THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE. AN ELECTION BALLAD. (1827.) As I sate down to breakfast in state, Came a rap that almost beat the door in. And Betty ceased spreading the toast, A letter-and free-bring it here I have no correspondent who franks. 'Tis our glorious, our Protestant Bankes. "Dear sir, as I know you desire That the Church should receive due protection, I humbly presume to require Your aid at the Cambridge election. "It has lately been brought to my knowledge, To suppress each cathedral and college, To assist this detestable scheme Three nuncios from Rome are come over; They left Calais on Monday by steam, And landed to dinner at Dover. "An army of grim Cordeliers, Well furnished with relics and vermin, Will follow, Lord Westmoreland fears, To effect what their chiefs may determine. Lollard's bower, good authorities say, Is again fitting up for a prison; And a wood-merchant told me to-day "Tis a wonder how faggots have risen. "The finance scheme of Canning contains A new Easter-offering tax; And he means to devote all the gains To a bounty on thumb-screws and racks. Your living, so neat and compact Pray, don't let the news give you pain!— Is promised, I know for a fact, To an olive-faced Padre from Spain." I read, and I felt my heart bleed, To our Protestant champion's committee. No fleering! no distance! no scorn! They asked after my wife who is dead, And my children who never were born. They then, like high-principled Tories, There were parsons in boot and in basket; There were Sneaker and Griper, a pair Who stick to Lord Mulesby like leeches; A smug chaplain of plausible air, Who writes my Lord Goslingham's speeches. Dr. Buzz, who alone is a host, Who, with arguments weighty as lead, Proves six times a week in the Post That flesh somehow differs from bread. Dr. Nimrod, whose orthodox toes Are seldom withdrawn from the stirrup; A layman can scarce form a notion Of our wonderful talk on the road; Of the learning, the wit, and devotion, Which almost each syllable showed: Why divided allegiance agrees So ill with our free constitution; How Catholics swear as they please, In hope of the priest's absolution; How the Bishop of Norwich had bartered We were all so much touched and excited And in tones, which each moment grew louder, Thus from subject to subject we ran, Till at last Dr. Humdrum began; From that time I remember no more. We were rumbling o'er Trumpington stones. SONG. (1827.) O STAY, Madonna! stay; "Tis not the dawn of day That marks the skies with yonder opal streak: Then press thy lips to mine, O sleep, Madonna! sleep; O'er fancy's vanished dream, O wake, Madonna! wake; Even now the purple lake Is dappled o'er with amber flakes of light; And every trickling rill In golden threads leaps down from yonder height. O fly, Madonna! fly, Lest day and envy spy What only love and night may safely know: Fly, and tread softly, dear! Lest those who hate us hear The sounds of thy light footsteps as they go. THE DELIVERANCE OF VIENNA. TRANSLATED FROM VINCENZIO DA FILICAIA. (Published in the "Winter's Wreath," Liverpool, 1828.) "Le corde d'oro elette," &c. THE chords, the sacred chords of gold, And frame a sparkling wreath of joyous songs Who marshals for the fight Earthquake and thunder, hurricane and flame ? He smote the haughty race Of unbelieving Thrace, And turned their rage to fear, their pride to shame. Upon their vast array ; And, in the twinkling of an eye, Passed like a dream away. Such power defends the mansions of the just: The grandeur of the mortal falls Who glories in his strength, and makes not God his trust. The proud blasphemers thought all earth their own; They deemed that soon the whirlwind of their ire Would sweep down tower and palace, dome and spire, The Christian altars and the Augustan throne. And soon, they cried, shall Austria bow To the dust her lofty brow. |