No moaning of the bards? That were hard lines
For minor line-spinners, imperial TENNYSON!
Owls only have their chance when day declines,
That's why the night-birds crown thee with prompt benison.
LEWIS has wailed and warbled—twiddlingly:
ALFRED has—rootley-tootlely—wailed and warbled;
WILLIAM's young Muse hath wept—then why not Me,
Whose brow, not less than theirs, with woe is marbled?
ROBERT and AUSTIN (DOBSON) took their turns;
There is some talk, too, of Sir THEODORE MARTIN.