The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 204

Yes, Sleeper of Ages, thou _shalt_ be their chosen; And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men, To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen, So altered thou hardly wilt know it again.

And Eldon will weep o'er each sad innovation Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he Has been also laid up in a long congelation, And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee.

COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DESPATCH.

FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABOLO, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MAJESTY.

St. James's Street, July 1, 1826.

Great Sir, having just had the good luck to catch An official young demon, preparing to go, Ready booted and spurred, with a black-leg despatch From the h.e.l.l here at Crockford's, to _our_ h.e.l.l below--

I write these few lines to your Highness Satanic, To say that first having obeyed your directions And done all the mischief I could in "the Panic,"

My next special care was to help the Elections.

Well knowing how dear were those times to thy soul, When every good Christian tormented his brother, And caused, in thy realm, such a saving of coal, From all coming down, ready grilled by each other;

Remembering besides how it pained thee to part With the old Penal Code--that _chef-d'oeuvre_ of Law, In which (tho' to own it too modest thou art) We could plainly perceive the fine touch of thy claw;

I thought, as we ne'er can those good times revive, (Tho' Eldon, with help from your Highness would try,) 'Twould still keep a taste for h.e.l.l's music alive, Could we get up a thundering No-Popery cry;--

That yell which when chorused by laics and clerics, So like is to _ours_, in its spirit and tone.

That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics, To think that Religion should make it her own.

So, having sent down for the original notes Of the chorus as sung by your Majesty's choir With a few pints of lava to gargle the throats Of myself and some others who sing it "with fire,"[1]

Thought I, "if the Ma.r.s.eillais Hymn could command "Such audience, tho' yelled by a _Sans-culotte_ crew "What wonders shall _we_ do, who've men in our band, "That not only wear breeches but petticoats too."

Such _then_ were my hopes, but with sorrow, your Highness, I'm forced to confess--be the cause what it will, Whether fewness of voices or hoa.r.s.eness or shyness,-- Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill.

The truth is no placeman now knows his right key, The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various; And certain _base_ voices, that lookt for a fee At the _York_ music-meeting now think it precarious.

Even some of our Reverends _might_ have been warmer,-- Tho' one or two capital roarers we've had; Doctor Wise[2]is for instance a charming performer, And _Huntingdon_ Maberley's yell was not bad!

Altogether however the thing was not hearty;-- Even Eldon allows we got on but so so; And when next we attempt a No-Popery party, We _must_, please your Highness, recruit _from below_.

But hark! the young Black-leg is cracking his whip-- Excuse me, Great Sir-there's no time to be civil;-- The next opportunity shan't be let slip, But, till then, I'm, in haste, your most dutiful DEVIL.

_July, 1826_

[1] _Con fuoco_--a music-book direction.

[2] This reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the Reading election.

THE MILLENNIUM.

SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND MR. IRVING "ON PROPHECY."

1826

A millennium at hand!--I'm delighted to hear it-- As matters both public and private now go, With mult.i.tudes round us all starving or near it.

A good, rich Millennium will come _a-propos_.

Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold, Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags, A bran-new Jerusalem built all of gold, Sound bullion throughout from the roof to the flags--

A City where wine and cheap corn[1] shall abound-- A celestial _Cocaigne_ on whose b.u.t.tery shelves We may swear the best things of this world will be found, As your Saints seldom fail to take care of themselves!

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures Elysian, Divine Squintifobus who, placed within reach Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision Can cast at the same time a sly look at each;--

Thanks, thanks for the hope thou affordest, that we May even in our own times a Jubilee share.

Which so long has been promist by prophets like thee, And so often postponed, we began to despair.

There was Whiston[2] who learnedly took Prince Eugene For the man who must bring the Millennium about; There's Faber whose pious productions have been All belied ere his book's first edition was out;--

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., Who discoursed on the subject with signal _eclat_, And, each day of his life sat expecting to see A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh![3]

There was also--but why should I burden my lay With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names less deserving, When all past Millenniums henceforth must give way To the last new Millennium of Orator Irving.

Go on, mighty man,--doom them all to the shelf,-- And when next thou with Prophecy troublest thy sconce, Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself Art the Beast (Chapter iv.) that sees nine ways at once.

[1] "A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny."--Rev. vi.

[2] When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay in which he attempted to connect his victories over the Turks with Revelation, the Prince is said to have replied, that "he was not aware he had ever had ever had honor of being known to St. John".

[3] Mr. Dobbs was a member of the Irish Parliament, and, on all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible person: he chose Armagh as the scene of his Millennium on account of the name Armageddon mentioned in Revelation.

THE THREE DOCTORS.

_doctoribus loetamur tribus_.