The Works of Lord Byron Volume I Part 86

Oh, AMOS COTTLE!--Phoebus! what a name To fill the speaking-trump of future fame!-- 400 Oh, AMOS COTTLE! for a moment think What meagre profits spring from pen and ink!

When thus devoted to poetic dreams, Who will peruse thy prost.i.tuted reams?

Oh! pen perverted! paper misapplied!

Had COTTLE [55] still adorned the counter's side, Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils, Been taught to make the paper which he soils, Ploughed, delved, or plied the oar with l.u.s.ty limb, He had not sung of Wales, nor I of him. 410

As Sisyphus against the infernal steep Rolls the huge rock whose motions ne'er may sleep, So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond! heaves Dull MAURICE [56] all his granite weight of leaves: Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain!

The petrifactions of a plodding brain, That, ere they reach the top, fall lumbering back again.

With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, Lo! sad Alcaeus wanders down the vale; Though fair they rose, and might have bloomed at last, 420 His hopes have perished by the northern blast: Nipped in the bud by Caledonian gales, His blossoms wither as the blast prevails!

O'er his lost works let _cla.s.sic_ SHEFFIELD weep; May no rude hand disturb their early sleep! [57]

Yet say! why should the Bard, at once, resign [x.x.xiii]

His claim to favour from the sacred Nine?

For ever startled by the mingled howl Of Northern Wolves, that still in darkness prowl; A coward Brood, which mangle as they prey, 430 By h.e.l.lish instinct, all that cross their way; Aged or young, the living or the dead," [x.x.xiv]

No mercy find-these harpies must be fed.

Why do the injured unresisting yield The calm possession of their native field?

Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, Nor hunt the blood-hounds back to Arthur's Seat? [58]

Health to immortal JEFFREY! once, in name, England could boast a judge almost the same; [59]

In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, 440 Some think that Satan has resigned his trust, And given the Spirit to the world again, To sentence Letters, as he sentenced men.

With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, With voice as willing to decree the rack; Bred in the Courts betimes, though all that law As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw,-- Since well instructed in the patriot school To rail at party, though a party tool-- Who knows? if chance his patrons should restore 450 Back to the sway they forfeited before, His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, And raise this Daniel to the Judgment-Seat. [60]

Let JEFFREY'S shade indulge the pious hope, And greeting thus, present him with a rope: "Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind!

Skilled to condemn as to traduce mankind, This cord receive! for thee reserved with care, To wield in judgment, and at length to wear."

Health to great JEFFREY! Heaven preserve his life, 460 To flourish on the fertile sh.o.r.es of Fife, And guard it sacred in its future wars, Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars!

Can none remember that eventful day, [x.x.xv] [61]

That ever-glorious, almost fatal fray, When LITTLE'S leadless pistol met his eye, [62]

And Bow-street Myrmidons stood laughing by?

Oh, day disastrous! on her firm-set rock, Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock; Dark rolled the sympathetic waves of Forth, 470 Low groaned the startled whirlwinds of the north; TWEED ruffled half his waves to form a tear, The other half pursued his calm career; [63]

ARTHUR'S steep summit nodded to its base, The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place.

The Tolbooth felt--for marble sometimes can, On such occasions, feel as much as man-- The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms, If JEFFREY died, except within her arms: [64]

Nay last, not least, on that portentous morn, 480 The sixteenth story, where himself was born, His patrimonial garret, fell to ground, And pale Edina shuddered at the sound: Strewed were the streets around with milk-white reams, Flowed all the Canongate with inky streams; This of his candour seemed the sable dew, That of his valour showed the bloodless hue; And all with justice deemed the two combined The mingled emblems of his mighty mind.

But Caledonia's G.o.ddess hovered o'er 490 The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore; From either pistol s.n.a.t.c.hed the vengeful lead, And straight restored it to her favourite's head; That head, with greater than magnetic power, Caught it, as Danae caught the golden shower, And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine, Augments its ore, and is itself a mine.

"My son," she cried, "ne'er thirst for gore again, Resign the pistol and resume the pen; O'er politics and poesy preside, 500 Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide!

For long as Albion's heedless sons submit, Or Scottish taste decides on English wit, So long shall last thine unmolested reign, Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.

Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan, And own thee chieftain of the critic clan.

First in the oat-fed phalanx [65] shall be seen The travelled Thane, Athenian Aberdeen. [66]

HERBERT shall wield THOR'S hammer, [67] and sometimes 510 In grat.i.tude, thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes.

Smug SYDNEY [68] too thy bitter page shall seek, And cla.s.sic HALLAM, [69] much renowned for Greek; SCOTT may perchance his name and influence lend, And paltry PILLANS [70] shall traduce his friend; While gay Thalia's luckless votary, LAMB, [x.x.xvi] [71]

d.a.m.ned like the Devil--Devil-like will d.a.m.n.

Known be thy name! unbounded be thy sway!

Thy HOLLAND'S banquets shall each toil repay!

While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes 520 To HOLLAND'S hirelings and to Learning's foes.

Yet mark one caution ere thy next Review Spread its light wings of Saffron and of Blue, Beware lest blundering BROUGHAM [72] destroy the sale, Turn Beef to Bannocks, Cauliflowers to Kail."

Thus having said, the kilted G.o.ddess kist Her son, and vanished in a Scottish mist. [73]

Then prosper, JEFFREY! pertest of the train [74]

Whom Scotland pampers with her fiery grain!

Whatever blessing waits a genuine Scot, 530 In double portion swells thy glorious lot; For thee Edina culls her evening sweets, And showers their odours on thy candid sheets, Whose Hue and Fragrance to thy work adhere-- This scents its pages, and that gilds its rear. [75]

Lo! blushing Itch, coy nymph, enamoured grown, Forsakes the rest, and cleaves to thee alone, And, too unjust to other Pictish men, Enjoys thy person, and inspires thy pen!

Ill.u.s.trious HOLLAND! hard would be his lot, 540 His hirelings mentioned, and himself forgot! [76]

HOLLAND, with HENRY PETTY [77] at his back, The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack.

Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, Where Scotchmen feed, and Critics may carouse!

Long, long beneath that hospitable roof [x.x.xvii]

Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof.

See honest HALLAM [78] lay aside his fork, Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work, And, grateful for the dainties on his plate, [x.x.xviii] 550 Declare his landlord can at least translate! [79]

Dunedin! view thy children with delight, They write for food--and feed because they write: [x.x.xix]

And lest, when heated with the unusual grape, Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape, And tinge with red the female reader's cheek, My lady skims the cream of each critique; Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul, Reforms each error, and refines the whole. [80]

Now to the Drama turn--Oh! motley sight! 560 What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite: Puns, and a Prince within a barrel pent, [xl] [81]

And Dibdin's nonsense yield complete content. [82]

Though now, thank Heaven! the Rosciomania's o'er. [83]

And full-grown actors are endured once more; Yet what avail their vain attempts to please, While British critics suffer scenes like these; While REYNOLDS vents his "'dammes!'" "poohs!" and "zounds!" [xli] [84]

And common-place and common sense confounds?

While KENNEY'S [85] "World"--ah! where is KENNEY'S wit? [xlii]-- 570 Tires the sad gallery, lulls the listless Pit; And BEAUMONT'S pilfered Caratach affords A tragedy complete in all but words? [xliii]

Who but must mourn, while these are all the rage The degradation of our vaunted stage?

Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone?

Have we no living Bard of merit?--none?

Awake, GEORGE COLMAN! [86] c.u.mBERLAND, awake![87]

Ring the alarum bell! let folly quake!

Oh! SHERIDAN! if aught can move thy pen, 580 Let Comedy a.s.sume her throne again; [xliv]

Abjure the mummery of German schools; Leave new Pizarros to translating fools; [88]

Give, as thy last memorial to the age, One cla.s.sic drama, and reform the stage.

G.o.ds! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head, Where GARRICK trod, and SIDDONS lives to tread? [xlv] [89]

On those shall Farce display buffoonery's mask, And HOOK conceal his heroes in a cask? [90]

Shall sapient managers new scenes produce 590 From CHERRY, [91] SKEFFINGTON, [92] and Mother GOOSE? [xlvi] [93]

While SHAKESPEARE, OTWAY, Ma.s.sINGER, forgot, On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot?

Lo! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim The rival candidates for Attic fame!

In grim array though LEWIS' spectres rise, Still SKEFFINGTON and GOOSE divide the prize.

And sure 'great' Skeffington must claim our praise, For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays Renowned alike; whose genius ne'er confines 600 Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs; [xlvii] [94]

Nor sleeps with "Sleeping Beauties," but anon In five facetious acts comes thundering on.

While poor John Bull, bewildered with the scene, Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean; But as some hands applaud, a venal few!

Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too.

Such are we now. Ah! wherefore should we turn To what our fathers were, unless to mourn?

Degenerate Britons! are ye dead to shame, 610 Or, kind to dulness, do you fear to blame?

Well may the n.o.bles of our present race Watch each distortion of a NALDI'S face; Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, And worship CATALANI's pantaloons, [95]

Since their own Drama yields no fairer trace Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. [96]

Then let Ausonia, skill'd in every art To soften manners, but corrupt the heart, Pour her exotic follies o'er the town, 620 To sanction Vice, and hunt Decorum down: Let wedded strumpets languish o'er DESHAYES, And bless the promise which his form displays; While Gayton bounds before th' enraptured looks Of h.o.a.ry Marquises, and stripling Dukes: Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle Twirl her light limbs, that spurn the needless veil; Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow, Wave the white arm, and point the pliant toe; Collini trill her love-inspiring song, 630 Strain her fair neck, and charm the listening throng!

Whet [97] not your scythe, Suppressors of our Vice!

Reforming Saints! too delicately nice!

By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save, No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave; And beer undrawn, and beards unmown, display Your holy reverence for the Sabbath-day.

Or hail at once the patron and the pile Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle! [98]

Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallow'd fane, 640 Spreads wide her portals for the motley train, Behold the new Petronius [99] of the day, [xlviii]

Our arbiter of pleasure and of play!

There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir, The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre, The song from Italy, the step from France, The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance, The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine, For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and Lords combine: Each to his humour--Comus all allows; 650 Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse.

Talk not to us, ye starving sons of trade!