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" While young Greek sculptors gazing on the child “ Became, with old Greek sculpture, reconciled. “ Already sages laboured to condense “ In easy tomes a life's experience : “ And artists took grave counsel to impart “In one breath and one hand-sweep, all their art, . “ And make his graces prompt as blossoming “ Of plentifully-watered palms in spring : “ Since well beseems it, whoso mounts the throne, “ For beauty, knowledge, strength, should stand alone, “ And mortals love the letters of his name."
-Stop! Have you turned two pages ? Still the same. New reign, same date. The scribe goes on to say How that same year, on such a month and day, “ John the Pannonian, groundedly believed “ A blacksmith's bastard, whose hard hand reprieved “ The Empire from its fate the year before, “ Came, had a mind to take the crown, and wore “ The same for six years, (during which the Huns “ Kept off their fingers from us) till his sons “ Put something in his liquor”—and so forth. Then a new reign. Stay—“Take at its just worth " (Subjoins an annotator) “What I give “ As hearsay. Some think, John let Protus live “ And slip away. 'T is said, he reached man's age “ At some blind northern court; made, first a page, " Then tutor to the children; last, of use “ About the hunting stables. I deduce “ He wrote the little tract. On worming dogs,' “ Whereof the name in sundry catalogues “ Is extant yet. A Protus of the race
“ Is rumoured to have died a monk in Thrace,“ And, if the same, he reached senility.”
Here's John the Smith's rough-hammered head. Great
eye, Gross jaw and griped lips do what granite can To give you the crown-grasper. What a man!
MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA.
Hist, but a word, fair and soft !
Forth and be judged, Master Hugues ! Answer the question I 've put you so oft :
What do you mean by your mountainous fugues ? See, we're alone in the loft,
11. I, the poor organist here,
Hugues, the composer of note,
Let 's have a colloquy, something to quote,
See, the church empties apace :
Fast they extinguish the lights.
Here 's a crank pedal wants setting to rights,
See, our huge house of the sounds,
Hushing its hundreds at once,
Bids the last loiterer back to his bounds !
- you may challenge them, not a response Get the church-saints on their rounds !
v. (Saints go their rounds, who shall doubt ?
—March, with the moon to admire, Up nave, down chancel, turn transept about,
Supervise all betwixt pavement and spire, Put rats and mice to the rout
Aloys and Jurien and Just
Order things back to their place,
Rub the church-plate, darn the sacrament-lace,
Here's your book, younger folks shelve!
Played I not off-hand and runningly, Just now, your masterpiece, hard number twelve ? Here 's what should strike, could one handle it
cunningly : Help the axe, give it a helve !
Page after page as I played,
Every bar's rest, where one wipes
O’er my three claviers, yon forest of pipes
You, with brow ruled like a score,
Like two great breves, as they wrote them of yore, Each side that bar, your straight beak !
Sure you said—“Good, the mere notes !
" Still, couldst thou take my intent, “ Know what procured me our Company's votes
“ A master were lauded and sciolists shent, “ Parted the sheep from the goats !"
Quick, ere my candle 's a snuff
I believe in you, but that 's not enough : Give my conviction a clinch !
First you deliver your phrase
-Nothing propound, that I see, Fit in itself for much blame or much praise
Answered no less, where no answer needs be: Off start the Two on their ways.
Volunteer needlessly help ;
So the cry's open, the kennel 's a-yelp,