On that, a Cage. You twirled, and lo !

The Twain were one.

Said MATT, "E'en so,

Here's the Solution in a Word:

Form is the Cage and Sense the Bird.
The Poet twirls them in his Mind,

And wins the Trick with both combined."

1889,

THE TWO PAINTERS

I'

IN Art some hold Themselves content
If they but compass what they meant ;
Others prefer, their Purpose gained,
Still to find Something unattained—
Something whereto they vaguely grope
With no more Aid than that of Hope.
Which are the Wiser? Who shall say !
The prudent Follower of GAY

Declines to speak for either View,
But sets his Fable 'twixt the two.

Once-'twas in good Queen ANNA'S Time

While yet in this benighted Clime

The GENIUS of the ARTS (now known
On mouldy Pediments alone)

Protected all the Men of Mark,

Two Painters met Her in the Park.

Whether She wore the Robe of Air Portrayed by VERRIO and LAGUERRE ; Or, like BELINDA, trod this Earth, Equipped with Hoop of monstrous Girth, And armed at every Point for Slaughter With Essences and Orange-water,

I know not but it seems that then,

:

After some talk of Brush and Pen,—
Some chat of Art both High and Low,

Of VAN'S "Goose-Pie" and KNELLER'S "Mot,"

The Lady, as a Goddess should,

Bade Them ask of Her what They would. "Then, Madam, my request," says BRISK, Giving his Ramillie a whisk,

"Is that your Majesty will crown
My humble Efforts with Renown.
Let me, I beg it-Thanks to You-
Be praised for Everything I do,
Whether I paint a Man of Note,
Or only plan a Petticoat."

'Nay," quoth the other, "I confess"

(This One was plainer in his Dress,
And even poorly clad), “for me,
I scorn Your Popularity.

Why should I care to catch at once
The Point of View of every Dunce?

Let me do well, indeed, but find
The Fancy first, the Work behind;
Nor wholly touch the thing I wanted
The Goddess both Petitions granted.

Each in his Way, achieved Success;
But One grew Great. And which One?
Guess.

1882.

AD ROSAM

I

"Mitte sectari, ROSA quo locorum
Sera moretur."—HOR. i. 38.

HAD a vacant dwelling-
Where situated, I,

As naught can serve the telling,
Decline to specify ;—
Enough 'twas neither haunted,
Entailed, nor out of date;

I put up "Tenant Wanted,"

And left the rest to Fate.

Then, Rose, you passed the window,

I see you passing yet,Ah, what could I within do,

When, Rose, our glances met! You snared me, Rose, with ribbons, Your rose-mouth made me thrall, Brief-briefer far than Gibbon's, Was my "Decline and Fall."