Only think that a personage mighty and great,
Should so modestly shrink from the splendor of state,
(Were I in his place, with a glass-coach and six,
The standard of Embassy coaches I'd fix!)
With two vile job horses stuck on to his carriage,-
Tho' it is not for me, my dear Lord, to disparage
The style of "son Excellence" HASSAN ABOUN,*
The child of the sun-the eléve of the moon!
No, no, be it mine with the eloquent reed,†
To me by just Providence wisely decreed,
On this heart-pleasing subject with fancy sublime
To grace the intelligent ears of old Time;
Whilst my thoughts, most original, glowing and terse,
Give brilliancy, sweetness, and charm to my verse!
Well! he came, let me see,-at a quarter past nine,
And Lord! how his gems and his diamonds did shine,

* I rather imagine there must be some trifling error in this nomenclature.

However this is a Shaksperean error,-" Peter for the sake of metre."- -P. Q.

The Pen, so called in Persia.

And his red crimson cloak seem'd a garment of fire,
As he turned with good-humour'd surprise to admire
The taste and the fancy and judgment displayed
In our neat suite of rooms, for the purpose arrayed
With peculiar magnificence, such as I know
Carlton House only rivall'd some summers ago.

And so HASSAN exclaim'd-and I took not his wit ill, "Why 'tis Carlton House here too, in little and little!"

But soon from the elegant tapestry he turned,
And I thought for a moment he inwardly mourned,
As his eyes fell at once on those trophies of honor
Conferred by HER hands, who took beauty upon her
To shine out in Royalty-lost and for ever!
Shall England behold her resemblance?—No, never!
So good and so pure, and so lovelily fair,

She has flitted away like a spirit of air!

But these trophies that fondly, yet sadly, I cherish, Shall stand in my halls, 'till my halls and I perish;

Yes, I swear by the tears on my paper that fall

That my humbly adored Princesse Charlotte de

Galles*

Shall long be remembered by me and by mine, "Till the sun-light of memory ceases to shine.

"But where's Aboun Hassan," you say,

"all this

while ?"

Reclining in beauty's benevolent smile,

On yon

musnud he calls it-behold him laid low

Beneath the dark curve of a crescent-like brow; Whilst the sparkling and glow of all other bright eyes Unheeded play round like the beam of his skies When the lightning attracts him-th' electrical spark But renders the rest of the universe dark.

Apropos, when his charmer was heard to complain, Of a shiver, whilst passion throughout every vein

* This simple inscription procured for me the most flattering, distinguishing distinctions, and enviable attentions on the Continent.

Of his heart and his bosom was rushing in flame, "How comes it," he said, "oh, thou rose in the beam "Of creation's own day-burst, the loveliest far! "More fair than the loved one of young Jehaundar,* "How comes it that you, from the light of whose eyes "The flame of desire irresistibly flies,

"Consuming the heart of each love-stricken elf, "Can be chilly or cold for a moment yourself?" With loud bursts of laughter the circle rang round, And the wit of the Persian was voted profound!— It is not for me or my muse to recite

The flashes of eloquence sportively bright,

That my friend scattered round him, with compliment

mixed,

Whilst I stood before him, with praises transfixed;

* I have been at some pains to discover who this matchless beauty may have been.-I find she was no other than "Bherawir Banon, upon whose countenance the worldilluming sun, with all his globe-enlightening splendor dare not look without the medium of a veil."-Bahar Danush,

P. Q.

When up-raising his head from the collar of thought,
And his lips from the signet of silence, he caught,
From the treasure of speech, such magnificent pearls
And gems of profusion-my head fairly twirls
When I think on his fanciful phrases that shine
With a lustre reflected but faintly in mine-
Just to give an idea, to you, my dear Lord!-
Whilst his satire was sharp as the gem-hilted sword
That he wore in his girdle-short, polished and keen,
That cut while it sparkled, in exquisite sheen.

—Adieu, my dear Lord! this is all that at present Has room in my thoughts-and you'll own 'tis so pleasant,

So happily told with such pathos and feeling!
(For genius like mine you know baffles concealing ;)
And now with affection heart-feeling and fervent,
Whilst my pen has a nib, or my heart has a nerve in't,
I'm your faithful,

obliged

and obsequious servant

JM D, OF C-KS.