So lamely dost thou dare the unwonted task,
Such large credulity thy speeches ask!

Yes, I can well believe that thou couldst view,
With eyes unmoistened by the tender dew

Of Nature, scenes that all the tears should claim.
Of those who bear a husband's-father's name.
A widower twice-the funerals of thy mates
Pained not thy gaze; nor could the ruthless Fates
Which gave thy first-born to an early tomb,
Make thee acquainted with the mourner's gloom;
And thou couldst witness, with a calm as base,
The same dark portal close o'er all thy race,
Conscious that not a moment's transient woe
Can seem to mourn when thou art couched below:
Not he, the touch of whose heaven-gifted wand
Could fountains from the desert-rock command,
Not Israel's chief owned such high potency

As to evoke unreal things to be,

And work a weeping miracle in thee!

Thus, with foul boast, it still is thine to say
Thy life hath past without one troubled day;
Thus hath thy folly, with unmeasured stride
Somewhat outgone the vileness it would hide,

And blabbed self-satire, that each tongue confirms,

More amply keen, though couched in such brief terms,

Than if all they who scorn thee had combined

To paint at fullest length thy murky mind.
But as the surgeon's knife inflicts no pain
Where gangrene is, so shalt thou still retain
Thy loathsome quiet; armed in proof, secure
In mental rottenness, thou mayest endure
The edge of truth, and thus mankind convince
That all their justice cannot make thee wince.
Then hither turn, O rare and signal wretch!
Gaze on the hideous outlines of this sketch,
And, wondering at the mitigated traits,
Half thank the painter for his neutral praise,
While I rejoice that it transcends my art
To shadow forth thy Pharaonic heart.

Who shall achieve what weakly I've essayed,-
Bronze all the lights, and blacken every shade,
Unmask each semblance of humanity,

Till all the pictured horror teems with thee?
Here let some demon Raphael now display
His sombre talent: for such only may

Feel with congenial mind, what they pourtray?

And stamp an image, true in every line,

Not unto human nature, but to thine.

S

And traced the streams of Findus to their sc So fe up as quired the College course

But ah, the streams of Pindus were to thee
No living waters that flow ever free,

But a scant pool that is to the dull crew

As unto herbless rocks the quickening dew,

Which makes, perchance, the mossy surface green,
Where lurks the flinty barrenness unseen.

Cease then to ape the critic's dire control;

Who judges intellects must have a soul;

And lexicons, alas, can ne'er bestow

More than mere words upon the toiler slow,

Nor make him feel what he's compelled to know.

Thus I unstilt thee, Ursus, with light touch :

But oh, the poor effrontery of such,

To deem that, when their money-bags they've weighed,

A welcome meets them in the Muse's shade!

As soon may some vile mud-bird track the flight
Of eagles through the hidden fields of light,
As thou, or such as thou art, scan the power
Of even the loiterers in that tuneful bower.
Ursus, thou mockest at poets, and, I find,
Art, in thy turn, the jest of all mankind,—
I mean of all the few who chance to know
That such a thing as thou art crawls below.
If ought worth having could proceed from thee,
How welcome were thy wretched scoffs to me!

But, in the scale of being, thou'rt so small,
So near to nothingness, that none can fall
Down to thy muddy level; none can fear
That even applause, from thee, might seem severe.

Not the most mote-like insect, on the wing,

Can fear that thy dwarf malice has a sting :

Why, then, should I feel flattered, if it

pays,

Seeking to wound, its mite to my poor praise?
Lower than lowliest reptiles do I deem

All that are liable to thy esteem.

At thee, thou sorry creature, and the trust
Thou hast in thy poor lore,—as heaven is just,
I cannot smile, so cold is my disgust;

But others, moved to very laughter, may
View thee, as pleased as with an ape at play.
On then!-thy tiny gambols still pursue ;
Amaze the many-and amuse the few.