The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 105

This Palace tall, This Cristial Hall, Which imperors might covet, Stands in Hide Park Like Noah's Ark A rainbow bint above it.

The towers and faynes, In other scaynes, The fame of this will undo, Saint Paul's big doom, St. Payther's Room, And Dublin's proud Rotundo.

'Tis here that roams, As well becomes Her dignitee and stations, Victoria great, And houlds in state The Congress of the Nations.

Her subjects pours From distant sh.o.r.es.

Her Injians and Canajians; And also we, Her kingdoms three, Attind with our allagiance.

Here comes likewise Her bould allies, Both Asian and Europian; From East and West They sent their best To fill her Coornocopean.

I seen (thank Grace!) This wondthrous place (His n.o.ble Honor Misteer H. Cole it was That gave the pa.s.s, And let me see what is there.)

With conscious proide I stud insoide And look'd the World's Great Fair in.

Until me sight Was dazzled quite, And couldn't see for staring.

There's holy saints And window paints, By Maydiayval Pugin; Alhamborough Jones Did paint the tones Of yellow and gambouge in.

There's fountains there And crosses fair; There's water-G.o.ds with urrns; There's organs three, To play, d'ye see, "G.o.d save the Queen," by turns.

There's statues bright Of marble white, Of silver and of copper, And some in zink, And some, I think, That isn't over proper.

There's staym Ingynes, That stand in lines, Enormous and amazing, That squeal and snort, Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing.

There's carts and gigs, And pins for pigs; There's dibblers and there's harrows, And plows like toys, For little boys, And illegant wheel-barrows.

For them genteels Who ride on wheels, There a plenty to indulge 'em, There's Droskys snug From Paytersbug And vayhycles from Belgium.

There's Cabs on Stands, And Shandthry danns; There's wagons from New York here; There's Lapland Sleighs, Have cross'd the seas, And Jaunting Cars from Cork here.

Amazed I pa.s.s Prom gla.s.s to gla.s.s, Deloighted I survey 'em; Fresh wondthers grows Beneath me nose In this sublime Musayum,

Look, here's a fan From far j.a.pan, A saber from Damasco; There's shawls ye get From far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgow.

There's German flutes, Marc.o.ky boots, And Naples Macaronies; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay, Polonia her polonies.

There's granite flints That's quite imminse, There's sacks of coals and fuels, There's swords and guns, And soap in tuns, And Ginger-bread and Jewels.

There's taypots there, And cannons rare; There's coffins filled with roses.

There 'a canvas tints, Teeth instruments, And shuits of clothes by Moses.

There's lashins more Of things in store, But thim I don't remimber; Nor could disclose Did I compose From May time to Novimber.

Ah, JUDY thru!

With eyes so blue, That you were here to view it!

And could I screw But tu pound tu 'Tis I would thrait you to it.

So let us raise Victoria's praise, And Albert's proud condition, That takes his ayse As he surveys This Crystal Exhibition.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THACKERAY]

THE SPECULATORS.

W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

The night was stormy and dark, The town was shut up in sleep: Only those were abroad who were out on a lark, Or those who'd no beds to keep.

I pa.s.s'd through the lonely street, The wind did sing and blow; I could hear the policeman's feet Clapping to and fro.

There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet; He stood with his 'tato-can In the lonely Haymarket.

Two gents of dismal mien. And dark and greasy rags, Came out of a shop for gin Swaggering over the flags:

Swaggering over the stones, These snabby bucks did walk And I went and followed those seedy ones, And listened to their talk.

Was I sober or awake?

Could I believe my ears?

Those dismal beggars spake Of nothing but railroad shares.

I wondered more and more: Says one--"Good friend of mine, How many shares have you wrote for In the Diddlesee Junction line?"

"I wrote for twenty," says Jim, "But they wouldn't give me one;"

His comrade straight rebuked him For the folly he had done:

"O Jim, you are unawares Of the ways of this bad town; _I_ always write for five hundred shares, And THEN they put me down."

"And yet you got no shares,"

Says Jim, "for all your boast;"

"I WOULD have wrote," says Jack, "but where Was the penny to pay the post?"

"I lost, for I couldn't pay That first instalment up; But here's taters smoking hot--I say Let's stop, my boy, and sup."

And at this simple feast The while they did regale, I drew each ragged capitalist Down on my left thumb-nail.

Their talk did me perplex, All night I tumbled and toss'd And thought of railroad specs, And how money was won and lost.

"Bless railroads everywhere,"

I said, "and the world's advance; Bless every railroad share In Italy, Ireland, France,

For never a beggar need now despair, And every rogue has a chance."

LETTER

FROM MR. HOSEA BIGLOW TO THE HON. J. T. BUCKINGHAM, EDITOR OF THE BOSTON COURIER, COVERING A LETTER FROM MR. B. SAWIN, PRIVATE IN THE Ma.s.sACHUSETTS REGIMENT IN MEXICO.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.