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Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure; Farmers of war, Dictators of the farm! The unwieldy old White Horse is apt at last Their ploughshare was the sword in biroTo stumble,kick,and now and then stick fast
ling hands, With his great self and rider in the mud; Their fields manured by gore of other lands; But what of that? the animal shows blood. Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent
Their brethren out to battle-why? for Rent'
Year after year they voted cent. per cent Alas, the country ! how shall tongue or pen Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions Bewail her now uncountry-gentlemen ?
why? for Rent The last to bid the cry of warfare cease, They roar'd, they dised, they drank, they The first to make a malady of peace.
swore they meant For what were all these country-patriots To die for England - why then live ? la born ?
Rent! To hunt,and vote, and raise the price of corn. The peace has made one general malcontent But corn,like every mortal thing,must fall of these high-market patriots; war vu Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all.
Rent! And must ye fall with every ear of grain ? their love of country,millions all mis-spert Why would you trouble Bonaparte's reign? How reconcile ?-by reconciling Reat. He was your great Triptolemus! his vices And will they not repay the treasures lent! Destroy'd but realms, and still maintaind No: down with every thing, and up with your prices ;
Rent! He amplified, to every Lord's content, Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, The grand Agrarian Alchymy-high Rent.
discontent Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars, Being, end, aim, religion- Rent, Rent, Rest' And lower wheat to such desponding Thou sold'st thy birth-right, Esau ! fer a quarters ?
mess : Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone? Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eater The man was worth much more upon his
Now thou hast swillid thy pottage, thy True, blood and treasure boundlessly were
demands spilt, Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands
. But what of that? the Gaul may bear the Such, landlords, was your appetite for ve,
And, gorged with blood, you grumble at But bread was high, the farmer paid his way,
a scar! And acres told upon the appointed day. What, would they spread their earthquake But where is now the goodly audit-ale ?
even o'er Cash! The purse-proud tenant never known to fail? And when land crumbles, bid firm paper The farm which never yet was left on hand ?
crash ? The marsh reclaim'd' to most improving So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall,
And found on 'Change a Fundling Hospital! The impatient hope of the expiring lease? Lo, Mother Church, while all religie The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!
writhes, In vain the prize excites the ploughman's Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, Tithes
The Prelates go to—where the Saints bare In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill ;
gone, The landed interest—(you may understand And proud pluralities subside to one; The phrase much better leaving out the Church,state, and faction, wrestle in the dark
Toss'd by the Delage in their common ark The land self-interest groans from shore to Shorn of her Bishops, banks, and dividends,
Another Babel soars--but Britain ends. For fear that plenty should attain the poor. And why?to pamper the self-seeking wants. Up! up again! ye rents, exalt your notes, And prop the hill of these agrarian ants. Or else the Ministry will lose their votes, “Go to ihese ants, thou sluggard, and be And Patriotism, so delicately nice,
wise;" Her loaves will lower to the market-price; Admire their patience through each sacrifice
, For ah !“the loaves and fishes,” once so high, Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride
, Are gone, their oven closed their ocean dry; The price of taxes and of homicide; And nought remains of all the millions spent, Admire their justice, which would fain deny Excepting to grow moderate and content. The debt of nations :- pray, who made it They who are not so, had their turn_and turn
high? About still flows from Fortune's equal urn; Now let their virtue be its own reward, And share the blessings which themselves Or turn to sail between those sbisling prepared.
rocks, Sve these inglorious Cincinnati swarm, The new Symplegades - the crushing Stocks,
here Midas might again his wish behold Have more of motley than their heavy kings. real paper or imagined gold.
Jews, authors, generals,charlatans,combine, hat magic palace of Alcina shows While Europe wonders at the vast design: Lore wealth than Britain ever had to lose, There Metternich,power's foremost parasite, Sere all her atoms of unleaven'd ore, Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight; nd all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore. There Chateaubriand forms new books of here Fortune plays, while Rumour holds
martyrs; the stake,
And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid nd the world trembles to bid brokers break.
Tartars ; low rich is Britain! not indeed in mines, There Montmorency, the sworn foe to er peace, or plenty, corn, or oil, or wines;
charters, o land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, Turns a diplomatist of great eclat, or (save in paper shekels) ready money: 'To furnish articles for the “Debats :" Int let us not to own the truth refuse, Of war so certain- yet not quite so sure Fas ever Christian land so rich in Jews ? As his dismissal in the “Moniteur." "hose parted with their teeth to good King Alas! how could his cabinet thus err?
Can peace be worth an Ultra-Minister? ind now, ye kings! they kindly draw He falls, indeed, -perhaps to rise again,
your own; “Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.” All states, all things, all sovereigns they
controul, ind waft a loan “from Indus to the Pole." Enough of this—a sight more mournful Che banker - broker - baron brethren,
The averted eye of the reluctant Muse. lo aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. The imperial daughter, the imperial bride, for these alone; Columbia feels no less The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride; 'resh speculations follow each success ; The mother of the hero's hope, the boy, Ind philanthropic Israel deigns to drain The young Astyanax of modern Troy; ler mild per centage from exhausted Spain. The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen tot without Abraham's seed can Russia That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour, T'is gold, not steel, that rears the conquer- The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare Iwo Jews, a chosen people, can command A daughter?What did France's widow there? in every realm their scripture-promised Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave. Iwo Jews keep down the Romans, and Bat, no,-she still must hold a petty reign,
Flank'd by her formidable Chamberlain ; The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old : The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes Iwo Jews—but not Samaritans—direct Must watch her through these paltry paThe world, with all the spirit of their sect.
geantries. What is the happiness of earth to them? What though she share no more and shared A Congress forms their “New Jerusalem,”
in vain Where baronies and orders both invite- A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight? Which swept from Moscow to the Southern Thy followers mingling with these royal
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of Who spit not “on their Jewish gaberdine,”
cheese, But honour them as portion of the show- Where Parma views the traveller resort (Where now, oh, Pope! is thy forsaken toe? To note the trappings of her mimic court. Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? But she appears! Verona sees her shorn Or has it ceased to“kick against the pricks?") Of all her beams-while nations gaze and On Shylock's shore behold them stand
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time To cut from nations' hearts their “pound To chill in their inhospitable clime
(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold But no,—their embers soon will burst the
mould); Strange sight this Congress ! destined to She comes!— the Andromache (but not unite
Racino's, All that's incongruous, all that's opposite. Nor Homer's); lo! on Pyrrhus’arm she leans! I speak not of the Sovereigns—they're alike, Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, A common coin as ever mint could strike: Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre But those who sway the puppets, pull the
Is offer'd and accepted! Could a slave
Do more? or less?—and he in his new grave! To hail their brother, Vich lan Alderman ! Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife, Gnildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse And the Ex-Empress grows as Ex a wife!
roar, So much for human ties in royal breasts ! While all the Common-Council cry, “ClayWhy spare men's feelings, when their own
more!" are jests ? To see proud Albyn's Tartans as a belt
Gird the gross sirloin of a City-Celt,
She burst into a laughter so extreme, But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home, That I awoke-- and lo! it was no dream! And sketch the group—the picture's yet to My Muse'gan weep, but,ere a tear was spilt, Here, reader, will we pause:- if there's She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt!
no harm in While throng'd the Chiefs of every High- This first-you'll, have, perhaps, a second land clan
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. .
BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.
SUGGESTED BY THB COMPOSITION 80 ENTITLED BY THB AUTHOR OF “WAT TYLER.
A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel!
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, His business so augmented of late years.
The angels all were singing out of tune, This was a handsome board - at least fer And hoarse with having little else to do,
heaven; Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, And yet they had even then enough to do, Or curb a runaway young star or two, Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
So many conquerors' cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew; Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue, Each day,too,slew its thousands six or sever, Splitting some planet with its playful tail, Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo, As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale. They threw their pens down in divine dit
The page was so besmear'd with blood and The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
dust. Finding their charges past all care below; Terrestrial business filld nought in the sky, Save the recording angel's black bureau ;"" This by the way; 'tis not mine to record Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply What angels shrink from: even the very devil With such rapidity of vice and woe, On this occasion his own work abhorrid, That he had stripp'd off both his wings in So surfeited with the infernal revel;
Though he himself had sharpend every And yet was in arrear of human ille.
t almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil. | What nature made him at his birth, as bare Here Satan's sole good work deserves in- As the mere million's base unmominied sertion
clayTis, that he has both generals in reversion.) Yet all his spices but prolong decay.
Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, He's dead- and upper earth with him has Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont,
done: And heaven none — the form the tyrant's He's buried ; save the undertaker's bill,
Or lapidary scrawl, the 'world is gone With nothing but new names subscribed For him, unless he left a German will;
But where's the proctor who will ask his son? Twill one day finish: meantime they in- In whom his qualities are reigning still,
Except that household virtue, most "With seven heads and ten horns,” and all
common, in front,
of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours
are born Less formidable in the head than horn. “God save the king !" It is a large economy
In God to save the like; but if he will
Be saving, all the better; for not one am I In the first year of freedom's second dawn Of those who think damnation better still: Died George the Third : although no tyrant, I hardly know too if not quite alone am I
In this small hope of bettering future ill Who shielded tyrants, till each sense with- By circumscribing, with some slight redrawn
striction, Left him nor mental nor external sun: The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, A worse king never left a realm undone ! He died—but left his subjects still behind, I know this is unpopular; I know One half as mad- and t'other no less blind. 'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn’d
For hoping no one else may e'er be su;
I know my catechism; I know we are cramm'd He died !-his death made no great stir on With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow;
I know that all save England's church have His burial made some pomp; there was
And that the other twice two handred Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth
churches Of aught but tears – save those shed by And synagogues have made a damn'd bad collusion ;
purchase. For these things may be bought at their
true worth : of elegy there was the dae infusion God help us all! God help me, too! I am, Bought also; and the torches, cloaks, and God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish,
And not a whit more difficult to damn Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners, Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish,
Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb ;
Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish Form'd a sepulchral melo-drame. Of all As one day will be that immortal fry The fools who flock'd to swell or see the Of almost every body born to die.
show, Who cared about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the woe. Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, There throbb'd not there a thought which And nodded o'er his keys; when lo! there
pierced the pall; And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, A wonderous noise he had not heard of It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold
lateThe rottenness of eighty years in gold. A rushing sound of wind, and stream,
In short, a roar of things extremely great, So mix his body with the dust! It might Which would have made aught save a saint Return to what it must far sooner, were
exclaim; The natural compound left alone to fight But he, with first a start and then a wink, Its way back into earth, and fire, and air; Said, "There's another star gone out, i But the unnatural balsams merely blight
But ere he could return to his repose, And never knew much what it was about A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his He did as doth the puppet - by its wire,
And will be jadged like all the rest, no doubt: At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb’a My business and your own is not to inquire
his nose :
Into such matters, but to mind our cue“Saint porter," said the Angel," prithee rise!" Which is to act as we are bid to do." Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as
glows An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly While thus they spake, the angelic caravan,
Arriving like a rush of mighty wind, To which the Saint replied, “Well, what's Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan
the matter; Some silver-stream(sayGanges,Nile,or Inde, Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter ?" Or Thames, or Tweed), and midst the
an old man
With an old soul, and both extremely blind, “No , " quoth the Cherub; “George the Halted before the gate, and in his shroad
Third is dead," Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud. “And who is George the Third?” replied
the Apostle; "What George? what Third?” “The King of But bringing ap the rear of this bright host,
England, “said A Spirit of a different aspect waved The Angel. “Well! he wo’nt find kings to His wings, like thunder-clouds above some jostle
coast Him on his way; but does he wear his head? Whose barren beach with frequent wrecki Because the-we saw here had a tussle,
is paved; And ne'er would have got into heaven's His brow was like the deep when tempestgood graces,
tost; Had he not flung bis head in all our faces. Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved
Eternal wrath on his immortal face,
And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space. He was, if I remember, king of That head of his, which could not keep a
As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate. On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or sin, A claim to those of martyrs-like my own: With such a glance of supernatural hate. If I had had my sword, as I had once As made Saint Peter wish himself within; When I cut ears off, I had cut him down; He potter'd with his keys at a great rate, But having but my keys, and not my brand, And sweated through his apostolic skin: I only knock’d his head from out his hand. Of course his perspiration was but ichor,
Or some such other spiritual liquor. And then he set up such a headless howl, That all the Saints came out, and took him in; The very cherubs huddled altogether, And there he sits by Saint Paul, cheek by Like birds when soars the falcon;and they felt
A tingling to the tip of every feather, That fellow Paul — the parvenu! The skin And formd a circle, like Orion's belt, Of Saint Bartholomew,which makes his cowl Around their poor old charge, who scarce In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin
knew whither So as to make a martyr, never sped His guards had let him, though they Better than did this weak and wooden head.
With royal manes (for, by many stories,
And true, we learn the angels all are Torics). But had it come up here upon its shoulders, There would have been a different tale to
As things were in this posture, the gate flex The fellow-feeling in the Saints beholders Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges Seems to have acted on them like a spell, Flung over space an universal hue And so this very foolish head heaven solders of many-colour'd flame, until its tinges Back on its trunk: it may be very well,
Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made And seems the custom here to overthrow
a new Whatever has been wisely done below." Aurora borealis spread its fringes
O’er the North Pole; the same seen, when
ice-bound, The Angel answer'd, “Peter! do not pout; By Captain Parry's crews, in Melville's The king who comes has head and all entire,