TO THE MAMMOTH-TORTOISE OF THE MASCARENE ISLANDS "Tuque, Testudo, resonare septem Callida nervis. "9 -HOR. iii. II MONSTER Chelonian, you suggest To some, no doubt, the calm,— The torpid ease of islets drest In fan-like fern and palm; To some your cumbrous ways, perchance, And some your Rip-van-Winkle glance, So widely varied views dispose: A LYRE to which the Muse might chant A truly "Orphic tale," Could she but find that public want, A Bard-of equal scale! Oh, for a Bard of awful words, And lungs serenely strong, To sweep from your sonorous chords Niagaras of song, Till, dinned by that tremendous strain, The grovelling world aghast, Should leave its paltry greed of gain, A ROMAN ROUND-ROBIN ("HIS FRIENDS " TO QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS) "Hæc decies repetita [non] placebit."—ARS POETICA. FLACCUS, you write us charming songs: No bard we know possesses In such perfection what belongs No man can say that Life is short Or touch, with more serene distress, And then delightfully digress All this is well, no doubt, and tends Barbarian minds to soften ; But, HORACE we, we are your friends- Why feign to spread a cheerful feast, Recount, and welcome, your pursuits: O, spare to sing, what none deny, Or bid us dine-on this day week---- As soft and sleek as girlish cheek, Of that we fear not overplus; Nunc vale! Verbum sap. VERSES TO ORDER (FOR A DRAWING BY E. A. ABBEY) How weary 'twas to wait! The year The red leaf to the running brook The white snow filled the orchard up; But she was waiting still. Spring stirred and broke. The rooks once more 'Gan cawing in the loft; The young lambs' new-awakened cries Came trembling from the croft; The clumps of primrose filled again. The hollows by the way; The pale wind-flowers blew; but she Grew paler still than they. How weary 'twas to wait! With June, Came distant murmurs of the war, |