Did I forget my tale? 'twas even so:
For surely loyal poets feel the glow
Of royal names. Gentles! pardon, pray!
And I at once will guide you on the way:
Behold the gate! I let the reader in it,
And yet, perforce, must pause and rest a minute
To gather strength,-like those famed steeds.
Apollo in his chariot leads,

Who never could so daily shine,

Did they not feed at night, and nod in sleep divine.

My head I rest in dewy slumbers,

Then wake, to strike with glowing numbers

My plectrum to a louder theme,

Where passions furious rage, and battle-fires shall gleam.

FROM inward attributes we pass to action;-
Thus far we trusted to a vague tradition,—
But myths we leave with hearty satisfaction,
And what we say is history's addition:
Yet not a word we breathe, as if disputing
The household legends of our boyhood's home;
"Tis often waste of power to live confuting,
As Niebuhr did, the fables of old Rome.

I love all nooks and corners, wild and lone,
Or light or dark, or mountainous or level,-
Though coffin'd dead-men rattle bone to bone,

1

And Tam O'Shanters watch the elfin's revel. 1 We knock down old wives' tales, and yet they spring, Buoyant as hope, and laugh our wit to scorn;

Men will believe in fairy, saint, or king,

And rally round the banners blanched and torn;

Imagination rules where reason falters,

And paints her landscapes in the loveliest hue
And drinking inspiration at her altars,

We choose the beauteous and uphold the true.
There is no thought of right, and kind, and proper,
That we would argue down with logic rude;
Who place all doctrines in a wrangler's hopper, "
Grind folly's meal, flat, profitless, and crude.

But to my facts:-Sir PIE-CRUST, in his ire,
Fierce as the Gods whose element is fire,

2

First cuffed our friend, and next,-hard-hearted sinner!-
Threw to a sneaking turn-spit Tammy's dinner;
The cur received it with a snap and gnarl,

As if his very sweetest was a snarl,

A knotted, crabbed, cross-grained, crooked tyke,

To whom, unmatched, the earth had not its like; 3

So envious was he, and so prone to steal,

None but himself his meanness could reveal.

3

The cuffs passed as the idle wind, which cats regard not, But such indignity, -forgiven nor forgot,—

Rankled within; most sorely was he grieved

Of his habitual food to be bereaved;

It did not suit his dietetic gravity,

But from its centre overturned his suavity:

And being, too, an erudite philosopher,
Unused, in problems, difficulties to gloss over,-
Though lives in nineties might be given his race,-

--

His wisdom thought, the subject sagely treating, And viewing on all sides his piteous case,

The twig he soon must hop, if thus debarred from eating.

For, certes, he esteemed the uncourteous slight

Dishonouring his dignity and calling ;

He wondered that the sun gave forth his light,
Or how the stars could be upheld from falling,
So long as vengeance slept for this disaster,
And scathless lived that cruel, angry master.

Heroical he rose, and, not to waste

His moments in reflection,

But once he thought, and with a break-neck haste

Put the one thought in action.

How his eyes glistened! aud his swelling tail

Thrice on itself curled round;

He gathered fury as he went,

And spurned the ground;

The moustache moved,—the nostrils snuffed the gale;
On meat and vengeance now his soul was bent,-

There none might stay his rage 'till its whole force was

spent.

Springing a spring he sprung, and proudly cries,
"Sweet is revenge! I feast myself on pies :
Sweet is revenge! when hunger arms our pride,
And devastations on our whirlwinds ride;

4

When roused for war, the furious charge we make,

And conquer Chelsea buns, or nobler wedding-cake. 5
Thee I instruct, Sir PIE-CRUST! how to use,
Nor in thy spite so shamefully abuse,

Gods! thou shalt learn the age is come once more,

When, as in Egypt, men must cats adore,"

And humbly make petition.

6

By my great ancestors! who, with fearless breast,
Looked at their kings, I will nor sleep nor rest,

Till I have battle done in this behalf;

And there, as desolations strew the ground,
If the insulting foe should gaze around,
And can laugh,—let him laugh: 7

I do not wish to stop his cachinnation,
If from his heart he finds it recreation."

The nod fate gave, and wide those spacious jaws,

All eager, opened to devour the prey;

With Jove-nerved strength upraised, the mighty paws Fell ranks on ranks, and many a custard slay;