Barbarians must we always be?
Wild hunters in pursuit of fame?
Must there be nowhere stone or tree
Ungashed with some ignoble name.
O Venus! in thy Tuscan dome
May every god watch over thee!
Apollo I bend thy bow o'er Rome,
And guard thy sister's chastity.
Let Britons paint their bodies blue
As formerly, but touch not you.
LYING IN STATE.
Now from the chamber all are gone
Who gazed and wept o'er Wellington;
Derby and Dis do all they can
To emulate so great a man:
If neither can be quite so great,
Resolved is each to LIE IN STATE.
[Illustration: LANDOR]
EPIGRAMS FROM PUNCH.
THE CAUSE.
Lisette has lost her wanton wiles—
What secret care consumes her youth,
And circumscribes her smiles?—
A SPECK ON A FRONT TOOTH?
IRISH PARTICULAR.
Shiel's oratory's like bottled Dublin stout—
For, draw the cork, and only froth comes out.