It is not enough that this nonsense, I fear, lo q But the very best promise bred up in the school, Of the ev'ry-day feelings of every one else, the xif But in gath'ring the refuse that others reject?, Must a ballad doled out by a spectacled nurse [ view. & There is one of you here,-'twas of him that I spoke, tri But resolv'd as I am to maintain the partitions ling ư à 'Twixt wit and mere wildness, he knows the conditions And if he retains but a spark of my fire, Will shew it this instant, and blush, and retire.' 20 67 He spoke; and poor Wordsworth, his cheeks in a glow.ne (For he felt the God in him) made symptoms to goru bah When Apollo, in pity, to screen him from sight, 21 He said; and the place all seem'd swelling with light, While his locks and his visage grew awfully bright; a And clouds, burning inward, roll'd round on each side,! To encircle his state, as he stood in his pride; Till at last the full Deity put on his rays, And burst on the sight in the pomp of his blaze! With the sound of deep organs and chorister gods; And the Nine were all heard, as the harmony swell'd,——- Seem'd a world of bright vision, set floating in sound. That sight and that music might not be sustain'd 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 they struck with their fright, That of all who had come to be feasted that night, Not one ventur'd up, or would stay near the place; Even Croker declin'd, notwithstanding his face; And old Peter Pindar turn'd pale, and suppress'd, With a death-bed sensation, a blasphemous jest.23 But Phœbus 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 ecstacy burning Seem'd dying far upward, like heaven returning. Then 'Come,' cried the God in his elegant mirth, 'Let us make us a heav'n 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 dining-room door, And seating the poets, cried Laurels for four!' No sooner demanded, than lo! they were there, And each of the bards had a wreath in his hair. Tom Campbell's with willow and poplar was twin'd, And Southey's with mountain-ash pluck'd in the wind, And Scott's with a heath from his old garden stores, Then Apollo put his on, that sparkled with beams, and But such as a poet might dream ere he din'd; For the God had no sooner determin'd the fare, d pese Than it turn'd to whatever was racy and rare: The fish and the flesh, for example, were done, On account of their fineness, in flame from the sun; A The wines were all nectar of different smack,“ I To which Muskat was nothing, nor Virginis Lac, 3 Then as for the fruits, you might garden for ages, 'Twas magic, in short, and deliciousness all The very men-servants grew handsome and tall, jac) mo l |