But my "last Metamorphosis," I opine,
Out of Glenaveril's wholly takes the shine.
From "Owen Meredith," of Servian song,
Translator (who said through the French?) to this!
The course, like my Serb falcon's flight, is long.
The proletariat possibly may hiss.
I scorn the anserine Gladstonian throng,
Whose mouthpiece is the Gaily Dews. I wis
That nickname shows a polish and a fire
Of wit well worthy my prodigious Sire.