A Strike Among the Poets

A STRIKE AMONG THE POETS

In his chamber, weak and dying,
While the Norman Baron lay,

Loud, without, his men were crying,

Shorter hours and better pay."

Know you why the ploughman, fretting,
Homeward plods his weary way
Ere his time? He's after getting
Shorter hours and better pay.

See! the Hesperus is swinging
Idle in the wintry bay,

And the skipper's daughter's singing,
"Shorter hours and better pay."

Where's the minstrel boy? I've found him
Joining in the labour fray

With his placards slung around him,
"Shorter hours and better pay."

Oh, young Lochinvar is coming;
Though his hair is getting grey,
Yet I'm glad to hear him humming,
"Shorter hours and better pay."

E'en the boy upon the burning
Deck has got a word to say,
Something rather cross concerning
Shorter hours and better pay.

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make as much as they,
Work no more, until they find us
Shorter hours and better pay.

Hail to thee, blithe spirit! (Shelley)
Wilt thou be a blackleg? Nay.
Soaring, sing above the mêlée,
"Shorter hours and better pay."

785

Unknown.

WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT

LIVES there a man with soul so dead
Who never to himself has said,

"Shoot folly as it flies"
"?
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
Are in that word, farewell, farewell!
'Tis folly to be wise.

And what is friendship but a name,
That boils on Etna's breast of flame?

Thus runs the world away.

Sweet is the ship that's under sail

To where yon taper cheers the vale,

With hospitable ray!

Drink to me only with thine eyes

Through cloudless climes and starry skies!

My native land, good night!

Adieu, adieu, my native shore;

'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more

Whatever is, is right!

Laman Blanchard.

NOTHING

MYSTERIOUS Nothing! how shall I define
Thy shapeless, baseless, placeless emptiness?
Nor form, nor colour, sound, nor size is thine,
Nor words nor fingers can thy voice express;
But though we cannot thee to aught compare,
A thousand things to thee may likened be,
And though thou art with nobody nowhere,
Yet half mankind devote themselves to thee.
How many books thy history contain;

How many heads thy mighty plans pursue;
What labouring hands thy portion only gain;
What busy bodies thy doings only do!
To thee the great, the proud, the giddy bend,
And-like my sonnet-all in nothing end.

Richard Porson.

To the memory of Miss Ellen Gee, of Kew, who died in consequence of being stung in the eye.

PEERLESS yet hapless maid of Q!

Accomplish'd LN G!

Never again shall I and U

Together sip our T.

For, ah! the Fates I know not Y,
Sent 'midst the flowers a B,
Which ven'mous stung her in the I,
So that she could not C.

LN exclaim'd, "Vile spiteful B!
If ever I catch U

On jess'mine, rosebud, or sweet P,
I'll change your singing Q.

"I'll send you like a lamb or U
Across th' Atlantic C.

From our delightful village Q

66

To distant O Y E.

A stream runs from my wounded I,

Salt as the briny C

As rapid as the X or Y,

The OIO or D.

"Then fare thee ill, insensate B!
Who stung, nor yet knew Y,
Since not for wealthy Durham's C
Would I have lost my I."

They bear with tears fair LN G
In funeral RA,

A clay-cold corse now doom'd to B

Whilst I mourn her DK.

Ye nymphs of Q, then shun each B,

List to the reason Y;

For should A B C U at T,
He'll surely sting your I.

Now in a grave L deep in Q,
She's cold as cold can B,
Whilst robins sing upon A U

Her dirge and LEG.

Unknown.

OD V

CONTAINING A FULL, TRUE, AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE

TERRIBLE FATE OF ABRAHAM ISAACS, OF IVY LANE

"True 'tis P T, and P T 'tis, 'tis true."

IN I V Lane, of C T fame,

There lived a man D C,

And A BI 6 was his name,

Now mark his history.

Long time his conduct free from blame

Did merit LO G,

Until an evil spirit came

In the shape of O D V.

"O! that a man into his mouth
Should put an N ME

To steal away his brains "-no drouth
Such course from sin may free.

Well, A B drank, the O T loon!
And learned to swear, sans ruth;

And then he gamed, and U Z soon
To D V 8 from truth,

OD V

An hourly glass with him was play,
He'd swallow that with phlegm;
Judge what he'd M T in a day,

"X PD Herculem."

Of virtue none to sots, I trow,
With F EK C prate;
And 0 of N R G could now
From A B M N 8.

Who on strong liquor badly dote,
Soon poverty must know;
Thus A B in a CD coat
Was shortly forced to go.

From poverty D C T he caught,
And cheated not A FU,
For what he purchased paying 0,
Or but an "I O U."

Or else when he had tried B 4,

To shirk a debt, his wits,

He'd cry, 66

You shan't wait N E more,

I'll W or quits.

So lost did I 6 now A PR,

That said his wife, said she,

"F U act so, your fate quite clear

Is for 1 2 4 C."

His inside soon was out and out

More fiery than K N;

And while his state was thereabout

A cough CVR came.

He IPK Q NA tried,

And linseed T and rue;

But 0 could save him, so he died

As every 1 must 2.

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