Nor see I why, some future day,
When short of cash, we should not send
Our Herries down—he knows the way—
To see if Woods in hell will lend.
Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts,
Beneath whose "branches of expense"
Our gracious King gets all he wants,—
Except a little taste and sense.
Long, in your golden shade reclined.
Like him of fair Armida's bowers,
May Wellington some wood-nymph find,
To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours;
To rest from toil the Great Untaught,
And soothe the pangs his warlike brain
Must suffer, when, unused to thought,
It tries to think and—tries in vain.
Oh long may Woods and Forests be
Preserved in all their teeming graces,
To shelter Tory bards like me
Who take delight in Sylvan places!
[1] Called by Vergil, botanically, "species aurifrondentis."
STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF THE SHANNON.[1]
1828.
"Take back the virgin page."
MOORE'S Irish Melodies.
No longer dear Vesey, feel hurt and uneasy
At hearing it said by the Treasury brother,
That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my Vesey,
And he, the dear, innocent placeman, another.[2]