And the Nine were all heard, as the harmony swell'd, And the spheres, pealing in, the long rapture upheld, And all things above, and beneath, and around, Seem'd a world of bright vision, set floating in sound. That sight and that music might not be sustain'd, But by those who in wonder's great school had been train'd; And even the bards who had graciousness found, After gazing awhile, bow'd them down to the ground. What then could remain for that feeble-eyed crew? Through the door in an instant they rush'd and they flew ; They rush'd, and they dash'd, and they scrambled, and stumbled, And down the hall staircase distractedly tumbled, And never once thought which was head or was feet, And slid through the hall, and fell plump in the street. So great was the panic that smote them to flight, That of all who had come to be feasted that night, Not one ventur'd back, or would stay near the place; Even Ireland declin'd, notwithstanding his face. But Phoebus no sooner had gain❜d his good ends, Than he put off his terrors, and rais'd up his friends, Who stood for a moment entranc'd to behold The glories subside and the dim-rolling gold, And listen'd to sounds, that with ecstasy burning Seem'd dying far upward, like heaven returning. Then "Come," cried the God in his elegant mirth, "Let us make us a heaven of our own upon earth, And wake with the lips, that we dip in our bowls, That divinest of music,-congenial souls." So saying, he led through the door in his state, Each bard as he follow'd him blessing his fate; And by some charm or other, as each took his chair, And Keats's had forest-tree, basil, and rose ; The blossom that counts by its hundreds of years. But such as a poet might dream ere he din'd; * " Montepulciano d'ogni vino è il Re." Bacco in Toscana. The decanters and glasses pure diamond became, And the corkscrew ran solidly round into flame :In a word, so completely forestall'd were the wishes, E'en harmony struck from the noise of the dishes. It can't be suppos'd I should think of repeating The fancies that flow'd at this laureat meeting; I haven't the brains, and besides was not there; But the wit may be easily guess'd by the chair. I must mention, however, that during the wine, Our four great old poets were toasted with nine. Then others with six or with three as it fitted, Nor were those who translate with a gusto, omitted. At this, Southey begging the deity's ear"I know," interrupted Apollo, "tis Frere:"* And Scott put a word in, and begg'd to propose"I'll drink him with pleasure," said Phoebus, "tis Rose."+ Then talking of lyrics, he call'd upon Moore, Who sung such a song, that they shouted" Encore!" And the God was so pleas'd with his taste and his tone, He obey'd the next call, and gave one of his own,At which you'd have thought,-('twas so witching a warble,) The guests had all turn'd into listening marble; Thus chatting and singing they sat till eleven, When Phoebus shook hands, and departed for heaven; * See the admirable version from the Spanish, at the end of Mr. Southey's Chronicle of the Cid. The abridger of Casti's Animali Parlanti, and imitator of Berni. "For poets," he said, "who would cherish their powers, And hop'd to be deathless, must keep to good hours." And shot up the north, like an arrow of flame; The others then parted, all highly delighted; To the RIGHT HON. LORD BROUGHAM, with whom the writer humbly differs on some points, but deeply respects for his motives on all; great in office for what he did for the world, greater out of it for calmly awaiting his time to do more; the promoter of education; the expediter of justice; the liberator from slavery; and (what is the rarest virtue in a statesman) always a denouncer of war, this Poem is inscribed by his ever affectionate servant, Jan. 30, 1835. LEIGH HUNT. I. HOW CAPTAIN SWORD MARCHED TO WAR. CAPTAIN SWORD got up one day, Over the hills to march away, Over the hills and through the towns; They heard him coming across the downs, Which his drums sent before him into the street, With tranquil faces, and bristling steel, And the flag full of honour as though it could feel, And then came his horse, a clustering sound And ever and anon the kettle-drums beat And ever and anon the drums and fifes He, nevertheless, rode indifferent-eyed, And hearts swell'd after him double their size, |