The frigate, black with thunder-freighted | Of creeping lonely visits that he made cried, His name had cost him little care to Whereat some shuddered, others boldly seek, Plain, honest, brief, a decent name to Those prowling boatmen lied, and knew speak, Common, not vulgar, just the kind that slips they lied. They said his house was framed with curious cares, With least suggestion from a stranger's Lest some old friend might enter un awares; lips. His birthplace England, as his speech That on the platform at his chamber's might show, door Or his hale cheek, that wore the red- Hinged a loose square that opened streak's glow; through the floor; His mouth sharp-moulded; in its mirth Touch the black silken tassel next the or scorn There came a flash as from the milky corn, When from the ear you rip the rustling sheath, And the white ridges show their even teeth. His stature moderate, but his strength confessed, bell, Down, with a crash, the flapping trapdoor fell; Three stories deep the falling wretch would strike, To writhe at leisure on a boarder's pike. By day armed always; double-armed at night, In spite of broadcloth, by his ample His tools lay round him; wake him such as might. breast; Full-armed, thick-handed; one that A carbine hung beside his India fan, His hand could reach & Turkish ataghan ; had been strong, And might be dangerous still, if things Pistols, with quaint-carved stocks and He lived at ease beneath his elm-trees' Crossed a long dagger with a jewelled Did naught for gain, yet all his debts A slashing cutlass stretched along the Rich, so 't was thought, but careful of All this was what those lying boatmen How his laced wallet often would dis- The florist's triumphs crown the daintier The fresh-faced guinea of an English Won from the sea, the forest, or the soil; The steaming hot-house yields its largest pines, George, Or sweated ducat, palmed by Jews of yore, Or double Joe, or Portuguese moidore, And how his finger wore a rubied ring Fit for the white-necked play-girl of a king. But these fine legends, told with staring eyes, Met with small credence from the old and wise. Why tell each idle guess, each whisper vain? Enough the scorched and cindered beams remain. The sunless vaults unearth their oldest wines ; With one admiring look the scene survey, And turn a moment from the bright display. Of all the joys of earthly pride or power, What gives most life, worth living, in an hour? When Victory settles on the doubtful fight And the last foeman wheels in panting flight, He came, a silent pilgrim to the West, his breast; sun; Close to the thronging mart he dwelt Life's sovereign moment is a battle won. But say what next? To shape a Senate's alone; He lived; he died. The rest is all unknown. choice, By the strong magic of the master's voice; Stranger, whose eyes the shadowy isle To ride the stormy tempest of debate He was thy brother; speak, and tell us Is won by honeyed words from women's The town has heard of for a year, at Have its small shrug and inoffensive The sparry lustres shed their broadest Let the grave quarter wear its virtuous Damask and silver catch and spread the The stern half-quarter try to scowl us down; rays; But the last eighth, the choice and | As the Great Duke surveyed his iron Fast on the road, but at the table slow. Among the great whom Heaven has - Next him, you see the author in made to shine, How few have learned the art of arts, to dine! Nature, indulgent to our daily need, Kind-hearted mother! taught us all to feed; But the chief art, - how rarely Nature flings his look, His forehead lined with wrinkles like a Wrote the great history of the ancient Holds back to fire among the heavy guns. -O, there's our poet seated at his side, This choicest gift among her social | Beloved of ladies, soft, cerulean-eyed. Poets are prosy in their common talk, kings! Say, man of truth, has life a brighter As the fast trotters, for the most part, hour Than waits the chosen guest who knows his power? walk. - And there's our well-dressed gentleman, who sits, He moves with ease, itself an angel By right divine, no doubt, among the Lifts with light touch my lady's jewelled Who airs his tailor's patterns when he Slides to his seat, half leading and half The man that often speaks, but never To every table where he shows his face? Creep softly out the little arts that He knows the manual of the silver fork, Can name his claret - if he sees the Till rustling silks proclaim the ladies The plain unsceptred king, the man of Mark his slow-creeping, dead, metallic | And plays his men as anglers play their Hope he is cool, the door, trout. With the dry sticks all bonfires are Bring the first fagot, proser number one! crew And hits the traveller, pat on Timbuctoo. We're on the Niger, somewhere near its source, they set him next Not the least hurry, take the river's course And likes his place, between the gap Through Kissi, Foota, Kankan, Bamma -Next comes a Congress-man, distin- Bambarra, Sego, so to Timbuctoo, Thence down to Youri;-stop him if guished guest! owners prize. we can, can't fare worse, - wake up the Congress-man! The Congress-man, once on his talking legs, Stirs up his knowledge to its thickest dregs; Of all that cluster round the genial Tremendous draught for dining men to board, Not one so radiant as the banquet's lord. Some say they fancy, but they know not why, A shade of trouble brooding in his A laugh is priming to the loaded soul; the dull-red burn- The scattering shots become a steady roll, Taste the brown sherry which he does Broke by sharp cracks that run along Ha! That is brandy; see him fill his The light artillery of the talker's wine. The kindling goblets flame with golden So, with the merry tale and jovial Pale as the moon and maddening as her light; song, With crimson juice the thirsty southern The jocund evening whirls itself along, Till the last chorus shrieks its loud encore, sky Sucks from the hills where buried armies Ends in small patterings like an April's His goblet shivers while he speaks the rain; The voices halt; the game is at a stand; Now for a solo from the master-hand! quite a simple It makes me laugh to think how brandy An aria touched upon a single string, But every accent comes with such a grace The stupid servants listen in their place, Each with his waiter in his lifted hands, Still as a well-bred pointer when he stands. A query checks him: "Is he quite ex- Bright with such treasures as a search act?" might bring (This from a grizzled, square-jawed man From the deep pockets of a truant king. Two diamonds, eyeballs of a God of of fact.) The sparkling story leaves him to his fate, Crushed by a witness, smothered with a date, As a swift river, sown with many a star, bronze, Bought from his faithful priest, a pious Bonze; A string of brilliants; rubies, three or four; Bags of old coin and bars of virgin ore; Runs brighter, rippling on a shallow A jewelled poniard and a Turkish knife, bar. The smooth divine suggests a graver doubt; Noiseless and useful if we come to strife. Gone! As a pirate flies before the wind, A neat quotation bowls the parson out; And not one tear for all he leaves be |