SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. There was also (as mention'd, in rhyme and in Thus, while your blust'rers of the Tory school prose, is) Gold heap'd, throughout Egypt, on every shrine, To make rings for right reverend crocodiles' noses Find Ireland's sanest sons so hard to rule, Just such as, my Ph-llp-ts, would look well in Show me the man that dares, with blushless brow, thine. but one needn't fly off, in this erudite mood; And 'tis clear, without going to regions so sunny, That priests love to do the least possible good, For the largest most possible quantum of money. Prate about Erin's rage and riot now ; Now, when her temperance forms her sole excess; Will soon, like other spirits, vanish quite ; "Of him," saith the text, "unto whom much is No glimpse of scarlet will be seen at all, "Give as much as you will-more will still be desired." Save that which she of Babylon supplies, Of Ireland's red defence the sole remains; Long may such lot be Erin's, long be mine! More money! more churches!-oh Nimrod, hadst Oh yes-if ev'n this world, though bright it shine thou In Wisdom's eyes a prison-house must be, 'Stead of Tower-extension, some shorter way At least let woman's hand our fetters twine, And blithe I'll sing, more joyous than if free, INTENDED TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR OF AN ARTICLE IN THE LAST NUMBER OF VIE ENTITLED "ROMANISM IN IRELAND." Ir glads us much to be able to say, That a meeting is fix'd, for some early day, Such, we're happy to state, are the old he-dames (In good hieroglyphics,) with kind intent As a perfect antediluvian gem The work, as Sir Sampson Legend would say, The fund being raised, there remain'd but to see (I'm sorry with such a long word to detain ye,) Meanwhile, to the great alarm of his neighbors, 'Stead of swallowing wholesome stuff from the druggist's, He will keep raving of "Irish Thuggists ;” From rise of morn till set of sun, Pop, pop, as fast as a minute-gun !6 If ask'd, how comes it the gown and cassock are But swarms the more for this trucidation He refers you, for all such memoranda, To the "archives of the Propaganda!" This is all we've got, for the present, to say— But shall take up the subject some future day. GRAND DINNER OF TYPE AND CO A poor poet'S DREAM. As I sate in my study, lone and still, Upon Fancy's reinless night-mare flitting, With coat that hadn't much nap to spare, (Having just gone into its second edition,) Was the only wretch of an author there. But think, how great was my surprise, When I saw, in casting round my eyes, That the dishes, sent up by Type's she-cooks, Bore all, in appearance, the shape of books; Large folios-God knows where they got 'em, In these small times-at top and bottom; And quartos (such as the Press provides For no one to read them) down the sides. Then flash'd a horrible thought on my brain, And I said to myself, ""Tis all too plain; "Like those, well known in school quotations, "Who ate up for dinner their own relations, "I see now, before me, smoking here, "The bodies and bones of my brethren dear;— 66 Bright sons of the lyric and epic Muse, "All cut up in cutlets, or hash'd in stews; 1 See Congreve's Love for Love. Beaux Stratagem. 3 The writer of the article has groped about, with much success, in what he calls "the dark recesses of Dr. Dens's disquisitions."-Quarterly Review. 4" Pray, may we ask, has there been any rebellious movement of Popery in Ireland, since the planting of the Ulster colonies, in which something of the kind was not visible among the Presbyterians of the North ?"-Ibid. "Lord Lorton, for instance, who, for clearing his estate of a village of Irish Thuggists," &c., &c.-Quarterly Re view. "Observe how murder after murder is committed like minute-guns."-Ibid. 7“Might not the archives of the Propaganda possibly, supply the key?" 8 Written during the late agitation of the question of Copyright. "Their works, a light through ages to go, "Themselves, eaten up by Type and Co !" While thus I moralized, on they went, "A slice of Southey let me send you❞— Thus having, the cormorants, fed some time, They rested awhile, to recruit their force, others Who all went the way of their larger brothers; And, num'rous now though such songsters be, "Twas really quite distressing to see A whole dishful of Toms-Moore, Dibdin, Bayly,Bolted by Type and Co. so gayly! Nor was this the worst-I shudder to think CHURCH EXTENSION. TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. Sir,-A well-known classical traveller, while employed in exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the Temple of Diana of Ephesus, was so fortunate, in the course of his researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark manuscript, which has turned out, on examination, to be part of an old Ephesian newspaper:-a newspaper published, as you will see, so far back as the time when Demetrius, the great Shrine-Extender,1 flourished. I am, Sir, yours, &c. Great stir in the Shrine Market! altars to Phoebus 2 Tria Virginis ora Dianæ. The "shrines" are supposed to have been smel. churches, or chapels, adjoining to the great temples; "ædiculæ, in quil us statuæ reponebantur."-ERASM. LATEST ACCOUNTS FROM OLYMPUS. As news from Olympus has grown rather rare, Since bards, in their cruises, have ceased to touch there, We extract for our readers th' intelligence given, That realm of the By-gones, where still sit, in state, Jove himself, it appears, since his love-days are o'er, And reads daily his old fellow-Thund'rer, the He and Vulcan, it seems, by their wives still henAnd kept on a stinted allowance of nectar. Old Phoebus, poor lad, has given up inspiration, The French, who of slaughter had had their full swing, Were content with a shot, now and then, at their King; While, in England, good fighting's a pastime so hard to gain, Nobody's left to fight with, but Lord C-rd-g-n "Tis needless to say, then, how monstrously happy Right well, too, he knows, that there ne'er were attackers, Whatever their cause, that they didn't find backers; How to come, in the most approved method, to blows This is all, for to-day-whether Mars is much verd Came incog. down to earth, and now writes for the At his friend Thiers's exit, we'll know by our next Mags; Did he pop forth, in hopes that somewhere or For instance, what sermon on human affairs somehow, Like Pat at a fair, he might "coax up a row:" But the joke wouldn't take-the whole world had got wiser; Men liked not to take a Great Gun for adviser; And, still less, to march in fine clothes to be shot, Without very well knowing for whom or for what. Could equal the scene that took place t'other day "Twixt Romeo and Louis Philippe, on the stairs— The Sublime and Ridiculous meeting half-way! Yes, Jocus! gay god, whom the Gentiles supplied, And whose worship not ev'n among Christians declines, But bears on board some authors, shipp'd No, no, my friend-it can't be blink d-- Our praise for pence and patronage, Unlike those feeble gales of praise What Steam is on the deep-and more- In old times, when the God of Song Drove his own two-horse team along, trived for your Lordship's speech; but suppose, my dear Lord, that instead of going E. and N. E. you had turned about," &c. &c.-SYDNEY SMITH'S Last Letter to the Bishop of London. |