In light and shade strange figures you can trace—-
An elephant, an ox, a human face.
Not long ago, in England men perplexed,
Saw, in a telescope, what savants vexed,
A monster in this planet's mirror fair;
Wild cries of horror filled the midnight air.
Some change was pending—some mysterious change,
Predicting wars, or a misfortune strange.
The monarch came, he favoured learned men;
The wondrous monster showed itself again:
It was a mouse between the glasses shut—
The source of war—the nibbler of a nut.
The people laughed—oh, nation blessed with ease,
When will the French have time for toils like these?
Mars brings us glory's harvests; still the foe
Shrinks down before us, dreading every blow;
'Tis we who seek them, sure that victory,
Slave to our Louis, follows ceaselessly
His flag; his laurels render us renowned:
Yet memory has not left this mortal round.
We wish for peace—for peace alone we sigh;
Charles tastes the joys of rest: he would in war
Display his valour, and his flag bear far,
To reach the tranquil joy that now he shares.
Would he could end our quarrels and our cares!
What incense would be his, what endless fame!
Did not Augustus win a glorious name,
Equal to Cæsar's in its majesty,
And worthy of like reverence, may be?
Oh, happy people, when will Peace come down,
To dower our nation with her olive-crown?
THE FORTUNE-TELLER.
Opinion is the child of Chance,
And this Opinion forms our taste.
Against all people I advance
These words. I find the world all haste—
Infatuation; justice gone;
A torrent towards a goal unseen.
We only know things will be done
In their own way, as they have been.
In Paris lived a Sorceress,
Who told the people of their fate.
All sought her:—men; girls loverless;
A husband whom his wife thought late
In dying; many a jealous woman.
Ill-natured mothers, by the score,
Came—for they all were simply human—
To hear what Fortune had in store.
Her tricks of trade were hardihood,
Some terms of art, a neat address.
Sometimes a prophecy proved good,
And then they thought her nothing less
Than Delphi's Pythoness of yore:
Though ignorance itself was she;
And made her wretched garret floor
Highway for gullibility.
Grown rich, she took a house, and bought
A place of profit for her lord.
The witch's garret soon was sought
By a young girl, who never soared
To witchery, save by eyes and voice.
But yet they all came, as of old—
The lucky, who in wealth rejoice,
And poor—to have their fortunes told.