The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 230

This being the case, why, I thought, my dear Emma, 'Twere best to fight shy of so curst a dilemma; And tho' I confess myself somewhat a villain, To've left _idol mio_ without an _addio_, Console your sweet heart, and a week hence from Milan I'll send you--some news of Bellini's last trio.

N.B. Have just packt up my travelling set-out, Things a tourist in Italy _can't_ go without-- Viz., a pair of _gants gras_, from old Houbigant's shop, Good for hands that the air of Mont Cenis might chap.

Small presents for ladies,--and nothing so wheedles The creatures abroad as your golden-eyed needles.

A neat pocket Horace by which folks are cozened To think one knows Latin, when--one, perhaps, doesn't; With some little book about heathen mythology, Just large enough to refresh one's theology; Nothing on earth being half such a bore as Not knowing the difference 'twixt Virgins and Floras.

Once more, love, farewell, best regards to the girls, And mind you beware of damp feet and new Earls.

HENRY.

[1] A new creation of Peers was generally expected at this time.

TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY.

College.--We announced, in our last that Lefroy and Shaw were returned. They were chaired yesterday; the Students of the College determined, it would seem, to imitate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves to the car, and the Masters of Arts bearing Orange flags and bludgeons before, beside, and behind the car."

_Dublin Evening Post_, Dec. 20, 1832.

Ay, yoke ye to the bigots' car, Ye chosen of Alma Mater's scions;- Fleet chargers drew the G.o.d of War, Great Cybele was drawn by lions, And Sylvan Pan, as Poet's dream, Drove four young panthers in his team.

Thus cla.s.sical Lefroy, for once, is, Thus, studious of a like turn-out, He harnesses young sucking dunces, To draw him as their Chief about, And let the world a picture see Of Dulness yoked to Bigotry: Showing us how young College hacks Can pace with bigots at their backs, As tho' the cubs were _born_ to draw Such luggage as Lefroy and Shaw, Oh! shade of Goldsmith, shade of Swift, Bright spirits whom, in days of yore, This Queen of Dulness sent adrift, As aliens to her foggy sh.o.r.e;--- Shade of our glorious Grattan, too, Whose very name her shame recalls; Whose effigy her bigot crew Reversed upon their monkish walls,[1]-- Bear witness (lest the world should doubt) To your mute Mother's dull renown, Then famous but for Wit turned _out_, And Eloquence _turned upside down_; But now ordained new wreaths to win, Beyond all fame of former days, By breaking thus young donkies in To draw M.P.s amid the brays Alike of donkies and M.A.s;-- Defying Oxford to surpa.s.s 'em In this new "_Gradus ad Parna.s.sum_."

[1] In the year 1799, the Board of Trinity College, Dublin, thought proper, as a mode of expressing their disapprobation of Mr. Grattan's public conduct, to order his portrait, in the Great Hall of the University, to be turned upside down, and in this position it remained for some time.

TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL LANGUAGE.

_Scripta manet_.

1833.

'Twas graved on the Stone of Destiny,[1]

In letters four and letters three; And ne'er did the King of the Gulls go by But those awful letters scared his eye; For he knew that a Prophet Voice had said, "As long as those words by man were read, "The ancient race of the Gulls should ne'er "One hour of peace or plenty share."

But years on years successive flew, And the letters still more legible grew,-- At top, a T, an H, an E, And underneath, D. E. B. T.

Some thought them Hebrew,--such as Jews More skilled in Scrip than Scripture use; While some surmised 'twas an ancient way Of keeping accounts, (well known in the day Of the famed Didlerius Jeremias, Who had thereto a wonderful bias,) And proved in books most learnedly boring, 'Twas called the Pon_tick_ way of scoring.

Howe'er this be there never were yet Seven letters of the alphabet, That 'twixt them formed so grim a spell, Or scared a Land of Gulls so well, As did this awful riddle-me-ree Of T. H. E. D. E. B. T.

Hark!--it is struggling Freedom's cry; "Help, help, ye nations, or I die; "'Tis Freedom's fight and on the field "Where I expire _your_ doom is sealed."

The Gull-King hears the awakening call, He hath summoned his Peers and Patriots all, And he asks. "Ye n.o.ble Gulls, shall we "Stand basely by at the fall of the Free, "Nor utter a curse nor deal a blow?"

And they answer with voice of thunder, "No."

Out fly their flashing swords in the air!-- But,--why do they rest suspended there?

What sudden blight, what baleful charm, Hath chilled each eye and checkt each arm?

Alas! some withering hand hath thrown The veil from off that fatal stone, And pointing now with sapless finger, Showeth where dark those letters linger,-- Letters four and letters three, T. H. E. D. E. B. T.

At sight thereof, each lifted brand Powerless falls from every hand; In vain the Patriot knits his brow,-- Even talk, his staple, fails him now.

In vain the King like a hero treads, His Lords of the Treasury shake their heads; And to all his talk of "brave and free,"

No answer getteth His Majesty But "T. H. E. D. E. B. T."

In short, the whole Gull nation feels They're fairly spell-bound, neck and heels; And so, in the face of the laughing world, Must e'en sit down with banners furled, Adjourning all their dreams sublime Of glory and war to-some other time.

[1] Liafail, or the Stone of Destiny,--for which see Westminster Abbey.

NOTIONS ON REFORM.

BY A MODERN REFORMER.

Of all the misfortunes as yet brought to pa.s.s By this comet-like Bill, with its long tail of speeches, The saddest and worst is the schism which, alas!

It has caused between Wetherel's waistcoat and breeches.

Some symptoms of this Anti-Union propensity Had oft broken out in that quarter before; But the breach, since the Bill, has attained such immensity, Daniel himself could have scarce wisht it more.

Oh! haste to repair it, ye friends of good order, Ye Atwoods and Wynns, ere the moment is past; Who can doubt that we tread upon Anarchy's border, When the ties that should hold men are loosening so fast?

_Make_ Wetherel yield to "some sort of Reform"

(As we all must, G.o.d help us! with very wry faces;) And loud as he likes let him bl.u.s.ter and storm About Corporate Rights, so he'll only wear braces.

Should those he now sports have been long in possession, And, like his own borough, the worse for the wear, Advise him at least as a prudent concession To Intellect's progress, to buy a new pair.

Oh! who that e'er saw him when vocal he stands, With a look something midway 'twixt Filch's and Lockit's, While still, to inspire him, his deeply-thrust hands Keep jingling the rhino in both breeches-pockets--

Who that ever has listened thro' groan and thro' cough, To the speeches inspired by this music of pence,-- But must grieve that there's any thing like _falling off_ In that great nether source of his wit and his sense?

Who that knows how he lookt when, with grace debonair, He began first to court--rather late in the season-- Or when, less fastidious, he sat in the chair Of his old friend, the Nottingham G.o.ddess of Reason;[1]

That G.o.ddess whose borough-like virtue attracted All mongers in _both_ wares to proffer their love; Whose chair like the stool of the Pythoness acted, As Wetherel's rants ever since go to prove;