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Where Midas might again his wish behold Have more of motley than their heavy kings. In real paper or imagined gold.

Jews, authors, generals,charlatans,combine, That magic palace of Alcina shows While Europe wonders at the vast design : More wealth than Britain ever had to lose, There Metternich,power's foremost parasite, Were all her atoms of unleaven'd ore, Cajoles ; there Wellington forgets to fight; And all her pebbles from Pactolas' shore. There Chateaubriand forms new books of There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds

martyrs; the stake,

And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid And the world trembles to bid brokers break.

Tartars; How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines, There Montmorency, the sworn foe to Or peace, or plenty, corn, or oil, or wines;

charters, No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, Turns a diplomatist of great eclat, Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money: To furnish articles for the “Debats :" Bat let us not to own the truth refuse, Of war so certain-yet not quite so sare Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews ? As his dismissal in the “Moniteur." Those parted with their teeth to good King Alas! how could his cabinet thus err ?


Can peace be worth an Ultra-Minister ? And now, yo kings! they kindly draw He falls, indeed, -perhaps to rise again,

your own; “Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain." All states, all things, all sovereigns they

controul, And waft a loan “from Indus to the Pole." Enough of this—a sight more mournful The banker - broker – baron — brethren,


The averted eye of the reluctant Muse. To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. The imperial daughter, the imperial bride, Nor these alone; Columbia fcels no less The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride; Fresh speculations follow each success ; The mother of the hero's hope, the boy, And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain The young Astyanax of modern Troy; Her mild per centage from exhausted Spain. The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen Not without Abraham's seed can Russia That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;


She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour, · Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conquer- The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.

or's arch.

Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare Two Jews, a chosen people, can command A daughter?What did France's widow there? In every realm their scripture-promised Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave


Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave. Two Jews keep down the Romans, and But, no, - she still must hold a petty reign,


Flank'd by her formidable Chamberlain ; The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old : The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes Two Jews—but not Samaritans—direct Must watch her through these paltry paThe world, with all the spirit of their sect.

geantries. What is the happiness of earth to them ? What though she share no more and shared A Congress forms their “New Jerusalem,”

in vain Where baronies and orders both invite- A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight? Which swept from Moscow to the Southern Thy followers mingling with these royal

seas, swine,

Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of Who spit not “on their Jewish gaberdine,”

cheese, But honour them as portion of the show, Where Parma views the traveller resort (Where now, oh, Pope! is thy forsaken toe? To note the trappings of her mimic court. Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? But she appears! Verona sees her shorn Or has it ceased to “kick against the pricks?") Of all her beams-while nations gaze and On Shylock's shore behold them stand


Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time To cut from nations' hearts their “pound To chill in their inhospitable clime

of flesh.”

(If e'er those awful ashes can grow coldBut no,—their embers soon will burst the

mould); Strange sight this Congress! destined to She comes! — the Andromache (but not unite

Racino's, All that's incongruous, all that's opposite. Nor Homer's); lo! on Pyrrhus'arm she leans! I speak not of the Sovereigns—they're alike, Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, A common coin as ever mint could strike: Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre But those who sway the puppets, pull the

through, strings,

ls offer'd and accepted! Could a slave

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Do more? or less?—and he in his new grave! To hail their brother, Vich lan Alderman! Her

eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife, Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse And the Er-Empress grows as Er a wife!

roar, So much for human ties in royal breasts ! While all the Common-Council cry, "ClayWhy spare men's feelings, when their own

are jests?

To see proud Albyn's Tartans as a belt
Gird the gross sirloin of a City-Celt,

She burst into a laughter so extreme,
But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home, That I awoke - and lo! it was no dream!
And sketch the group-the picture's yet to
My Muse 'gan weep, but,ere a tear was spilt, Here, reader, will we pause:- if there's
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kiit!

no harm in While throng'd the Chiefs of every High-This first-you'll, have, perhaps, a second land clan






A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, His business so augmented of late years, His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, That he was forced, against his will, no doubt So little trouble had been given of late; (Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers), Not that the place by any means was full, For some resource to turn himself abont, But since the Gallic era “eighty-eight," And claim the help of his celestial peers, The devils had ta’en a longer,stronger pull, To aid him ere he should be qnite worn out And "a pull altogether," as they say By the increased demand for his remarks ; At sea - which drew most souls another Six angels and twelvc saints were named way.

his clerks.

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The angels all were singing out of tune, This was a handsome board - at least for
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, And yet they had even then enough to do,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,

So many conquerors' cars were daily driven,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon So many kingdoms fitted up anew;
Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue, Each day,too,slew its thousands six or seven,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail, Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale. They threw their pens down in divine dis-


The page was so besmear'd with blood and
The guardian seraphs had retired on high,

Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky,
Save the recording angel's black bureau ;' This by the way; 'tis not mine to record
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply What angels shrink from: even the very deril
With such rapidity of vice and woe, On this occasion his own work abhorrd,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in So surfeited with the infernal revel;


Thongh he himself had sharpen'd every And yet was in arrear of human ills.


It almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil. What nature made him at his birth, as bare (Here Satan's sole good work deserves in- As the mere million's base unmummied sertion

clayTis, that he has both generals in reversion.) Yet all his spices but prolong decay.


Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, He's dead and upper earth with him has Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont,

done: And heaven none — they form the tyrant's He's buried; save the undertaker's bill,


Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone With nothing but new names subscribed For him, unless he left a German will;

upon 't ;

But where's the proctor who will ask his son? Twill one day finish : meantime they in- In whom his qualities are reigning still,


Except that household virtue, most un“With seven heads and ten horns,” and all

common, in front,

Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours

are born Less formidable in the head than horn. “God save the king !" It is a large economy

In God to save the like; but if he will

Be saving, all the better; for not one am I In the first year of freedom's second dawn Of those who think damnation better still: Died George the Third : although no tyrant, I hardly know too if not quite alone am I

In this small hope of bettering future ill Who shielded tyrants, till each sense with- By circumscribing, with some slight redrawn

striction, Left him nor mental nor external sun: The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, A worse king never left a realm undone ! He died-but left his subjects still behind, I know this is anpopular; I know One half as mad—and t'other no less blind. 'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd

For hoping no one else may e'er be su;

I know my catechism; I know we are cramm'd He died !-his death made no great stir on With the best doctrines till we quite o’erflow;


I know that all save England's church have His burial made some pomp; there was

shamm'd, profusion

And that the other twice two hundred Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth

churches Of aught but tears save those shed by And synagogues have made a damn'd bad collusion;

purchase. For these things may be bought at their

true worth: Of elegy there was the due infusion- God help us all! God help me, too! I am, Bought also; and the torches, cloaks, and God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish,


And not a whit more difficult to damn Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners, Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish,

Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb ;

Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish Form'd a sepulchral melo-drame. Of all As one day will be that immortal fry The fools who flock'd to swell or see the of almost every body born to die.

show, Who cared about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the woe. Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, There throbb'd not there a thought which And nodded o'er his keys; when lo! there

pierced the pall; And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, A wonderous noise he had not heard of It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold

lateThe rottenness of eighty years in gold. A rushing sound of wind, and stream,

and flame;

In short, a roar of things extremely great, So mix his body with the dust! It might Which would have made aught save a saint Return to what it must far sooner, were

exclaim ; The natural compound left alone to fight But he, with first a start and then a wink, Its way back into earth, and fire, and air; Said, “There's another star gone out, I But the unnatural balsams merely blight

think !"


But ere he could return to his repose, And never knew much what it was aboutA cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his He did as doth the puppet- by its wire,

eyes —

And will be judged like all the rest,po doubt: At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb’a My business and your own is not to inquire

his nose :

Into such matters, but to mind our cue“Saint t porter,"

"said the Angel," prithee rise!" Which is to act as we are bid to do." Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as

glows An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly While thus they spake, the angelic caravan,


Arriving like a rush of mighty wind, To which the Saint replied, “Well, what's Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan

the matter; Some silver-stream(sayGanges, Nile,or Inde, Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter ?" Or Thames, or Tweed), and midst them

an old man

With an old soul, and both extremely blind, “No,” quoth the Cherub; “George the Halted before the gate, and in his shroud

Third is dead," Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud. “And who is George the Third ?” replied

the Apostle; What George? what Third?" "The King of Bat bringing up the rear of this bright bost,

England, "said A Spirit of a different aspect waved The Angel. “Well! he wo'nt find kings to His wings, like thunder-clouds above some jostle

coast Him on his way; but does he wear his head? Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks Because the-we saw here had a tussle,

is paved; And ne'er would have got into heaven's His brow was like the deep when tempestgood graces,

tost; Had he not flung his head in all our faces. Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved

Eternal wrath on his immortal face,

And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space. He was, if I remember, king ofThat head of his, which could not keep a

As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate, On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or sin, A claim to those of martyrs—like my own: With such a glance of supernatural hate, If I had had my sword, as I had once As made Saint Peter wish himself within; When I cut ears off, I had cut him down; He potter'd with his keys at a great rate, But having but my keys, and not my brand, And sweated through his apostolic skin: I only knock'd his head from out his hand. Of course his perspiration was but ichor,

Or some such other spiritual liquor. And then he set up such a headless howl, That all the Saints came out, and took him in; The very cherubs huddled altogether, And there he sits by Saint Paul, cheek by Like birds when soars the falcon;and they felt


A tingling to the tip of every feather, That fellow Paul – the parvenu! The skin And form’d a circle, like Orion's belt, Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl Around their poor old charge, who scarce In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin

knew whither So as to make a martyr, never sped His guards had let him, though they Better than did this weak and wooden head.

gently dealt With royal manes (for, by many stories,

And true, we learn the angels allare Tories). But had it come up here upon its shoulders, There would have been a different tale to

tell :

As things were in this posture, the gate flex The fellow-feeling in the Saints beholders Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges Seems to have acted on them like a spell, Flung over space an universal hue And so this very foolish head heaven solders of many-colour'd flame, until its tinges Back on its trunk: it may be very well, Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made And seems the custom here to overthrow Whatever has been wisely done below.” Aurora borealis spread its fringes

O'er the North Pole; the same seen, when

ice-bound, The Angel answer'd, “Peter! do not pont; By Captain Parry's crews, in “Melville's' The king who comes has head and all entire,



a new

And from the gate thrown open issued From the same book, in how polite a way

beaming The dialogue is held between the Powers A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light, Of Good and Evil - but 'twould take up Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming

hours; Victorious from some world-o'erthrowing

fight: My poor comparisons must needs be teeming And this is not a theologic tract, With earthly likenesses, for here the night To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic Of clay obscures our best conceptions,saving If Job be allegory or a fact, Johanna Southcote, or Bob Şouthey raving. But a true narrative; and thus I pick

From out the whole but such and such an act

As sets aside the slightest thought of trick. 'Twas the Archangel Michael :all men know Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion, The make of angels and archangels, since And accurate as any other vision. There's scarce a scribbler has not one to

show, From the fiends' leader to the angels' prince. The spirits were in neutral space, before There also are some altar-pieces, though The gate of Heaven; like eastern thresholds is I really can't say that they mnch evince The place where Death's grand cause is One's inner notions of immortal spirits;

argued o'er, But let the connoisseurs explain their merits. And souls despatched to that world or to this;

And therefore Michael and the other wore

A civil aspect : though they did not kiss, Michael flew forth in glory and in good; Yet still between his Darkness and his A goodly work of him from whom all glory

Brightness And good arise; the portal pass'd-he stood; There pass'd a mutual glance of great Before him the young cherubs and saint

politeness. hoary; (I say young, begging to be understood By looks,not years; and should be very sorry The Archangel bow'd, not like a modern Tostate,they were not older than Saint Peter,

beau, But merely that they seem'd a little sweeter.) But with a graceful Oriental bend,

Pressing one radiant arm just where below

The heart in good men is supposed to tend. The cherubs and the saints bow'd down He turn'd as to an equal, not too low,


But kindly; Satan met his ancient friend That arch-angelic Hierarch, the first With more hauteur,as might an old Castilian Of Essences angelical, who wore

Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian, The aspect of a god; but this ne'er nursed Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core No thought, save for his Maker's service, He merely bent his diabolic brow


An instant; and then, raising it he stood Intrude, however glorified and high; In act to assert his right or wrong, and show He knew him but the viceroy of the sky. Cause why King George by no means could

or should

Make out a case to be exempt from woe He and the sombre silent Spirit met- Eternal, more than other kings endued They knew each other both for good and ill; With better sense and hearts, whom history Such was their power, that neither could

mentions, forget

Who long have “paved hell with their good His former friend and future foe; but still

intentions.” There was a high, immortal, proud regret In either's eye, as if 'twere less their will Than destiny to make the eternal years Michael began : “What wouldst thou with Their date of war, and their “Champ Clos” the spheres. Now dead, and brought before the Lord ?

What ill

Hath he wrought since his mortal race But here they were in neutral space: we know

began, From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay That thou canst claim him? Speak! and A heavenly visit thrice a year or so ;

do thy will, And that "the Sons of God," like those of If it be just: if in this earthly span


He hath been greatly failing to fulfil Must keep him company; and we might His duties as a king and mortal, say,


And he is thine; if not, let him have way."

this man,

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