you can turn them best to your

own use.

Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them?
Ink.
Why that

To be sure makes a difference.
Tra.
I know what is what;
And you, who 're a man of the gay world no less
Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess
That I never could mean, by a word, to offend
A genius like you, and moreover, my friend.
Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know
what is due

To a man of—but come-let us shake hands.
Tra.
You knew,
And you know, my dear fellow, how heartily I
Whatever you publish, am ready to buy.

Ink. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for sale;

Indeed the best poems at first rather fail.*
There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's
And my own grand romance-
[plays,
Had its full share of praise.
I myself saw it puff'd in the 'Old Girl's Re-
Ink. What Review?

Tra.

[view.'

Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present,

as soon

As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon [wits), (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation:

'Tis a sort of re-union for Scamp, on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue
and praise.
[pleasant.
And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not un-
Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be
present.

Tra. That metal's attractive.'
Ink.
No doubt-to the pocket.
Tra. You should rather encourage my pas-
sion than shock it.

But let us proceed; for I think by the hum-
Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they

[blocks in formation]

A Table prepared.

Tra. "Tis the English 'Journal de Trevoux, An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebottle. A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. Have you never yet seen it?

[blocks in formation]

Sir Richard Bluebottle solus.

Was there ever a man who was married so sorry?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd ;
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd;
The twelve, do I say?-of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more?
What with driving and visiting, dancing and
dining,

What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

[pains,

[blocks in formation]

Lady Bluem.

As a footman?
For shame!

Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master;

Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my
For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the
host-
No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains; For the poet of pedlars twere, sure, no disaster
A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews, To wear a new livery; the more, as 'tis not
By the rag, tag, and bobtail of those they call | The first time he has turn'd both his creed and

'BLUES;'

A rabble who know not-But soft, here they
come!
[dumb.
Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be

Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, Lady Blue-
mount, Mr Botherby, Inkel, Tracy, Miss
Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Lec-
turer, &c., &c.

Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morn-
ing: I've brought you some friends.
Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside). If
friends, they're the first,

Lady Blueb.
But the luncheon attends,
I pray ye be seated, 'sans cérémonie.'
Mr Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair

there next me.

[They all sit.

Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat:

There his works will appear-

Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges.
Ink. I shan't go so far-I can have them at
Grange's.*

Lady Bluem. Oh fie!

And for shame!

Miss Lil.

Oh, my dear Lady,

Lady Bluem.

Both.

Lady Bluem. How good?

Lady Bluem.

Lady Blueb. Mr Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye;
You were not at the lecture.

Tra.
Excuse me, I was ;
But the heat forced me out in the best part-alas!
And when-
[then
Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling; but
You have lost such a lecture!

Both.
The best of the ten.
Tra. How can you know that? there are two

[blocks in formation]

You're too bad. Very good! [phrase.

Lady Blueb. He means nought 'tis his

He grows rude.

Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him.
Lady Bluem.
What you say?

Pray, sir! did you mean

Ink. Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir!

Ink.

Pray be content with your portion of praise; 'Twas in your defence.

Both.

If you please, with submission,

I can make out my own.

Ink.

It would be your perdition. While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.

Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly.

« AnteriorContinuar »