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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, 6 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,
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 !
-March, with the moon to admire,
Supervise all betwixt pavement and spire,
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
Sure you were wishful to speak,
You, with brow ruled like a score,
Like two great breves, as they wrote them of yore, Each side that bar, your straight beak!
X. 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 :
Answered no less, where no answer needs be: Off start the Two on their ways.
Straight must a Third interpose,
Volunteer needlessly help ;
So the cry's open, the kennel 's a-yelp,