And all the smooth routine of gallantries,
Was seen, to our immoderate surprise,
A motley crowd thick gather'd in the hall,
Lords, scullions, deputy-scullions, with wild cries
Stunning the vestibule from wall to wall,

Where the Chief Justice on his knees and hands doth crawl.

LXXXVI.

"Counts of the palace, and the state purveyor Of moth's-down, to make soft the royal beds, The Common Council and my fool Lord Mayor Marching a-row, each other slipshod treads; Powder'd bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads

Of cinder wenches meet and soil each other; Toe crush'd with heel ill-natured fighting breeds, Frill-rumpling elbows brew up many a bother, And fists in the short ribs keep up the yell and pother.

LXXXVII.

"A Poet, mounted on the Court-Clown's back, Rode to the Princess swift with spurring heels, And close into her face, with rhyming clack, Began a Prothalamion ;- she reels,

She falls, she faints! while laughter peals Over her woman's weakness. 'Where,' cried I, 'Where is his Majesty ?' No person feels Inclined to answer; wherefore instantly I plunged into the crowd to find him or to die

LXXXVIII.

"Jostling my way I gain'd the stairs, and ran To the first landing, where, incredible!

I met, far gone in liquor, that old man,
That vile impostor Hum,-

So far so well,—

For we have proved the Mago never fell Down stairs on Crafticanto's evidence; And therefore duly shall proceed to tell, Plain in our own original mood and tense, The sequel of this day, though labour 'tis immense!"

PON a time, before the faery broods
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosper-
ous woods,

Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,
Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns
From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslipp'd lawns,
The ever-smitten Hermes empty left

His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft:
From high Olympus had he stolen light,

On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight
Of his great summoner, and made retreat
Into a forest on the shores of Crete.
For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
A nymph to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
At whose white feet the languid Tritons pour'd

1 "This tragedy (King Stephen) gave place to Lamia, a Poem, which had been in hand for some months. He wrote it

with great care, after much study of Dryden's composition."-CHARLES BROWN.

Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.
Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,
And in those meads where sometimes she might
haunt,

Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,
Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose.
Ah, what a world of love was at her feet!
So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat
Burn'd from his winged heels to either ear,
That, from a whiteness as the lily clear,
Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair,

Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare.
From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew,
Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,
And wound with many a river to its head,
To find where this sweet nymph prepared her secret
bed.

In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found
And so he rested on the lonely ground,
Pensive, and full of painful jealousies
Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees.
There as he stood he heard a mournful voice,
Such as, once heard, in gentle heart destroys
All pain but pity'; thus the lone voice spake :
'When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake?
When move in a sweet body fit for life,
And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife
Of hearts and lips? Ah, miserable me!"
The God, dove-footed, glided silently

Round bush and tree, soft-brushing in his speed
The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,
Until he found a palpitating snake,

Bright and cirque-couchant, in a dusky brake.

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd; And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, Dissolved, or brighter shone, or interwreathed Their lustres with the gloomier tapestriesSo rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar: Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete ; And for her eyes - what could such eyes do there But weep and weep, that they were born so fair, As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air? Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake, And thus, while Hermes on his pinions lay, Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey:

"Fair Hermes! crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,

I had a splendid dream of thee last night!
I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,
Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,
The only sad one; for thou didst not hear
The soft lute-finger'd Muses chanting clear,

Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,

Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious

moan.

I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,