In my way to these shores, taking Italy first,
Lest the change from Elysium too sudden should burst,
I forgot not to visit those haunts where of yore
You took lessons from Paetus in cookery's lore.
Turned aside from the calls of the rostrum and Muse,
To discuss the rich merits of _rotis_ and stews,
And preferred to all honors of triumph or trophy,
A supper on prawns with that rogue, little Sophy.
Having dwelt on such classical musings awhile,
I set off by a steam-boat for this happy isle,
(A conveyance _you_ ne'er, I think, sailed by, my Tully,
And therefore, _per_ next, I'll describe it more fully,)
Having heard on the way what distresses me greatly,
That England's o'errun by _idolaters_ lately,
Stark, staring adorers of wood and of stone,
Who will let neither stick, stock or statue alone.
Such the sad news I heard from a tall man in black,
Who from sports continental was hurrying back,
To look after his tithes;--seeing, doubtless, 'twould follow,
That just as of old your great idol, Apollo,
Devoured all the Tenths, so the idols in question,
These wood and stone gods, may have equal digestion,
And the idolatrous crew whom this Rector despises,
May eat up the tithe-pig which _he_ idolizes.
London.
'Tis all but too true--grim Idolatry reigns
In full pomp over England's lost cities and plains!
On arriving just now, as my first thought and care
Was as usual to seek out some near House of Prayer,
Some calm holy spot, fit for Christians to pray on,
I was shown to--what think you?--a downright Pantheon!
A grand, pillared temple with niches and halls,
Full of idols and gods, which they nickname St.
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