And HER MAJESTY has trod these Walks,
Accompanied
By
PRINCE ALBERT,
THE PRINCE OF WALES,
THE PRINCESS ROYAL,
And
The Rest of the Royal Children!—
She saw the Tiger!
Did she think of TIPPOO SAIB'S Tiger's Head?
She saw the Lion!
Thought she of one of her own Arms?
She did NOT see the Unicorn; but
(With her gracious habits of condescension)
Did she think of him a bit the less?
Thoughts crowd upon me-cry move on!
And now I am here; and whether I will or no,
I feel I'm jolly!
The Chameleons are asleep, and, like the Cabinet
(Of course i mean the Whigs),
Know not, when they rise to-morrow,
What color they will wake!—
The baby elephant seems prematurely old:
Its infant hide all corrugate with thoughts
Of cakes and oranges given it by boys;
Alas! in Chancery now, and paralytic!
This is very sad. No more of it!
Ha! ha! here sits the Ape—the many-colored wight!
Thou hast marked him, with nose of scarlet sealing-wax,
And so be-colored with prismatic hues,
As though he had come from sky to earth—
Sliding and wiping a fresh-painted rainbow!
Hush! I have made a perfect circle!
And at the Snake-House once again I stand!
Such is life!
Eh! Oh! Help! Murder! Dreadful Accident!
To be conceived—Oh, perhaps!
Described—Oh, never!
Keepers are up, and crowd about the box—
The Boa's box—with unconcerned rabbits!
Not so the Boa! Look! Behold!
And where's the Blanket?
In the Boa's inside place! The Monster mark!
How he writhes and wrestles with the wool, as though
He had within him rolls and rolls
Of choking, suffocating influenza,
That lift his eyes from out their sockets!—Of fleecy phlegm
That will neither in or out, but mid-way
Seem to strangle!
Silence and wonder settle on the crowd;
From whom instinctively and breathlessly,
Ascend two pregnant questions!
"Will the Boa bolt the blanket?
Will the blanket choke the Boa?"
Such the problem!
And then men mark and deduce
Differently
"THE BLANKET IS ENGLAND: THE BOA THE POPE, WILL THE POPE DISGORGE HIS BULL?"
"THE BLANKET'S FREE TRADE: THE CORN-GORGED FOLK IS THE BOA WITH PLENTY STIFLED!"
"THE BLANKET'S REFORM TO GAG THE MOB, AND NAUGHT TO SATISFY!"
But I, a lofty and an abstract man,
A creature of a higher element
Than ever nourished the wood
Ordained for ballot-boxes—I
Say nothing; until a Keeper comes to me, and,
Hooking his fore-finger in his forehead's lock,
Says—"What's your opinion, Sir?
If Boas will bolt Blankets, Boas must:
If Snakes will rush upon their end, why not?"
"My friend," said I, "The Blanket and the Boa—
You will conceive me—are a type, yes, just a type,
Of this our day.
The dumb and monstrous, tasteless appetite
Of stupid Boa, to gobble up for food
What needs must scour or suffocate,
Not nourish!
My friend, let the wool of that one blanket
Warm but the back of one live sheep,
And the Boa would bolt the animal entire,
And flourish on his meal, transmuting flesh and bones,
And turning them to healthful nutriment!
Believe this vital truth;
The stomach may take down and digest
And sweetly, too, a leg of mutton;
That would turn at and reject
One little ball of worsted!"