Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

Still “Bellanaine !” they shouted, while we glide
'Slant to a light Ionic portico,
The city's delicacy, and the pride
Of our Imperial Basilic; a row
Of lords and ladies, on each hand, make show
Submissive of knee-bent obeisance,
All down the steps; and, as we enter'd, lo!

The strangest sight—the most unlook’d-for chance-
All things turn'd topsy-turvy in a devil's dance.

LXXXV.

'Stead of his anxious Majesty and court
At the open doors, with wide saluting eyes,
Congées and scrape.graces of every sort,
And all the smooth routine of gallantries,
Was seen, to our immoderate surprise,
A motley crowd thick gathered in the hall,
Lords, scullions, deputy-scullions, with wild cries

Stunning the vestibule from wall to wall,
Where the Chief Justice on his knees and hands doth crawl.

LXXXVI.

Counts of the palace, and the state purveyor
Of moth's down, to make soft the royal beds,
The Common Council and my fool Lord Mayor
Marching a-row, each other slipshod treads;
Powder'd bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads
Of cinder wenches meet and soil each other ;
Toe crush'd with heel ill-natured fighting breeds,

Frill-rumpling elbows brew up many a bother,
And fists in the short ribs keep up the yell and pother.

LXXXI.

[graphic]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

put they shouted, while we in

portica, the pride

[blocks in formation]

in halls of gold
lou sittest in thy state,
at erst sublimely told
sic deeds, and sang of fate,

fervor seize their adamantine lyres,
e chords are solid rays, and twinkle radiant fires.

II.

Here Homer with his nervous arms

Strikes the twanging harp of war,
And even the western splendor warms,

While the trumpets sound afar:
But, what creates the most intense surprise,
His soul looks out through renovated eyes.

III.

Then, through thy Temple wide, melodious swells

The sweet majestic tone of Maro's lyre:
The soul delighted on each accent dwells,-

Enraptured dwells,--not daring to respire,
The while he tells of grief around a funeral pyre.

LXXXVII.

A Poet, mounted on the Court-Clown's back,
Rode to the Princess swift with spurring heels,
And close into her face, with rhyming clack,
Began a Prothalamion ;-—she reels,
She falls, she faints !-while laughter peals
Over her woman's weakness. “Where !” cried I,
“Where is his Majesty ?” No person feels

Inclined to answer; wherefore instantly
I plunged into the crowd to find him or to die.

LXXXVIII.

Jostling my way I gain'd the stairs, and ran feste
To the first landing, where, incredible!
I met, far gone in liquor, that old man,
That vile impostor Hum

o riste
Base sa pot So far so well,
For we have proved the Mago never fell for to
Down stairs on Crafticanto's evidence; PSS...
And therefore duly shall proceed to tell,

Plain in our own original mood and tense, they The sequel of this day, though labor 'tis immense!

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

ODE TO APOLLO.

I.
In thy western halls of gold

When thou sittest in thy state,
Bards that erst sublimely told-7. Faxis

Heroic deeds, and sang of fate,
With fervor seize their adamantine lyres,
Whose chords are solid rays, and twinkle radiant fires.

HY 11. LA . .
Here Homer with his nervous arms

Strikes the twanging harp of war, de
And even the western splendor warms,

While the trumpets sound afar: *, .
But, what creates the most intense surprise,
His soul looks out through renovated eyes.

edir. III. 5. I ng. .. Then, through thy Temple wide, melodious swells

The sweet majestic tone of Maro's lyre : The soul delighted on each accent dwells,

Enraptured dwells,-not daring to respire, The while he tells of grief around a funeral pyre.

« НазадПродовжити »