LIII. Juan knew several languages-as well [in time He might-and brought them up with skill, To save his fame with each accomplish'd belle, Who still regretted that he did not rhyme. There wanted but this requisite to swell His qualities (with them) into sublime; Lady Fitz-Frisky, and Miss Mævia Mannish, Both long'd extremely to be sung in Spanish. LIV. However, he did pretty well, and was At great assemblies or in parties small, LV. In twice five years the 'greatest living poet,' Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be king- But Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero My Leipsic, and my Mount Saint Jean seems La Belle Alliance of dunces down at zero, Now that the lion's fall'n, may rise again; But I will fall at least as fell my hero; Nor reign at all, or as a monarch reign; Or to some lonely isle of jailors go, With turncoat Southey for my turnkey Lowe. LVII. Sir Walter reign'd before me; Moore and Campbell Before and after: but now grown more holy, The muses upon Sion's hill must ramble With poets almost clergymen, or wholly; And Pegasus has a psalmodic amble Beneath the very Reverend Rowley Powley, Who shoes the glorious animals with stilts, A modern Ancient Pistol-by the hilts! LVIII. Still he excels that artificial hard Labourer in the same vineyard, though the vine Yields him but vinegar for is reward— That neutralized dull Dorus of the Nine; That swarthy Sporus, neither man nor bard; That ox of verse, who ploughs for every line :Cambyses' roaring Romans beat at least The howling Hebrews of Cybele's priest. LIX. Then there's my gentle Euphues, who, they say, To turn out both, or either, it may be. Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gander. LX. John Keats, who was kill'd off by one critique, Just as he really promised something great, If not intelligible, without Greek, Contrived to talk about the gods of late, Much as they might have been supposed to speak.† Poor fellow! his was an untoward fate; "Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuff d out by an article. LXI. The list grows long of live and dead pretenders To that which none will gain-or none will know The conqueror at least; who, ere Time renders LXII. This is the literary lower empire, Where the prætorian bands take up the matter; [phire,' A dreadful trade,' like his who 'gathers samThe insolent soldiery to soothe and flatter, With the same feelings as you'd coax a vampire. Now, were I once at home, and in good satire, I think I know a trick or two would turn My natural temper's really aught but stern, And even my Muse's worst reproofs a smile; And then she drops a brief and modern curtsey, And glides away, assured she never hurts ye. 'Where is the world?' cries Young, at eighty. Some, who once set their caps at cautious dukes, • Where The world in which a man was born?' Alas, Where is the world of eight years past? 'Twas there I look for it-'tis gone, a globe of glass! Crack'd, shiver'd, vanish'd, scarcely gazed on, ere A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, kings, And dandies, all are gone on the wind's wings. LXXVII. Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows : Where little Castlereagh? The devil can tell : Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all those Who bound the bar or senate in their spell? Where is the unhappy Queen, with all her woes? And where the Daughter, whom the Isles loved well? [Cents? Have taken up at length with younger brothers: Some heiresses have bit at sharpers' hooks: Some maids have been made wives, some merely mothers, Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks: The unusual quickness of these common changes. LXXXII. Talk not of seventy years as age: in seven I have seen more changes, down from monarchs to The humblest individual under heaven, I knew that nought was lasting, but now even Than might suffice a modern century through. Change grows too changeable, without being new: Where are those martyr'd saints, the Five per Nought's permanent among the human race, And where-oh, where the devil are the Rents? Except the Whigs not getting into place. 1823. Who keep the world, both Old and New, pain The fool will call such mania a disease :- Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all? The shade of Buonaparte's noble daring?— Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind Some dome surmounted by his meagre face: Wars, revels, loves-do these bring men fraction'? t Or do they benefit mankind? Lean miser ? T Let spendthrifts' heirs inquire of yours-wha: wiser? XII. How beauteous are rouleaus! how charming chests Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins (Not of old victors, all whose heads and crests Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines, But) of fine unclipt gold, where duly rests Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines, Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp :Yes! ready money is Aladdin's lamp. Even with the very ore that makes them base; Now if the court,' and 'camp,' and 'grove' be Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, Or revel in the joys of calculation. XI. But whether all, or each, or none of these May be the hoarder's principle of action, not Recruited all with constant married men, Who never coveted their neighbour's lot, I say that line's a lapsus of the pen ;— Strange too in my buon camerado Scott, So celebrated for his morals, when ら |