A Satire on Satirists, and Admonition to Detractors

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Saunders and Otley, 1836 - 38 psl.

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30 psl. - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell ; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
30 psl. - But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbibed In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave: Shake one and it awakens, then apply Its polisht lips to your attentive ear, And it remembers its august abodes, And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.
30 psl. - Even such a shell the universe itself Is to the ear of Faith ; and there are times, I doubt not, when to you it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things; Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power; And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation.
22 psl. - Call'd up by Genius in an after-age, That awful spectre shook the Athenian stage. From eve to morn, from morn to parting night, Father and daughter stood before my sight. I felt the looks they gave, the words they said, And reconducted each serener shade. Ever shall these to me be well-spent days, Sweet fell the tears upon them, sweet the praise.
29 psl. - The author of Gebir never lamented when he believed it lost, and never complained when he saw it neglected. Southey and Forster have now given it a place, whence men of lower stature are in vain on tiptoe to take it down. It would have been honester and more decorous if the writer of the following verses had mentioned from what bar he drew his wire.
11 psl. - Paracelsus has found a critick capable of appreciating him. It is not often that the generous are so judicious, nor always that the judicious are so generous.
21 psl. - Byron was not all Byron; one small part Bore the impression of a human heart. Guided by no clear love-star's panting light, Thro' the sharp surges of a northern night, In Satire's narrow strait he swam the best, Scattering the foam that hist about his breast. He who might else have been more tender, first From Scottish saltness caught his rabid thirst. Praise Keats . . . 'I think I've heard of him...
14 psl. - Honester men and wiser, you will say, Were satirists. Unhurt ? for spite ? for pay ? Their courteous soldiership, outshining ours, Mounted the engine and took aim from tow'rs. From putrid ditches we more safely fight, And push our zig-zag parallels by night.
11 psl. - On the same page, and the next, you say of Us, high Churchmen and high Tories, ' Beneath the battlements of Holyrood There never squatted a more sordid brood Than that which now, across the clotted perch, Crookens the claw and screams for Court and Church.
12 psl. - Brighter and braver Peter Pindar started, And ranged around him all the lighter-hearted. When Peter Pindar sank into decline, Up from his hole sprang Peter Porcupine.

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