Still, Retribution has her day,
Although her flight is slow:
One day that Crusher lost his way
Near Poland Street, Soho.
The haughty boy, too proud to ask,
To find his way resolved,
And in the tangle of his task
Got more and more involved.
The Men of London, overjoyed,
Came there to jeer their foe,
And flocking crowds completely cloyed
The mazes of Soho.
The news on telegraphic wires
Sped swiftly o’er the lea,
Excursion trains from distant shires
Brought myriads to see.
For weeks he trod his self-made beats
Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear-
Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets,
And into Golden Square.
But all, alas! in vain, for when
He tried to learn the way
Of little boys or grown-up men,
They none of them would say.
Their eyes would flash—their teeth would grind—
Their lips would tightly curl—
They’d say, “Thy way thyself must find,
Thou misdirecting churl!”
And, similarly, also, when
He tried a foreign friend;
Italians answered, “Il balen”—
The French, “No comprehend.”
The Russ would say with gleaming eye
“Sevastopol!” and groan.
The Greek said, “Τυπτω, τυπτομαι,
Τυπτω, τυπτειν, τυπτων.”
To wander thus for many a year
That Crusher never ceased—
The Men of London dropped a tear,
Their anger was appeased.
At length exploring gangs were sent
To find poor Forth’s remains—
A handsome grant by Parliament
Was voted for their pains.
To seek the poor policeman out
Bold spirits volunteered,
And when they swore they’d solve the doubt,
The Men of London cheered.
And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear,
They found him, on the floor—
It leads from Richmond Buildings—near
The Royalty stage-door.
With brandy cold and brandy hot
They plied him, starved and wet,
And made him sergeant on the spot—
The Men of London’s pet!
TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.
BY A MISERABLE WRETCH.
Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of Space
Roll on!
What though I’m in a sorry case?
What though I cannot meet my bills?
What though I suffer toothache’s ills?
What though I swallow countless pills?
Never you mind!
Roll on!
Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through seas of inky air
Roll on!
It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear;
It’s true my butcher’s bill is due;
It’s true my prospects all look blue—
But don’t let that unsettle you!
Never you mind!
Roll on!