A grand, pillared temple with niches and halls,
Full of idols and gods, which they nickname St. Paul's;—
Tho' 'tis clearly the place where the idolatrous crew
Whom the Rector complained of, their dark rites pursue;
And, 'mong all the "strange gods" Abr'ham's father carved out,[1]
That he ever carv'd stranger than these I much doubt.
Were it even, my dear TULLY, your Hebes and Graces,
And such pretty things, that usurpt the Saints' places,
I shouldnt much mind,—for in this classic dome
Such folks from Olympus would feel quite at home.
But the gods they've got here!—such a queer omnium gatherum
Of misbegot things that no poet would father 'em;—
Britannias in light summer-wear for the skies,—
Old Thames turned to stone, to his no small surprise,—
Father Nile, too,—a portrait, (in spite of what's said,
That no mortal e'er yet got a glimpse of his head,)
And a Ganges which India would think somewhat fat for't,
Unless 'twas some full-grown Director had sat for't;—
Not to mention the et caeteras of Genii and Sphinxes,
Fame, Victory, and other such semi-clad minxes;—
Sea Captains,[2]—the idols here most idolized;
And of whom some, alas! might too well be comprized
Among ready-made Saints, as they died cannonized;
With a multitude more of odd cockneyfied deities,
Shrined in such pomp that quite shocking to see it 'tis;
Nor know I what better the Rector could do
Than to shrine there his own beloved quadruped too;
As most surely a tithe-pig, whate'er the world thinks, is
A much fitter beast for a church than a Sphinx is.
But I'm called off to dinner—grace just has been said,
And my host waits for nobody, living or dead.
[1] Joshua xxiv 2.
[2] Captains Mosse, Riou etc.
LINES ON THE DEPARTURE OF LORD CASTLEREAGH AND STEWART FOR THE CONTINENT.[1]
at Paris[2] et Fratres, et qui rapure sub illis.
vix tenuere manus (scis hoc, Menelae) nefandas.
OVID. Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202.
Go, Brothers in wisdom—go, bright pair of Peers,
And my Cupid and Fame fan you both with their pinions!
The one, the best lover we have—of his years,
And the other Prime Statesman of Britain's dominions.
Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the smile
Of the Misses that love and the monarchs that prize thee;
Forget Mrs. Angelo Taylor awhile,
And all tailors but him who so well dandifies thee.
Never mind how thy juniors in gallantry scoff,
Never heed how perverse affidavits may thwart thee,
But show the young Misses thou'rt scholar enough
To translate "Amor Fortis" a love, about forty!