ODE TO RICHARD MARTIN, ESQUIRE, M. P. FOR GALWAY.* "Martin, in this, has proved himself a very good Man!" How many sing of wars, Of Greek and Trojan jars The butcheries of men! ΒΟΧΙΑΝΑ. The Muse hath a “Perpetual Ruby Pen!" Thou Wilberforce of hacks! No poet's eulogy thy name adorns! . But oxen, from the fens, Sheep-in their pens, [horns! Praise thee, and red cows with their winding Thou art sung on brutal pipes! Drovers may curse thee, Knackers asperse thee, And sly M.P.'s bestow their cruel wipes; And zebras praise thee, Asses, I mean-that have as many stripes! Hast thou not taught the Drover to forbear, *The author of the act of Parliament for the prevention of cruelty to animals. Baless fen't wear The me far cu hast summoned oft, The top at his horse the courser of the two— ir this, when ye inhabit rif he spirit shifts Fran desi a feather-when the clown uplifts His hands kunst me marrows nest. to grab it— He shail not harm the MARTINS and the Swifts! Ai vien Dean Swift was quick, how he enhanced Swit was the horse's champion-not the King's Mounted on Persus-world he were thrown! Look at their Carmen ! 0. Martin! how thine eye That one world think had put aside its lashes— Thro any horse's side, must ache to spy That such raw shows must sicken the humane! Loves thee but little, To let that poor horse linger in his pane! O build a Brookes's Theatre for horses! And find a decent Vulture for their corses ! Four sorry steeds shall follow in each coach! Shall sorrow for thee-sore with kick and blow ODE TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN. "O breathe not his name! "-MOORE. THOυ Great Unknown! I do not mean Eternity, nor Death, For I suppose thou hast a living breath, Parent of many children-child of none ! Nobody's daughter-but a parent still! A vox and nothing more—yet not Vauxhall; Not the Invisible Girl! No hand--but a handwriting on a wall— A popular nonentity, Still called the same--without identity! A nothing shined upon-invisibly bright, Constable's literary John-a-nokes— The real Scottish wizard-and not witch. Maybe Sir Walter Scott- Why dost thou so conceal and puzzle curious folks ? Thou-whom the second-sighted never saw, No mister in the world-and yet all mystery! A man of clair obscure-not he o' the moon! A non-descriptus in a caravan, A private-of no corps-a northern light A vizor-and no knight; The real abstract hero of the age; A Some One made in every man's presumption, tion; Another strange state captive in the north, Hast thou no silver-platter, No door-plate, or no card-or some such matter, To scrawl a name upon, and then cast forth? Thou Scottish Barmecide, feeding the hunger Of Curiosity with airy gammon ! Dealing it out like middle cut of salmon, That people buy and can't make head or tail of it; Thou Zimmerman made practical! Thou secret fountain of a Scottish style, Hideth its source wherever it is bred, Thro' such broad sandy mouths without a head! Thou nameless captain of the nameless gang That do-and inquests cannot say who did it! Wert thou at Mrs. Donatty's death-pang? Hast thou made gravy of Weare's watch -or hid it? Hast thou a Blue-Beard chamber? Heaven for bid it! I should be very loth to see thee hang! Tho' thou hast newly turned thy private bolt on I hope thou art merely closeted with Colton, Who knows a little of the Holy Land, Writing thy next new novel-The Crusaders! Perhaps thou wert even born To be Unknown.-Perhaps hung, some foggy morn, At Captain Coram's charitable wicket, |