An Eclogue.
Christopher—Duke—The Sub.
In the Blue Chamber, far from vulgar eyes,1
Where Tappytourie mountain dew supplies,2
(That dew Olympus-still’d, of precious worth !)3
Sat Christopher—whose name is from the North,—4
Concocting in his great and mighty mind5
His coming Number—to astound mankind.6
Alone he sat ; his gossips and his gout7
Had vanish’d—conquer’d in a drinking-bout ;8
Sir Morgan, Hogg, and Tickler the benign,9
Floor’d, had confess’d the power of North—and wine.10
Bang went the door, when lo ! at once appear’d11
Before the man so reverend, and revered,12
The conquering Hero,—he whose arm of might13
Heroes have felt,—and senates feel with fright ;14
And with him came Sir Sub—that upstart wight—15
Whose brazen brow the fairest locks environ,16
Strange contrast to his master’s face of iron !17
Say what their errand : Maga’s fostering care18
And patronizing smile of Christopher19
Each vied to have : and though the ducal frown20
Could make the Sub not call his soul his own,21
Yet he his master’s rival now was seen,—22
Such is the power of Blackwood’s Magazine !23
North nodded. Trembling like a brace of rats24
At the dread sound of terrier dogs—or cats,25
They heard a voice that bid them first rehearse26
Their several actions in alternate verse,27
That Maga and their country thus might see28
The greater which,—and whose the meed should be.29
The sly one, North ! He burn’d to kick them out,30
Had not politeness, and the fear of gout,31
Forbade,—while both assenting thus began,32
The Hero first ; and thus the descant ran.33
Duke.
I am the man who pull’d Napoleon down.34
I am the man whose genius gain’d renown35
For eloquence, which ae and tore away36
The orders of Lord Bishops—and Lord Grey.37
The palm of Mars and Mercury I wear—38
I—the illustrious Duke, Prince, Premier !39
Sub.
I, erst a Scribe, and most renown’d M.P.40
Must now sing small, since times are changed with me.41
Fickle the winds ! but I can shift my sail,42
paving my canvass to the varying gale.43
Easy of access, candid, open, free—44
A man of sterling worth—behold in me.45
Duke.
The name and fashion of those boots are mine,46
Call’d Wellingtons: my nose is aquiline—47
Like Jupiter’s own bird’s; and then my jaws48
Are lantern-shaped ; thus, then, I have shewn cause49
Why I should wear the laurel with applause.50
Sub.
Is not my face quite handsome ?— locks of fire !51
Silken my words, and silken my attire,52
In which Sir Thomas Lawrence painted me !53
Good Mr North, the laurel’s mine, you see.54
Duke.
Full many a tug and tough set-to were mine55
Before the friend to Free Trade would resign,56
Who clung to office, and defied my fighting :57
I ousted him by cunningly inditing58
Epistles to this sumph—in letter-writing.59
Sub.
What lovelier sight, than when our friends are seen60
Crowding the Treasury benches—all serene !61
To see Joe Hume, poor arithmetic soul !62
A-blundering up the tottle of the whole,63
And vainly trailing his bewilder’d feet64
Through the dark labyrinths of Downing Street.65
Duke.
Madness I call’d it once—to think that I66
Could e’er aspire to where I sit so high.67
Like the mad boy, who would his father dun68
To let him drive the chariot of the sun—69
So the state coach I too resolved to try—70
My Prince is Phoebus—Phaëton am I.71
Sub.
Behold my new police—all clad in blue,72
Scouring the town, they meet my gladden’d view.73
Priapus-like, the dread of every rogue,74
No blockhead I—though he was but a log.75
Thave the honour now to represent76
The Jew Manasseh—in our Parliament.77
Such was the song : when, lo ! an awful snore78
From sleeping North, loud as a cannon’s roar,79
Inspired them with such terror, that they rush80
Forth to Edina’s streets, with many a bounce and push,81