A Chamberlainian Dream.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and skeery,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Midlothian lore;
While I studied—deeply napping—suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping with something wooden on the door.
“’Tis some Radical,” I murmured, “with a cudgel at the door
Waiting for me—nothing more.”
Presently my views grew broader; “it must be that great marauder,
The big and hurly-burly Harcourt, sturdy limb of legal lore.
Yes, ’tis he of frame Titanic, massive jowl, and sneer Satanic,