Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns;
From grosser incense with disgust she turns.
Mend, Swinburne, mend thy morals and thy taste;
Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but chaste;
Thy borrowed fancies to Villon restore,
And use old Scripture similes no more!
"Behold! ye cliques; one moment spare the text!
Hall Caine's last work, and worst—until his next!
Whether he drafts his 'sagas' into plays,
Or damns his brother authors with faint praise,