Tom Sueter, too, the ladies’ pet,
Brown that would bravest hearts affray;
Walker, invincible when set,
(Tom, of the spider limbs and splay);
Think ye that we could match them, pray,
These heroes of Broad-halfpenny,
With Buck to hit, and Small to stay?
Beneath the daisies, there they lie!
Envoy.
Prince, canst thou moralise the lay?
How all things change below the sky!
Of Fry and Grace shall mortals say,
“Beneath the daisies, there they lie!”
Brahma.
After Emerson.
If the wild bowler thinks he bowls,
Or if the batsman thinks he’s bowled,
They know not, poor misguided souls,
They too shall perish unconsoled.
I am the batsman and the bat,
I am the bowler and the ball,
The umpire, the pavilion cat,
The roller, pitch, and stumps, and all.
CRITICAL OF LIFE, ART, AND LITERATURE
Gainsborough Ghosts.
In The Grosvenor Gallery.
They smile upon the western wall,
The lips that laughed an age agone,
The fops, the dukes, the beauties all,
Le Brun that sang, and Carr that shone.
We gaze with idle eyes: we con
The faces of an elder time—
Alas! and ours is flitting on;
Oh, moral for an empty rhyme!