Within, a crowd; without, a blank; Pillar, and roof, and portico, In one continuous fall! The palace like a baseless dream, And crushed beneath the crumbling mass, And thus the Doric demigods Their scornéd power displayed; And thus the Twins, by poet sung, Their darling poet paid. THE LAY Of SIR LYTTON. (Very much) after Macaulay. THE b'hoys from swate ould Ireland, Up and down and all about The rest have heard the news Who lingers anyhow, When Doheny the fugitive, Gives orders for a row. The rioters and rowdies Are pouring in amain From many a noisy grog-shop, From many a mouldy office where, And waits his prey from day to day But in the Sixth Ward chiefly The news was spread about, And from the Sixth Ward chiefly Did the rabble crew turn out; The "Bloody Sixth" where KELLY rules The roast triumphantly, And by his Aldermanic rights Sets drunken loafers free. Thence mustered many a lusty wight, Was wont the brunt to bide, Or if he could not thrash, at least And swell with pride the sturdy train According to the programme, To dignify the affair, Ned Butler the confederate, Was called unto the chair, At his right hand stood the Doheny (If we thus accent the name), And at his left the people's man Who never looked more proud, 'tis said, Not even on the hallowed morn When Blackwell's famous island Then up and spake the Doheny, The wretched foreign spy! Unruly and disorderly Of course he must mean us. And then (to take a little horn) the speaker made a pause, And Doheny began again, and this MEMORIAL read: The Boys of Knockdownmany and Killmare, To His Excellency President Fillmore, The hesitating modesty proverbial to our race, Would hinder us from thrusting our nose where we've no right to, But the present is so flagrant and remarkable a case, That it's what we are in honor bound to talk about, and fight, too. We've all been so insulted by Sir Henry, the Ambassador, That Your Excellency 'll see it's quite impossible to pass it o'er. He says that Celts are barbarous, will forge as well as steal. (Though but for sons of Saxon men we'd been hard up for taters), And many of us have thriven in this Saxon-settled land, And all of us have multiplied, till we're a goodly band, And throw a fourth of Gotham's votes, be pleased to understand. And some of us are lawyers, and have risen to rank and riches What a bloody shame to say of us we don't wear any breeches! And since we tolerate the laws and keep them we must, when And though you all are heretics, don't tread you in the dust, Considering these services, we've not the smallest doubt That you'll proceed immediately to kick this Bulwer out; And if it should bring on a war, we're ready for the slaughter, We'll talk as big, and run as fast, as we did across the water, And so of course Your Excellency will do all that's right, And we, your said memorialists, will ever swear and fight. "Ever pray" was too pacific for the order of the night, So they amended as above, which pleased the meeting quite. A SPECIMEN OF THE PUFF POE TICAL. Spirit of the Times, July 1851. I HAVE a friend one P. C. K —, Who selleth the best of all Champagne. Champagne wine is good I wot, Whether the weather be cold or hot; When Boreas blows And you're almost froze From the tip of your nose To the tips of your toes, Then how your heart glows as the beverage flows When the sun's fierce rays Set all in a blaze And your blood seems to boil And your butter turns oil And the freshest of chops and steaks will spoil And your collars drop down And there is n't a soul that you know left in town, For the still hotter temperature whither they're faring From this stanza, and thinks Such an insinuation might possibly stop all his Leave it out and be blessed, -- Or fill up with asterisks as he likes best) Beseechingly wooes The balmiest breezes of eve to come at her In short, under every stage of thermometer All times and all seasons are good for Champagne Some years ago there was going on There was still more talk about Cordon Bleu Will talk to you half an hour about Schreider; |