Fixed as a monument, still as air, He bent no knee, and he breathed no prayer; There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks, "O ho! O ho! The cock doth crow; It is time for the fisher to rise and go. Fair luck to the abbot, fair luck to the shrine! He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line; Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the south, The abbot will carry my hook in his mouth!" The abbot had preached for many years, With as clear articulation As ever was heard in the House of Peers Against Emancipation; His words had made battalions quake, Had roused the zeal of martyrs; He kept the court an hour awake, But ever, from that hour, 'tis said, As if an axe went through his head He stuttered o'er blessing, he stuttered o'er ban, He stuttered, drunk or dry; And none but he and the fisherman Could tell the reason why! (1827.) LIDIAN'S LOVE. The gayest gallants of the Court Oft fell in love, on mere report, With eyes they had not seen; And knelt, and rhymed, and sighed, and frowned, With flowers and sunshine all around And five-score leagues between.—MS. Poem. I. SIR LIDIAN had attained his sixteenth year; II. The daily longings to be very great, Friendship's fresh throb, and Passion's April thrill ing For some high lady, whom your elder brother |