ORIGINAL PIECES.
ODE TO HARRIS[1].
Always I hated civic[2] entertainments:
Mutton disgusts me simulating[3] ven’son,
Catch[4] me no fish hermetically fasten’d,
Harris, or oysters.
Still[5] I could feast on watery[6] potatoes.
Fill my friend’s lap[7] soups derelict[8], abandon’d
Sauces, rich gifts of charitable ocean
Cheaply benignant[9].
[1] Who this Harris was, is a point about which the commentators are at variance. Some say, but erroneously as I think, that he was the “puer,” the “minister,” of the poet. But this is not probable, for to such persons odes were not then commonly addressed. No! Harris was no servant, he was the friend, the “commensalis,” the fellow-messman of the author at the cuddy table; whom he may be supposed to be inviting to the erratic fish, which, under the influence of a gale, has become as locomotive as ever it was in its own native element.
[2] Why civic, since the entertainment was nautical? ask some matter-of-fact critics. Do not these blunderers perceive the delicately-veiled compliment to the owners of the vessel upon the richness and profusion of the viands?
[3] “Simulating ven’son.” This process is, unfortunately, in some degree lost to us. Some say that mutton was made to resemble venison, by being roasted with the wool on. Others, that it was the flesh of a seven-year old male, not a wether. But neither of these conjectures is correct. The meat was probably steeped in a brine compounded of wine, salt, spices, sugar, and other condiments, and sprinkled with Irish blackguard and brickdust.
[4] “Catch.” Some critics would substitute “reach” for “catch.” But who does not see the witty allusion to the unsteadiness of the table, to which these dull dogs are blind?
[5] “Still.” Free from motion.
[6] “Watery potatoes.” This expression is very enigmatical. Some understand by it “dressed in, or by means of water,” as potatoes boiled or steamed, in opposition to roasted, baked, or fried potatoes, his preference for which the author is supposed to insinuate. But in my opinion this reading, though ingenious, is not correct; the true sense of the expression is potatoes carried by water, that is, potatoes eaten at sea. Murphyius, however, that intemperate though erudite Hibernian critic, declares that it means any potato not Irish, which last alone, as he says, were free when dressed from superfluous moisture. He contends, that the potato esteemed by epicures was a mealy potato. But he offers nothing in proof of his assertion.
[7] “Lap.” This is plainly a misreading for “plate.” It would have been an unfriendly and unamiable wish had the author prayed that liquids, as soups and sauces were, should fall into the lap of his friend, of which it would naturally have been irretentive. It is easy to trace the corruption of the text. “Plate” has been written with an elision, “pla,” by a copyist studious of his ease. The now final vowel has slipped into the middle place and formed “pal;” which a careless scribe, putting the cart before the horse, has changed into “lap.”
[8] “Derelict.” This implies the departure from the table of some squeamish person without the “animus revertendi.”
[9] “Cheaply benignant,” that is, dispensing things not its own, liberal at the expense of others; as a generous churchwarden, a chairman distributing prizes, a prime minister filling up a pension-list, a House of Commons voting supplies, or an attorney marking undelivered briefs for a son.
THE DOCTOR WITHOUT A SOUL;
OR,
THE CREATURES OF ROMANCE.
I.
His studies o’er, his next discourse
Impromptu learnt by rote,
The rector rose, and doff’d a coarse
To don a finer coat.
II.
His silken hose with shining clocks
Which clothed each portly calf,
His shovel hat right orthodox,
And golden-headed staff,
III.
All spoke the doctor. On he strode:
Soon splash’d, he vow’d irate,
The sinner who survey’d the road
He’d excommunicate.
IV.
No! he’d indict his stubborn flock,
And shear their golden fleece.
Who, heeding much the parish stock,
Little Victoria’s peace,
V.
Rebellious lieges! mended not
The errors of their ways,
(Upon their pastor’s shoes a spot
Would shorten not their days!)
VI.
Thus he resolved; but cries invade
His Reverence’s ear!
Is it some damsel, who, afraid,
Sees men disguised in beer?
VII.
Or one the milky mothers meet
Emerging from the byre?
Who sees a snake beneath her feet?
Or waddling toad retire?
VIII.
Perplex’d, he hurries on the while,
But soon is seen to stand
Amazed: two ladies on a stile
Were seated hand in hand:
IX.
Young were they both, and fair to view,
Yet sorrow from their eyes
Tears, so the doctor fancied, drew:
He spoke, in grave surprise:
X.
“Issued those cries from ladies’ throats?
And what’s the reason? say.”
“How canst thou ask, when all denotes
The cause? this glorious day!”
XI.
“Thank God,” he cried, “the day is fine,
Yet why should that distress?
The glass is rising; to repine
Seems rude unthankfulness.”
XII.
“We are not understood, we see
With optics not like thine,
What canst thou know of poesy,
A middle-aged divine?
XIII.
“Was ever yet a poet known
To wear a white cravat?
A soul did ever mortal own
In a three-corner’d hat?
XIV.
“We could sit here and cry for hours,
Or shriek with sad delight;
The earth, sea, sky, sun, shade, and flowers,
Are agonising quite.
XV.
“To weep’s enjoyment half divine:
Unsavoury appears
To thee, a bibber of port wine,
The luxury of tears.
XVI.
“Farewell, farewell! we grieve for thee;”
(They cast a pitying glance,)
Doctor, thou hast no sympathy
With Creatures of Romance.”