And poured the hissing tide:
Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain,
And strove and struggled all in vain,
For, rallying but to fall again,
He tottered, sunk, and died!
Did none attempt, before he fell,
To succor one they loved so well?
Yes, Higginbottom did aspire
(His fireman's soul was all on fire),
His brother chief to save
But ah! his reckless generous ire
Served but to share his grave!
'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams,
Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke,
Where Muggins broke before.
But sulphury stench and boiling drench
Destroying sight o'erwhelmed him quite,
He sunk to rise no more.
Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved,
His whizzing water-pipe he waved;
"Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps,
You, Clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps,
Why are you in such doleful dumps?
A fireman, and afraid of bumps!—
What are they fear'd on? fools: 'od rot 'em !"
Were the last words of Higginbottom.
Peace to his soul! new prospects bloom,
And toil rebuilds what fires consume!
Eat we and drink we, be our ditty,
"Joy to the managing committee!"
Eat we and drink we, join to rum
Roast beef and pudding of the plum;
Forth from thy nook, John Horner, come,
With bread of ginger brown thy thumb,
For this is Drury's gay day:
Roll, roll thy hoop, and twirl thy tops,
And buy, to glad thy smiling chops,
Crisp parliament with lollypops,
And fingers of the Lady.
Didst mark, how toiled the busy train,
From morn to eve, till Drury Lane
Leaped like a roebuck from the plain?
Ropes rose and sunk, and rose again,
And nimble workmen trod;
To realize bold Wyatt's plan
Rushed may a howling Irishman;
Loud clattered many a porter-can,
And many a ragamuffin clan,
With trowel and with hod.
Drury revives! her rounded pate
Is blue, is heavenly blue with slate;
She "wings the midway air," elate,
As magpie, crow, or chough;
White paint her modish visage smears,
Yellow and pointed are her ears.
No pendant portico appears
Dangling beneath, for Whitbread's shears
Have cut the bauble off.
Yes, she exalts her stately head;
And, but that solid bulk outspread,
Opposed you on your onward tread,
And posts and pillars warranted
That all was true that Wyatt said,
You might have deemed her walls so thick,
Were not composed of stone or brick,
But all a phantom, all a trick,
Of brain disturbed and fancy-sick,
So high she soars, so vast, so quick!
[BY LAURA MATILDA.—REJECTED ADDRESSES.]
"You praise our sires: but though they wrote with force, Their rhymes were vicious, and their diction coarse:
We want their strength, agreed; but we atone
For that and more, by sweetness all our own.”—GIFFORD.
BALMY Zephyrs, lightly flitting,
Shade me with your azure wing;
On Parnassus' summit sitting,
Aid me, Clio, while I sing.
Softly slept the dome of Drury
O'er the empyreal crest,
When Alecto's sister-fury
Softly slumbering sunk to rest.
Lo! from Lemnos, limping lamely,
Lags the lowly Lord of Fire,
Cytherea yielding tamely
To the Cyclops dark and dire.
Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness,
Dulcet joys and sports of youth,
Soon must yield to haughty sadness,
Mercy holds the vail to Truth.
See Erostratus the second
Fires again Diana's fane;
By the Fates from Orcus beckoned,
Clouds envelop Drury Lane.
Lurid smoke and frank suspicion
Hand in hand reluctant dance:
While the god fulfills his mission,
Chivarly, resign thy lance.
Hark! the engines blandly thunder,
Fleecy clouds disheveled lie,
And the firemen, mute with wonder,
On the son of Saturn cry.
See the bird of Ammon sailing,
Perches on the engine's peak, And, the Eagle firemen hailing,
Soothes them with its bickering beak.
Juno saw, and mad with malice,
Lost the prize that Paris gave;
Jealousy's ensanguined chalice,
Mantling pours the orient wave.
Pan beheld Patrocles dying,
Nox to Niobe was turned;
From Busiris Bacchus flying,
Saw his Semele inurned.
Thus fell Drury's lofty glory,
Leveled with the shuddering stones;
Mars, with tresses black and gory,
Drinks the dew of pearly groans.
Hark! what soft Æolian numbers
Gem the blushes of the morn!
Break, Amphion, break your slumbers,
Nature's ringlets deck the thorn.
Ha! I hear the strain erratic
Dimly glance from pole to pole; Raptures sweet, and dreams ecstatic Fire my everlasting soul.
Where is Cupid's crimson motion?
Billowy ecstasy of woe,
Bear me straight, meandering ocean,
Where the stagnant torrents flow.
Blood in every vein is gushing,
Vixen vengeance lulls my heart; See, the Gorgon gang is rushing! Never, never, let us part!
AND do you ask me, "What is LIFE?"
And do you ask me, "What is pleasure?"
My muse and I are not at strife,
So listen, lady, to my measure :—-
Listen amid thy graceful leisure,
To what is LIFE, and what is pleasure.
"Tis LIFE to see the first dawn stain
With sallow light the window-pane :
To dress to wear a rough drab coat,
With large pearl buttons all afloat
Upon the waves of plush: to tie
A kerchief of the King-cup dye
(White spotted with a small bird's-eye)
Around the neck, and from the nape
Let fall an easy fan-like cape :
To quit the house at morning's prime,
At six or so-about the time
When watchmen, conscious of the day
Puff out their lantern's rush-light ray ;
Just when the silent streets are strewn
With level shadows, and the moon
Takes the day's wink and walks aside
To nurse a nap till eventide.
'Tis LIFE to reach the livery stable,
Secure the ribbons and the day-bill,
And mount a gig that had a spring
Some summer's back: and then take wing
Behind (in Mr. Hamlet's tongue)
A jade whose "withers are unwrung;
Who stands erect, and yet forlorn,
And from a half-pay life of corn,
Showing as many points each way
As Martial's Epigrammata,
Yet who, when set a-going, goes
Like one undestined to repose.
'Tis LIFE to revel down the road,
And queer each o'erfraught chaise's load,
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