The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 206

Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper, When Parliament's up, ever take in a paper, But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends As you chance to pick up from political friends- Being one of this well-informed cla.s.s, I sit down To transmit you the last newest news that's in town.

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things couldn't look better-- His Lords.h.i.+p (who promises now to fight faster) Has just taken Rhodes and despatched off a letter To Daniel O'Connell, to make him Grand Master; Engaging to change the old name, if he can, From the Knights of St. John to the Knights of St. Dan;-- Or if Dan should prefer (as a still better whim) Being made the Colossus, 'tis all one to him.

From Russia the last accounts are that the Tsar-- Most generous and kind as all sovereigns are, And whose first princely act (as you know, I suppose) Was to give away all his late brother's old clothes[1]-- Is now busy collecting with brotherly care The late Emperor's nightcaps, and thinks, of bestowing One nightcap apiece (if he has them to spare) On all the distinguisht old ladies now going.

(While I write, an arrival from Riga--the "Brothers"-- Having nightcaps on board for Lord Eldon and others.)

Last advices from India--Sir Archy, 'tis thought, Was near catching a Tartar (the first ever caught In N. Lat. 2l.)--and his Highness Burmese, Being very hard prest to sh.e.l.l out the rupees, And not having rhino sufficient, they say, meant To p.a.w.n his august Golden Foot[2] for the payment.

(How lucky for monarchs, that thus when they choose Can establish a _running_ account with the Jews!) The security being what Rothschild calls "goot,"

A loan will be shortly, of course, set _on foot_; The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring and Co.

With three other great p.a.w.nbrokers: each takes a toe, And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us _leg_-bail, As he did once before) to pay down _on the nail_.

This is all for the present--what vile pens and paper!

Yours truly, dear Cousin--best love to Miss Draper.

_September_, 1826.

[1] A distribution was made of the Emperor Alexander's military wardrobe by his successor.

[2] This potentate styles himself the Monarch of the Golden foot.

A VISION.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "CHRISTABEL."

"Up!" said the Spirit and ere I could pray One hasty orison, whirled me away To a Limbo, lying--I wist not where-- Above or below, in earth or air; For it glimmered o'er with a _doubtful_ light, One couldn't say whether 'twas day or night; And 'twas crost by many a mazy track, One didn't know how to get on or back; And I felt like a needle that's going astray (With its _one_ eye out) thro' a bundle of hay; When the Spirit he grinned, and whispered me, "Thou'rt now in the Court of Chancery!"

Around me flitted unnumbered swarms Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms; (Like bottled-up babes that grace the room Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home)-- All of them, things half-killed in rearing; Some were lame--some wanted _hearing_; Some had thro' half a century run, Tho' they hadn't a leg to stand upon.

Others, more merry, as just beginning, Around on a _point of law_ were spinning; Or balanced aloft, 'twixt _Bill_ and _Answer_, Lead at each end, like a tight-rope dancer.

Some were so _cross_ that nothing could please 'em;- Some gulpt down _affidavits_ to ease 'em-- All were in motion, yet never a one, Let it _move_ as it might, could ever move _on_, "These," said the Spirit, "you plainly see, "Are what they call suits in Chancery!"

I heard a loud screaming of old and young, Like a chorus by fifty Vellutis sung; Or an Irish Dump ("the words by Moore ") At an amateur concert screamed in score;-- So harsh on my ear that wailing fell Of the wretches who in this Limbo dwell!

It seemed like the dismal symphony Of the shapes' Aeneas in h.e.l.l did see; Or those frogs whose legs a barbarous cook Cut off and left the frogs in the brook, To cry all night, till life's last dregs, "Give us our legs!--give us our legs!"

Touched with the sad and sorrowful scene, I askt what all this yell might mean, When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glee, "'Tis the cry of the Suitors in Chancery!"

I lookt and I saw a wizard rise,[1]

With a wig like a cloud before men's eyes.

In his aged hand he held a wand, Wherewith he beckoned his embryo band, And they moved and moved as he waved it o'er, But they never get on one inch the more.

And still they kept limping to and fro, Like Ariels round old Prospero-- Saying, "Dear Master, let us go,"

But still old Prospero answered "No."

And I heard the while that wizard elf Muttering, muttering spells to himself, While o'er as many old papers he turned, As Hume e'er moved for or Omar burned.

He talkt of his virtue--"tho' some, less nice, (He owned with a sigh) preferred his _Vice_"-- And he said, "I think"--"I doubt"--"I hope,"

Called G.o.d to witness, and d.a.m.ned the Pope; With many more sleights of tongue and hand I couldn't for the soul of me understand.

Amazed and posed, I was just about To ask his name, when the screams without, The merciless clack of the imps within, And that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din, That, startled, I woke--leapt up in my bed-- Found the Spirit, the imps, and the conjuror fled, And blest my stars, right pleased to see, That I wasn't as yet in Chancery.

[1] The Lord Chancellor Eldon.

THE PEt.i.tION OF THE ORANGEMEN OF IRELAND.

1826.

To the people of England, the humble Pet.i.tion Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing-- That sad, very sad, is our present condition;-- Our jobbing all gone and our n.o.ble selves going;--

That forming one seventh, within a few fractions, Of Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts, We hold it the basest of all base transactions To keep us from murdering the other six parts;--

That as to laws made for the good of the many, We humbly suggest there is nothing less true; As all human laws (and our own, more than any) Are made _by_ and _for_ a particular few:--

That much it delights every true Orange brother To see you in England such ardor evince, In discussing _which_ sect most tormented the other, And burned with most _gusto_ some hundred years since;--

That we love to behold, while old England grows faint, Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh coming to blows, To decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied Saint, Ever truly and really pulled the De'il's nose;

Whether t'other Saint, Dominic, burnt the De'il's paw-- Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's odd mother-- And many such points, from which Southey can draw Conclusions most apt for our hating each other.

That 'tis very well known this devout Irish nation Has now for some ages, gone happily on Believing in two kinds of Substantiation, One party in _Trans_ and the other in _Con_;[1]

That we, your pet.i.tioning _Cons_, have in right Of the said monosyllable ravaged the lands And embezzled the goods and annoyed, day and night, Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for _Trans_;--

That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and other such sages, For keeping us still in the same state of mind; Pretty much as the world used to be in those ages, When still smaller syllables maddened mankind;--

When the words _ex_ and _per_[2] served as well to annoy One's neighbors and friends with, as _con_ and _trans_ now; And Christians, like Southey, who stickled for _oi_, Cut the throats of all Christians who stickled for _ou_.[3]

That relying on England whose kindness already So often has helpt us to play this game o'er, We have got our red coats and our carabines ready, And wait but the word to show sport as before.

That as to the expense--the few millions or so, Which for all such diversions John Bull has to pay-- 'Tis at least a great comfort to John Bull to know That to Orangemen's pockets 'twill all find its way.

For which your pet.i.tioners ever will pray, Etc., etc., etc., etc., etc.

[1] Consubstantiation--the true Reformed belief; at least, the belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim a.s.serts, of Melancthon also.

[2] When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at the time this dispute between "_ex_" and "_per_" was going on), he found the Turks, we are told, "laughing at the Christians for being divided by two such insignificant particles."

[3] The Arian controversy.--Before that time, says Hooker, "in order to be a sound believing Christian, men were not curious what syllables or particles of speech they used."