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MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE
Och! the Coronation! what celebration
For emulation can with it compare? When to Westminster the Royal Spinster
And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair ! 'Twas there you'd see the new Polishemen
Make a scrimmage at half after four;
All standing round before the Abbey door.
Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning
Themselves adorning, all by the candle-light, With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies,
And gould and jewels, and rich di'monds bright. And then approaches five hundred coaches,
With Gineral Dullbeak. — Och! 'twas mighty fine To see how asy bould Corporal Casey, With his sword drawn, prancing, made them kape the
Then the guns' alarums, and the King of Arums,
All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes,
The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews; 'Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy
All jools from his jasey to his di'mond boots. With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer,
The famale heiress, Miss Anjä-ly Coutts.
And Wellington, walking with his swoord drawn, talking
To Hill and Hardinge, haroes of great fame; And Sir De Lacy, and the Duke Dalmasey
(They call’d him Sowlt afore he changed his name), Themselves presading, Lord Melbourne lading
The Queen, the darling, to her royal chair,
The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair.
Then the noble Prussians, likewise the Russians,
In fine laced jackets with their goulden cuffs,
And Everythingarians all in furs and muffs.
All in the gallery you might persave;
Ounly crass Lord Essex would not give him lave.
There was Baron Alten himself exalting,
And Prince Von Schwartzenburg, and many more;
To tell the half of 'em was to the fore;
And Aldermanesses, and the Boord of Works;
Then the Queen, Heaven bless her! och! they did dress her
In her purple garaments and her goulden crown, Like Venus, or Hebe, or the Queen of Sheby,
With eight young ladies houlding up her gown; Sure 'twas grand to see her, also for to he-ar
The big drums bating, and the trumpets blow; And Sir George Smart, oh! he played a Consarto,
With his four-and-twenty fiddlers all on a row !
Then the Lord Archbishop held a goulden dish up
For to resave her bounty and great wealth,
Ye'll give the Clargy lave to dhrink your health!'
Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man!”
Then the Nobles kneeling, to the Pow'rs appealing -
All in his scarlet gown and goulden chain.
But mighty sarious, looking fit to cry,
Throwing the thirteens, hit him in his eye.
Then there was preaching, and good store of speeching,
With Dukes and Marquises on bended knee; And they did splash her with raal Macasshur,
And the Queen said, “ Ah! then thank ye all for me!" Then the trumpets braying, and the organ playing,
And the swate trombones, with their silver tones; But Lord Rolle was rolling, — 'twas mighty consoling
To think his Lordship did not break his bones!
Then the crames and custard, and the beef and mustard,
All on the tombstones like a poultherer's shop; With lobsters and white-bait, and other swate-meats,
And wine and nagus, and Imparial Pop! There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels,
With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears, Och! the Count Von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough,
The sly ould Divil, undernathe the stairs.
Then the cannons thunder'd, and the people wonder'd,
Crying, “God save Victoria, our Royal Queen!” Och! if myself should live to be a hundred,
Sure it's the proudest day that I'll have seen!
This narration splendid in swate poe-thry.
Richard Harris Barham
Sweet Nea! — for your lovely sake
I weave these rambling numbers,
And can't compose my slumbers;
Is round my pillow beaming,
Some witchery o'er my dreaming !
Because we've pass'd some joyous days,
And danced some merry dances;
And old Froissart's romances !
Because whene'er I hear your words
Some pleasant feeling lingers; Because I think your heart has cords
That vibrate to your fingers !
Because you've got those long, soft curls,
I've sworn should deck my goddess; Because you're not, like other girls,
All bustle, blush, and bodice; Because your eyes are deep and blue,
Your fingers long and rosy; Because a little child and you
Would make one's home so cozy!
Because your little tiny nose
Turns up so pert and funny;
More for their mirth than money;
A waltz, with me to guide you, Than talk small nonsense with an earl,
And a coronet beside you!
Because you don't object to walk,
And are not given to fainting; Because you have not learnt to talk
Of flowers, and Poonah-painting;
To sew one on a button;
To dine on simple mutton!
Because I think I'm just so weak
As, some of those fine morrows, To ask you if you'll let me speak
My story - and my sorrows;
A matter quickly over,
On me he shall ne'er put a ring,
So, mamma, 'tis in vain to take trouble -
While his age exactly is double.
He's but in his thirty-sixth year,
Tall, handsome, good-natured and witty,
May you die an old maid without pity!
His figure, I grant you, will pass,
And at present he's young enough plenty;
Charles Graham Halpine
SKY - MAKING
(TO PROFESSOR TYNDALL)
Just take a trifling handful, O philosopher!
You shouldn't make a sky.
O hours Utopian which we may anticipate !
As Bass's brightest beer!