I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; 40 Farewell! if ever fondest prayer But waft thy name beyond the sky. 5 "Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! 1 "I allude here to my maternal ancestors, the Gordons, many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of Pretender."-Byron. 2 A kind of Highland bagpipe music. When Vice triumphant holds her sov'- 65 Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got reign sway, Obey'd by all who nought beside obey; When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime, 30 Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime; When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail, And weigh their justice in a golden scale; E'en then the boldest start from public sneers, Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears, 35 More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe, And shrink from ridicule, though not from law. by rote, With just enough of learning to misquote; A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt;1 To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, 70 His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet: Such is the force of wit! but not be- 75 To me the arrows of satiric song; 40 A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. And yield at least amusement in the race: fame; The cry is up, and scribblers are my game. 45 Speed, Pegasus!-ye strains of great and small, Ode, epic, elegy, have at you all! I too can scrawl, and once upon a time 50 I printed-older children do the same. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't. Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit; Care not for feeling-pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. And shall we own such judgment? no -as soon Seek roses in December-ice in June; Or any other thing that's false, before 80 You trust in critics, who themselves are sore; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Baotian head.2 To these young tyrants, by themselves misplaced, Combined usurpers on the throne of taste; 85 To these, when authors bend in humble 95 If not yet sicken 'd, you can still proceed: Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read. What then? the self-same blunder Pope 130 Is new;"" yet still from change to change has got, 100 And careless Dryden-"Ay, but Pye has not:" 1 Ecclesiastes, 1:9. 2 A disease of cows which, when communicated to the human system by vaccination, protects from the small-pox. 3 Metal rods used in treating rheumatism, etc. 4 The use of electric currents for curative purposes. Laughing gas. All of these "wonders" were quack panaceas of the early 19th century. A reference to Lewis's Tales of Terror (1799) and Tales of Wonder (1800). A thrust at the new anapestic meters, introduced by Cowper, Coleridge, Southey, Moore, and others. 8 A reference to Scott's The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805), which grew out of a suggestion for a ballad on the Border legend of Gilpin Horner. And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood, Decoy young border-nobles through the wood, And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, 160 And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why; 165 While high-born ladies in their magic cell, Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell, Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave, And fight with honest men to shield a knave. Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, The gibbet or the field prepare to grace; 170 A mighty mixture of the great and base. And think'st thou, Scott! by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though Murray with his Miller may combine An epic scarce ten centuries could claim, While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name: The work of each immortal bard appears The single wonder of a thousand years. 195 Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth, 200 Tongues have expired with those who gave Without the glory such a strain can give, On one great work a life of labor spent: 205 First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance,1 To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per 210 line? 215 The scourge of England and the boast of France! Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, Behold her statue placed in glory's niche; son; Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew More mad magicians than the world e'er Immortal hero! all thy foes o'ercome, Well might triumphant genii bear thee 220 Illustrious conqueror of common sense! Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails, Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales; Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, More old than Mandeville's, and not so |