In vain the critics set to watch him
Try at the starting post to catch him:
He's off--the puffers carry it hollow--
The _critics_, if they please, may follow.
Ere _they_'ve laid down their first positions,
He's fairly blown thro' six editions!
In vain doth Edinburgh dispense
Her blue and yellow pestilence
(That plague so awful in my time
To young and touchy sons of rhyme)--
The _Quarterly_, at three months' date,
To catch the Unread One, comes too late;
And nonsense, littered in a hurry,
Becomes "immortal," spite of Murray.
But bless me!--while I thus keep fooling,
I hear a voice cry, "Dinner's cooling."
That postman too (who, truth to tell,
'Mong men of letters bears the bell,)
Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally
That I _must_ stop--
Yours sempiternally.
THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF.
BY LORD STANLEY.
(HIS FIRST ATTEMPT IN VERSE.)
"Evil, be thou my good."
--MILTON.
How various are the inspirations
Of different men in different nations!
As genius prompts to good or evil,
Some call the Muse, some raise the devil.
Old Socrates, that pink of sages,
Kept a pet demon on board wages
To go about with him incog.,
And sometimes give his wits a jog.
So Lyndhurst, in _our_ day, we know,
Keeps fresh relays of imps below,
To forward from that nameless spot;
His inspirations, hot and hot.
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