Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine

We shall quote but one more poem of the witty Bishop's; and this we recommend to the serious attention of that learned body, The Provost and Fellows of Trinity College, Dublin, cock-a-hoop, as they must be, from the Royal visit. Indeed we know how much the slightest hint promulgated in these pages would influence them; and we feel particularly flattered by Dr Kyle's following our advice in discountenancing The Historical Society. The important piece we recommend, is entitled " A certain Poem, as it was presented in Latin by divines and others, before his Majesty in Cambridge, by way of interlude, styled Liber Novus de Adventu Regis ad Cantabrigiam, faithfully done into English, with some liberal additions."

" It is not yet a fortnight since
Lutetia entertain'd our prince,
And vented hath a studied toy,
As long as was the siege of Troy,

And spent herself for full five days,
In speeches, exercise, and plays.

To trim the town, great care before
Was ta'en by the Lord Vice-Chancellour;
Both morn and even he clean'd the way;
The streets he gravell'd thrice a-day:

One strike of March dust for to see,
No proverb would give more than he.

Their colleges were new be-painted,-
Their founders eke were new be-sainted;
Nothing escaped, nor post, nor door,
Nor gate, nor rail, nor bawd, nor

You could not know (O strange mis-
hap!)
Whether you saw the town or map.

But the pure House of Emanuel
Would not be like proud Jesabel,
Nor shew herself before the King
An hypocrite or painted thing;

But that the ways might all prove fair,
Conceived a tedious mile of prayer.

Upon the look'd-for seventh of March,
Out went the townsmen all in starch,
Both band and beard, into the field,
Where one a speech could hardly wield;
For needs he would begin his style,
The King being from him half a mile.

They gave the King a piece of plate,
Which they hoped never came too late;
But cry'd, Oh! look not in, Great King,
For there is in it just nothing;

And so preferr'd with tune and gait,
A speech as empty as their plate.

What cries the town? what we? (said he,)
What cries the University?
What cry the boys? what, every thing?
Behold, behold, yond' comes the King!
And every period he bedecks
With Een et Ecce venit Rex.

Oft have I warn'd (quoth he) our dirt,
That no silk stockings should be hurt;
But we in vain strive to be fine,
Unless your Grace's sun doth shine,

And with the beams of your bright eye,
You will be pleased our streets to dry.

Now come we to the wonderment
Of Christendom, and eke of Kent,
The Trinity, which to surpass,
Doth deck her spokesman by a glass,

Who, clad in gay and silken weeds,
Thus opes his mouth, hark, how he
speeds!

I wonder what your Grace doth here,
Who have expected been twelve year,
And this your son, fair Carolus,
Who is so Jacobissimus :

Here's none, of all, your Gracerefuses,
You are most welcome to the Muses.

Although we have no bells to jangle,
Yet we can show a fair quadrangle,
Which, though it ne'er was graced with

King,

Yet sure it was a goodly thing;

My warning's short, no more I'll say,
Soon you shall see a gallant play.

But nothing was so much admired
As were their plays so well attired;
Nothing did win more praise of mine,
Than did their acting most divine;

So did they drink their healths di

vinely,

So did they dance and skip so finely. Their plays had sundry grave wise factors, A perfect diocess of actors Upon the stage; for I am sure that There were both bishop, pastor, curate; Nor was their labour light or small, The charge of some was pastoral.

And then began his reverence

Next rode his lordship on a nag,
Whose coat was blue, whose ruff was shag, For they had a brave hobby-horse,

To speak most eloquent nonsense;

Our plays were certainly much worse,

Which did present unto his grace, A wond'rous witty ambling pace.

See how, (quoth he,) most mighty

Prince,

But we were chiefly spoil'd by that Which was six hours of, God knows

For very joy my horse doth wince.

rwhat.

But to conclude the King was pleased,
And of the court the town was eased;

Yet, Oxford, though, (dear sister) hark

yet,
The King is gone but to Newınarket,
And comes again ere it be long,
Then you may make another song.

The King being gone from Trinity,
They make a scramble for degree;
Masters of all sorts, and all ages,
Keepers, subcizers, lacqueys, pages,

Who all did throng to come aboard,
With "Pray, now make me, good
my lord."

They press'd his lordship wondrous hard,
His lordship then did want the guard;
So did they throng him for the nonce,
Until he blest them all at once,
And cry'd, Hodiissimè
Omnes Magistri estote.

Nor is this all which we do sing,
For of your praise the world must ring;
Reader, unto your tackling look,
For there is coming forth a book,
Will spoil Joseph Barnesius
The sale of Rex Platonicus.

To this Cantab felicitation we subjoin two effusions from Limerick and Cork, the harbingers of a joyous series, expressive of the loyal commotion which agitates the Green Isle.

The poet flab- As I was sitting on the Shannon side,

bergasted by

ane strange

Lull'd by the sound of that majestic flood,

apparition. A horseman on a sudden I espied,

Galloping by as quickly as he could;
I hail'd him, but he slacken'd not his pace,
Still urging on his steed, a gallant grey,
Until he past me, then he turn'd his face

Back towards his horse's tail, and thus did say,

" I ride express with news to strike you dumb,

"Our monarch has arrived at last--King George the Fourth is

come!"

He scarce had spoken, ere away he pass'd
Out of my sight as rapid as a bird,
And left me there in much amazement cast,
Looking, perhaps, in some degree absurd;

The noble river rolling calmly by,

The horse, the hasty rider, all did seem,

Even to the vision of my outward eye,

Like the thin shadowy figments of a dream;
I felt, in short, as Wordsworth did, when he
Chanced the leech gatherer on the moor all by himself to see.

By the exertion of judicious thought,

At last I from this mental trance awoke,
Marvelling much how in that lonely spot,
Upon my eyes so strange a vision broke;
From the green bank immediately I went,
And into Limerick's ancient city sped;
During my walk, with puzzled wonderment
I thought on what the rapid horseman said;
And, as is commonly the case, when I

Feel any way oppress'd in thought, it made me very dry.

When I arrived in brick-built George's Street,
Instinctively I there put forth my hand
To where a bottle, stored with liquid sweet,
Did all upon an oaken table stand;
Then turning up my little finger strait,

I gazed like "Docter Brinkley on the sky,
Whence heavenly thought I caught-pure and elate
Of holy harpings of deep poesy;

And, ere a moment its brief flight could wing,
I threw the empty bottle down, to chaunt about the King.

Which leaveth him in ane awk ward doldrum, after the manner of W. Wordsworth, Esq.

Shaketh it off, and marcheth homewards.

Turneth stargazer.

ODE.

A very glorious day this is indeed!

This is indeed a very glorious day!
For now our gracious monarch will proceed
On Irish ground his royal foot to lay.
Rejoice then, O my country, in a tide
Of buoyant, foaming, overflowing glee;
As swells the porter o'er the gallon's side,
So let your joy swell up as jovially;
Shout, great and little people, all and some,
Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come!

Come down, ye mountains, bend your numbsculls low,

Ye little hills run capering to the shore,

Now on your marrow bones, all in a row,

From all your caves a royal welcome roar.

* Professor of Astronomy, in T. C. D.

He calleth upon freland to rejoice in the fashion of a pot of portter.

Inviteth the mountains to ane saraband.

Howth is already at the water-side,

Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste;
Come then to join him, come with giant stride,
Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste;
In your best suits of green depart from home,

For now our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has

come!

Maketh of Down should dispatch Morne's snowy-vested peaks,

them ane саtalogue most

musical.

A word of

advice to the

rivers, in the

And Tipperary, *Knocksheogowna's hill,

Kerry, the great Macgillycuddys reeks,

Cork, the Galtees, studded with many a still,

Gallop from Wicklow, Sugarloaf the sweet !

From Wexford, bloody Vinegart the sour!

Croagh must be there, from whose conspicuous seat
St Patrick made the snakes from Ireland scour, -

All, all should march, tramp off to beat of drum,

For now our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has

come!

Rivers, dear rivers, in meandring roll,

Move to your Sovereign merrily along;

style of Mas- Ye whom the mighty minstrel of old Mole §

ter Edmund

Spenser, late

Has all embalmed in his enchanting song; of Kilcolman. Liffey shall be your spokesman, roaring forth

A very neat Address from either Bull, ||
While all the rest of you, from south to north,
Shall flow around in currents deep and full,
Murmuring beneath your periwigs of foam-

"Our Monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come!"

Anent lakes. Killarney sulkily remains behind,

Thinking the King should come to wait on her ;

And if he wont, she swears with sturdy mind,
That not one step to visit him she'll stir.
But all the other loughs, where'er they be,
From mighty Neagh,** the stone-begetting lake,

To Corrib, Swilly, Gara, Dearg, or Rea,

Or Googaun-Barra, tt when the Lee doth take

• Which being interpreted, signifies, the hill of the fairy calf; there is many a story about it.

+ Vinegar Hill, where a decisive battle was fought in 1798, with the rebels, who were totally defeated.

Croagh-Patrick, in Mayo.

§ Spenser, who dwelt beneath old father Mole,

(Mole hight that mountain gray

That walls the north side of Armulla vale.)

Collin Clout's come home again.

He has catalogued our rivers in the Fairy Queen, B. 4. Cant. 2. St. 40-44.

|| In Dublin Bay are two sand banks, called the North and South Bulls. Not far from them is a village called Ring's-End, which gives occasion to the facete to say, that you enter Dublin between two bulls and a blunder.

** Est aliud stagnum quod facit ligna dunrescere in lapides; homines autem findunt ligna, et postquam formaverunt in eo usque ad caput anni, et in capite anni lapis invenitur, et vocatur Loch-Each, ac (Lough Neagh.) See Mirab. Hib.

++ i. e. The hermitage of St Finbar, who lived there as a recluse. He was first Bishop of Cork. It is a most beautiful and romantic lake, containing a pretty island. It is a great place of pilgrimage.

Its lovely course, join in the general hum"Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come!".

O ye blest bogs,* true sons of Irish soil,
How can I e'er your loyal zeal express?

You have already risen, despising toil,

And travell'd up, your Sovereign to address.

Clara has led the way, immortal bog,

Now Kilmalady follows in his train;

Allen himself must soon to join them jog

From Geashil barony, with might and main,

In turfy thunders, shouting as they roam,

overeign has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

Our Sovereign

come!"

Ha! what's this woeful thumping that I hear?

Oh! 'tis the Giant's Causeway moving

Heavily pacing, with a solemn cheer,
On clumsy hoofs of basalt octagon.

on,

(Gigantic wanderer! lighter be your tramp, Or you may press our luckless cities down:

'Twould be a pity, if a single stamp

Smash'd bright Belfast-sweet linen-vending town.)

Why have you travelled from your sea-beat dome?
"Because our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has

come!"

Last slopes in, sailing from the extremest south,

Gallant Cape Clear, a most tempestuous isle;

Certain am I, that when she opes her mouth,

She will harangue in oratoric style.

So North, and South, and East, and West combine,

+ Ulster, and Connaught, Leinster, Munster, Meath,

To hail the King, who, first of all his line,

Was ever seen old Ireland's sky beneath.

All shall exclaim, for none shall there be mum,

"Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come!"

L'ENVOY.

How living people joy, I shall not tell,

Else I should make my song a mile in length;

Plebeian bards that theme may answer well,
Chaunting their lays with pertinacious strength:
They may describe how all, both man and beast,
Have in the general glee respective shares;

How equal merriment pervades the breast

Of sharks and lawyers-asses and Lord MayorsOf whelps and dandies-orators and geese

In short, of every living thing, all in their own degrees.

* Every body has heard of the movements of the Irish bogs.
+ The five ancient kingdoms of Ireland.

VOL. X.

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Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 10