"I would he had continu'd to his country

As he began, and not unknit, himself,

The noble knot he made."

Can this be he who "At the Gates"¹

Of Janus' Temple stood of old,

Protective, vigilant, and bold,

As one who calmly dares—and waits?

"So fancy limns him, who'll not cease

To watch o'er what his brain upbuilt,"

Punch sang. And now he lifts the hilt,

Warlike, against a Patriot Peace.

Calm warder then, challenger now.

The tower he reared would he attack,

Because—they have not called him back

Like CINCINNATUS from the plough?

"The wounds that he doth bear for Rome,"

Should speak wide-lipped against the change.

The new Coriolanus! Strange,

So great a past to this should come!

The imperious Roman, banished, bared

Against Rome's walls a traitor blade.

But you—revenge is scarce your trade,

Hero, in faction's mazes snared.

The shirt of Nessus poisoned not,

Nor angered Hercules as you

Seem angered, poisoned. Yet you knew

On ARNIM's shield to bare the blot.

What should it say, Count HARRY's ghost,

Could it beside your couch appear,

And whisper in his foeman's ear?

Share you not that which shamed him most?

You flaunt the Press against the Throne?

You bare State secrets to the crowd?

You who against the Mob were loud,

With mockery MARCIUS well might own?

It doth not fit a splendid past.

The Sentinel in arms arrayed

Against the Citadel, a shade

Of gloom o'er glory's sheen will cast.

The illustrious name of BISMARCK blot

With no such treason as could dim

The Roman's glory, nor, like him.

Yourself unknit your "noble knot"!

Oh, OOMS was a champion brave and bold,

The Dutchman's pride was he;

And he cried, "I can row on the Thames, I know,

As well as the Zuyder Zee,

As well as the Zuyder Zee!"

And as his boat he set afloat,

And looked o'er the Henley tide,

He saw all England taking note,

And he trimmed his sculls and cried:—(Bis.)

"I'll win those 'Sculls!'" said he,

"The 'Diamond Sculls' for me!

That the world may know, wherever I go

Thames yields to the Zuyder Zee!" (Bis.)

Cried JOHN BULL, "Here! You Dutchman queer.

To-day you must row with me;

For while I ride Thames' silver tide,

I'll be second to none," said he;

"I'll be second to none," said he.

So they blazed away at that Dutchman gay,

Stout NICKALS, brave BOYD, and all—

But the Dutchman's ship our best did whip,

And BULL cried to his merry men all, (bis)

"We're whipped, boys, for once," said he,

"It's a whip that's a licker to me."

Right well OOMS pulls, and the 'Diamond Sculls'

Are gone to the Zuyder Zee!

VAN TROMP with his broom made free,

But this OOMS has "swept" Hen-ley.

Here's his health! But oh! those Sculls, you know,

Must come back from the Zuyder Zee."

It's long been loose; at last it's quite

Come out—the very thing to write

My laundry list on. Think what might

Have been upon it!

Some lines by GOLDSMITH, neatly planned,

A verse by BYRON, mighty grand,

Or even, penned by SHAKSPEARE's hand,

A song or sonnet;

DA VINCI might have made a sketch,

Or REMBRANDT drawn a head to etch,

Or TURNER dashed some tints—'twould fetch

A thousand guineas.

Here might have been some notes, compiled

By IBSEN, MAETERLINCK, or WILDE,

On how some writers have beguiled

Some simple ninnies;

Some words on Cooks, by RANDOLPH C.,

Or Greek