FABLE I

THE DISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE.

A Dream.

I'VE had a dream that bodes no good

Unto the Holy Brotherhood.

I may be wrong, but I confess

As far as it is right or lawful
For one, no conjuror, to guess—
It seems to me extremely awful.
Methought, upon the Neva's flood
A beautiful Ice Palace stood;

A dome of frost-work, on the plan
Of that once built by Empress Anne,'
Which shone by moonlight-as the tale is-
Like an aurora borealis.

In this said palace-furnish'd all

And lighted as the best on land are-
I dream'd there was a splendid ball,
Given by the Emperor Alexander,
To entertain, with all due zeal,

Those holy gentlemen who 've shown a
Regard so kind for Europe's weal,

At Troppau, Laybach, and Verona.

The thought was happy, and designed
To hint how thus the human mind
May-like the stream imprison'd there-
Be check'd and chill'd till it can bear
The heaviest Kings, that ode or sonnet
E'er yet be-praised, to dance upon it.

And all were pleased, and cold, and stately,
Shivering in grand illumination—
Admired the superstructure greatly,

Nor gave one thought to the foundation.
Much too the Czar himself exulted,

To all plebeian fears a stranger,

As Madame Krudener, when consulted,

Had pledged her word there was no danger.

So, on he caper'd, fearless quite,

Thinking himself extremely clever, And waltz'd away with all his might,

As if the frost would last for ever.

1 "It is well known that the Empress Anne built a palace of ice, on the Neva, in 1740, which was fifty-two feet in ength, and when illuminated had a surprising effect."Pinkerton.

Just fancy how a bard like me,

Who reverence monarchs, must have trembled, To see that goodly company

At such a ticklish sport assembled.

Nor were the fears, that thus astounded
My loyal soul, at all unfounded;
For, lo! ere long, those walls so massy

Were seized with an ill-omen'd dripping,
And o'er the floors, now growing glassy,

Their Holinesses took to slipping. The Czar, half through a Polonaise, Could scarce get on for downright stumbling, And Prussia, though to slippery ways

So used, was cursedly near tumbling.

Yet still 't was who could stamp the floor most,
Russia and Austria 'mong the foremost.
And now, to an Italian air,

This precious brace would hand in hand go; Now-while old ****** from his chair,

Intreated them his toes to spare

Call'd loudly out for a fandango.

And a fandango, 'faith, they had,
At which they all set to like mad-

Never were Kings (though small the expense is
Of wit among their Excellencies,)

So out of all their princely senses.

But, ah! that dance-that Spanish dance-
Scarce was the luckless strain begun,
When, glaring red-as 't were a glance
Shot from an angry southern sun-

A light through all the chambers flamed,
Astonishing old Father Frost,

Who, bursting into tears, exclaim'd,

"A thaw, by Jove!-we're lost, we're lost' Run, F! a second Waterloo

Is come to drown you-sauve qui peut !"

Why, why will monarchs caper so
In palaces without foundations?

Instantly all was in a flow :

Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations,
Those royal arms, that look'd so nice,
Cut out in the resplendent ice;
Those eagles, handsomely provided

With double heads for double dealings-
How fast the globes and sceptres glided

Out of their claws on all the ceilings!

Proud Prussia's double bird of prey,
Tame as a spatch-cock, slunk away;
While just like France herself, when she
Proclaims how great her naval skill is—
Poor ******* drowning fleurs-de-lys

Imagined themselves water-lilies.
And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves,
But still more fatal execution-
The Great Legitimates themselves

Seem'd in a state of dissolution.
The indignant Czar-when just about
To issue a sublime Ukase-
"Whereas, all light must be kept out"

Dissolved to nothing in its blaze.
Next Prussia took his turn to melt,
And, while his lips illustrious felt
The influence of this southern air,

Some word like "Constitution," long Conceal'd in frosty silence there,

Came slowly thawing from his tongue.
While ******, lapsing by degrees,

And sighing out a faint adieu
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese,
And smoking fondus, quickly grew
Himself into a fondu too;-
Or, like that goodly King they make
Of sugar, for a twelfth-night cake,
When, in some urchin's mouth, alas,
It melts into a shapeless mass !

In short, I scarce could count a minute
Ere the bright dome, and all within it-
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors-all were gone!
And nothing now was seen or heard
But the bright river, rushing on,

Happy as an enfranchised bird,
And prouder of that natural ray,
Shining along its chainless way-
More proudly happy thus to glide

In simple grandeur to the sea,
Than when in sparkling fetters tied,
And deck'd with all that kingly pride
Could bring to light its slavery!

Such is my dream—and, I confess,
I tremble at its awfulness.

That Spanish dance-that southern beam-
But I say nothing-there's my dream-
And Madame Krudener, the she-prophet,
May make just what she pleases of it.

The Easterns, in a Prince, 't is said,

Prefer what's call'd a jolter-head ;'
The Egyptians were n't at all partic'lar,
So that their Kings had not red hair-
This fault not even the greatest stickler
For the blood-royal well could bear
A thousand more such illustrations
Might be adduced from various nations;
But, 'mong the many tales they tell us,

Touching the acquired or natural right
Which some men have to rule their fellows,
There's one which I shall here recite :-
Fable.

THERE was a land-to name the place
Is neither now my wish nor duty-
Where reign'd a certain royal race,
By right of their superior beauty.
What was the cut legitimate

Of these great persons' chins and noses,
By right of which they ruled the state,
No history I have seen discloses.

But so it was a settled case

Some act of Parliament, pass'd snugly, Had voted them a beauteous race,

And all their faithful subjects ugly.

As rank, indeed, stood high or low,
Some change it made in visual organs;
Your Peers were decent-Knights, so so-
But all your common people gorgons!

Of course, if any knave but hinted

That the King's nose was turn'd awry, Or that the Queen (God save us !) squintedThe judges doom'd that knave to die.

But rarely things like this occurr'd:

The people to their King were duteous,

And took it, on his royal word,

That they were frights and he was beauteous

The cause whereof, among all classes,
Was simply this:-these island elves
Had never yet seen looking-glasses,
And, therefore, did not know themselves.
Sometimes, indeed, their neighbours' faces
Might strike them as more full of reason,
More fresh than those in certain places-
But, Lord! the very thought was treason!

Besides, howe'er we love our neighbour,
And take his face's part, 't is known
We never half so earnest labour,

As when the face attack'd's our own.

So, on they went-the crowd believing

(As crowds well govern'd always do,) Their rulers, too, themselves deceivingSo old the joke they thought it true.

But jokes, we know, if they too far go, Must have an end; and so, one day,

1 "In a Prince, a jolter-head is invaluable."—Oriental Field Sports.

Upon that coast there was a cargo Of looking-glasses cast away.

"T was said, some Radicals, somewhere, Had laid their wicked heads together, And forced that ship to founder thereWhile some believe it was the weather.

However this might be, the freight

Was landed without fees or duties; And, from that hour, historians date

The downfall of the race of beauties.

The looking-glasses got about,

And grew so common through the land, That scarce a tinker could walk out

Without a mirror in his hand.

Comparing faces, morning, noon,
And night, their constant occupation-
By dint of looking-glasses, soon
They grew a most reflecting nation.

In vain the Court, aware of errors

In all the old, established mazards, Prohibited the use of mirrors,

And tried to break them at all hazards:

In vain their laws might just as well

Have been waste paper on the shelves; That fatal freight had broke the spell; People had look'd--and knew themselves

If chance a Duke, of birth sublime,
Presumed upon his ancient face
(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,)
They popp'd a mirror to his Grace-

Just hinting, by that gentle sign,

How little Nature holds it true, That what is call'd an ancient line Must be the line of Beauty too.

From Dukes' they pass'd to regal phizzes,

Compared them proudly with their own, And cried, "How could such monstrous quizzes, In Beauty's name, usurp the throne?"

They then wrote essays, pamphlets, books,
Upon cosmetical economy,
Which made the King try various looks,
But none improved his physiognomy.

And satires at the Court they levell'd,

And small lampoons, so full of slynesses, That soon, in short, they quite be-devil'd Their Majesties and Royal Highnesses.

At length-but here I drop the veil,
To spare some loyal folks' sensations:
Besides, what follows is the tale

Of all such late-enlighten'd nations;

Of all to whom old Time discloses

A truth they should have sooner knownThat Kings have neither rights nor noses A whit diviner than their own.

FABLE III.

THE FLY AND THE BULLOCK.
Proem.

Of all that, to the sage's-survey
This world presents of topsy-turvey,

There's nought so much disturbs his patience

As little minds in lofty stations.

"Tis like that sort of painful wonder Which slight and pigmy columns under Enormous arches give beholders;

Or those poor Caryatides,

Condemn'd to smile and stand at ease,

With a whole house upon their shoulders

If, as in some few royal cases,

Small minds are born into such places-
If they are there, by Right Divine,
Or any such sufficient reason,
Why-Heaven forbid we should repine!-
To wish it otherwise were treason;
Nay, even to see it in a vision,
Would be what lawyers call misprision.

Sir ROBERT FILMER says-and he,

Of course, knew all about the matter-
"Both men and beasts love monarchy:"
Which proves how rational-the latter
SIDNEY, indeed, we know, had quite
A different notion from the knight;
Nay, hints a King may lose his head
By slipping awkwardly his bridle :
But this is Jacobin, ill-bred,
And (now-a-days, when Kings are led
In patent snaffles) downright idle.

No, no-it is n't foolish Kings
(Those fix'd, inevitable things-
Bores paramount, by right of birth)

That move my wrath, but your pretenders

Your mushroom rulers, sons of earth,

Who, not like t'others, crown'a offenders (Regular gratia Dei blockheads,

Born with three kingdoms in their pockets,)
Nor leaving, on the scale of mind,
These royal Zeros far behind,
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops,

Push up into the loftiest stations,
And, though too dull to manage shops
Presume, the dolts, to manage nations.
This class it is that moves my gall,
And stirs up spleen, and bile, and all
While other senseless things appear
To know the limits of their sphere-
While not a cow on earth romances
So much as to conceit she dances-
While the most jumping Frog we know of,
Would scarce at Astley's hope to show off-
Your ****s and ****s dare,

Pigmy as are their minds, to set them
To any business, any where,

At any time that fools will let them.
But leave we here these upstart things—
My business is, just now, with Kings;
To whom, and to their right-line glory,

I dedicate the following story ·

Fable.

THE wise men of Egypt were secret as dummies; And, even when they most condescended to teach, They pack'd up their meaning, as they did their mummies,

In so many wrappers, 't was out of one's reach.

They were also, good people, much given to KingsFond of monarchs and crocodiles, monkeys and

mystery,

Bats, hieraphants, blue-bottle flies, and such thingsAs will partly appear in this very short history.

A Scythian philosopher (nephew, they say,

To that other great traveller, young Anacharsis) Stepp'd into a temple at Memphis one day,

To have a short peep at their mystical farces.

He saw a brisk blue-bottle Fly on an altar,'

Made much of, and worshipp'd as something divine;

While a large handsome Bullock, led there in a halter,
Before it lay stabb'd at the foot of the shrine.

Surprised at such doings, he whisper'd his teacher-
"If 't is n't impertinent, may I ask why
Should a Bullock, that useful and powerful creature,
Be thus offered up to a blue-bottle Fly?"

"No wonder," said t' other, "you stare at the sight,
But we as a symbol of monarchy view it:
That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate Right,

And that Bullock the people that's sacrificed to it."

FABLE IV.

CHURCH AND STATE. Proem.

"The moment any religion becomes national, or established, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then im possible to keep it unconnected with men's interests; and, if connected, it must evidently be perverted by them.". Soame Jenyns.

THUS did SOAME JENYNS-though a Tory,
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations-
Feel how Religion's simple glory
Is stained by State associations.
When CATHERINE, after murdering Poles
Appeal'd to the benign Divinity,
Then cut them up in protocols,
Made fractions of their very souls-2

All in the name of the bless'd Trinity;
Or when her grandson, ALEXANDER,
That mighty northern salamander,
Whose icy touch, felt all about,
Puts every fire of Freedom out-
When he, too, winds up his Ukases
With GOD and the Panagia's praises-
When he, of royal saints the type,

In holy water dips the sponge,

With which, at one imperial wipe,

He would all human rights expunge! When ****** (whom, as King and eater, Some name ***-****, and some *** ** Calls down "Saint Louis' GOD" to witness The right, humanity, and fitness Of sending eighty thousand Solons

Sages with muskets and laced coatsTo cram instruction, nolens volens,

Down the poor struggling Spaniard's throatsI can't help thinking (though to Kings

I must, of course, like other men, bow)
That when a Christian monarch brings
Religion's name to gloss these things-
Such blasphemy out-Benbows Benbow!
Or-not so far for facts to roam,
Having a few much nearer home-
When we see churchmen, who, if ask'd,
"Must Ireland's slaves be tithed and task'd,
And driven, like negroes or croats,

That you may roll in wealth and bliss ?"
Look from beneath their shovel hats

With all due pomp, and answer "Yes!"
But then, if question'd, "Shall the brand
Intolerance flings throughout that land,
Betwixt her palaces and hovels,

Suffering nor peace nor love to grow,
Be ever quench'd?"-from the same shovels
Look grandly forth, and answer "No!"-
Alas, alas! have these a claim
To merciful Religion's name?

If more you want, go, see a bevy
Of bowing parsons at a levee
(Chusing your time, when straw 's before
Some apoplectic bishop's door :)
There, if thou canst with life escape
That sweep of lawn, that press of crape,
Just watch their rev'rences and graces,
Should'ring their way on, at all risks,
And say, if those round ample faces

To heaven or earth most turn their disks?

This, this it is-Religion, made,
"Twixt Church and State, a truck, a trade-
This most ill-match'd, unholy Co.
From whence the ills we witness flow-
The war of many creeds with one,
The extremes of too much faith, and none-
The qualms, the fumes of sect and sceptic,
And all that Reason, grown dyspeptic
By swallowing forced or noxious creeds,
From downright indigestion breeds;
Till, 'twixt old bigotry and new,
"Twixt Blasphemy and Cant-the two
Rank ills with which this age is cursed-
We can no more tell which is worst,
Than erst could Egypt, when so rich
In various plagues, determine which
She thought most pestilent and vile-
Her frogs, like Benbow and Carlile,
Croaking their native mud-notes loud,
Or her fat locusts, like a cloud
Of pluralists, obesely lowering,
At once benighting and devouring!