RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OPERA
By W. M. Thackeray.
I’ve known a god on clouds of gauze
With patience hear a people’s prayer,
And, bending to the pit’s applause,
Wait while the priest repeats the air.
I’ve seen a black-wigg’d Jove hurl down
A thunderbolt along a wire,
To burn some distant canvas town,
Which—how vexatious!—won’t catch fire.
I’ve known a tyrant doom a maid
(With trills and roulades many a score)
To instant death. She, sore afraid,
Sings; and the audience cries encore.
I’ve seen two warriors in a rage
Draw glist’ning swords, and—awful sight!—
Meet face to face upon the stage
To sing a song, but not to fight!
I’ve heard a king exclaim “To arms”
Some twenty times, yet still remain;
I’ve known his army ’midst alarms,
Help by a bass their monarch’s strain.
I’ve known a hero wounded sore
With well-tuned voice his foes defy;
And warbling stoutly on the floor,
With the last flourish fall and die.
I’ve seen a mermaid dress’d in blue;
I’ve seen a Cupid burn a wing;
I’ve known a Neptune lose a shoe;
I’ve heard a guilty spectre sing.