The two following parodies of this poem occur in The University Snowdrop, an Edinburgh College Magazine. These and the interesting explanatory notes which accompany them have been kindly furnished by Mr. James Gordon, F.S.A., Scotland. The winter of 1837-8 was very severe, and there was a heavy fall of snow in Edinburgh. On the 10th January some snowballing took place in front of the College, in which the students took part. The warfare between the students and the townspeople was renewed on the 11th, and became more serious. Several shop windows were broken, the shops were closed, and the street traffic suspended. students, believing that the constables took the side of the mob against them, appeared on the 12th armed with sticks, to defend themselves against the constables batons. Then The a regular riot took place, sticks and batons being freely used, and matters became so serious that the magistrates found it necessary to send to the Castle for a detachment of soldiers of the 79th Highlanders, which arrived and drew up across the College quadrangle, and peace was restored. Five students who had been most active in the fray were tried by the Sheriff and were acquitted. The trial lasted three days. Among the witnesses for the prosecution were the Lord Provost, some Bailies, and the heads of the police force. The students were defended by Patrick Robertson, in a most amusing speech. He was made a Lord of Session, and wrote some volumes of poetry, now unsaleable, if ever they did sell. Lockhart wrote an epitaph for him : "Here lies that peerless paper lord, Lord Peter, Who broke the laws of gods and men' and metre." A report of the trial was published, which was followed by "The University Snowdrop, an appendix to the Great Trial, containing a selection of squibs, old and new, descriptive of the wars of the quadrangle and the consequences thereof. With magnificent embellishments." Edinburgh, 1838. The "embellishments and ink portraits of the are pen principal parties concerned in the riot, drawn by Edward Out the youth of Alna poured To anticipate the scene And the balls the faster showered O'er the deadly space between : "We'll be licked!' bellowed Fond," that s the fact." The Act was read in vain- To the Council chambers back, And that there was a riot he would vouch: Then came the soldiers all, With their captains stout and tail, And sixty rounds of ball In their pouch. Out spake the Major then, And he trembled as he spoke- By the Lord, my nose is broke ! Then yield, or we shall fire!" d!" So down the stairs they dashed, Spreading terror far and wide; Right and left the crabsticks smash'd; Yells were heard on every side. "Hit 'em hard," was the cry-when each man With an adamantine whack, Made their empty noddles crack, Now, ye Charlies, pay them back!! Again, again, again, And the havoc did not slack, Till to cut their sticks. they deign, And within the gates fly back. Stones and dirt along the streets, slowly boom; And the Charlies' bruised and pale, With the mob behind their tail, Our environs to assail, Did presume. With joy ye students shout, At the tidings of your might, How ye made the claret spout! How the scoundrels mauled took flight! Until midst their howling and uproar, The Lobsters in were led, And the Riot Act was read, Brave hearts! turn out's the word; Though you've leathered the police, -:0: THE BURNING OF THE PLAY-HOUSE. (Improved from Campbell.) [Covent Garden Theatre was destroyed by fire on March 5. 1856, during a masked ball conducted by Anderson, the self-styled "Wizard of the North."] Of the Wizard of the North Sing the Tuesday's night renown, And illuminated London brightly shown, Almost too drunk to stand, But all holding hand in hand, Down went Covent Garden then, Vain was the engine's wave, Vainly the gallant men Struggled the wealth to save The clock twice saved away indeed they bring, But the Muse's ancient seat Is a ruin most complete ; Ashes, where song's élite And London's blame was chief To a Quack, you but invite A fate that serves you right, (After Thomas Campbell's Last Man-also after the Official Report that there are one hundred and fifty seven fewer Four-wheeled Cabs in London now than last year.) FOUR million souls without a Fly! Our lack of common comforts, born I saw a vision in my sleep That caused me from my bed to leap, And skip around the room; I saw the Final Growler go Unhonoured, hideous, mean and slow, To its appointed doom! The gas-lamps had a sickly glare, The Hansom Cabmen winked and leered, Yet, martyr-like, the Driver sat ; Upon the myriad men Who've blown me up, and knocked me down, Those frowsy cushions bring not back Nor stretch four souls upon the rack Oh, let this cramped roof-tree go, "Even I am weary now of playing Rank idiocy it was to place Such Cabs upon the ranks ! For aid in vain did cry, His reputable Fly? "Go, Kings of Cabland, and reflect From Kew to Greenwich graced ! Punch, September, 1885. :0: THE MASSACRE OF GLENHO. THROUGH deep Glenho the owlet flits, Beside the bare and blighted hearth Whose fires, now quenched and black, 'Tis silent all! but hark-a cry "What mingled sounds of woe and wail "I hear the pibroch's piercing swell, THE LAWN TENNIS MATCH. THE summer day proved all too short, But light forbade the pleasant sport, And silent lay the tennis court, Where time had flown so rapidly. But morning saw another sight, The girls, once more, rushed forth to fight On either side the net they stand, Opposed in bloodless rivalry! But faster yet the balls shall fly Of "Deuce" that sounds so naughtily! 'Tis noon, but still resounds the blow, Though scorching hours may come and go, Those maidens, fleeter than the roe, Are ever darting rapidly! The combat deepens, Grace will win, And snatch from Maud the victory! A few games more, and Grace has won! 66 'Ho! Claret Cup! we both are done!' And from the fury of the sun THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. AT Summer eve, when Heav'n's aërial bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. THOMAS CAMPBELL, CAMPBELL, UNDONE AND outdone. More meet than all the landscape shining near? And lures the mounted with its azure hue. From Lyra Bicyclica, by Joseph G. Dalton. (Hodges and Co., Boston, 1885.) -:0: Amongst the various other imitations of Campbell's style the following are noteworthy : In "Rival Rhymes in honour of Burns," by Samuel Lover (London, 1859), is a long poem entitled "A Spirit Lay from Hades," imitating "The Battle of the Baltic," it commences thus: Or Scotia and the North A loving son would sing, And to laud surpassing worth Would wake the silent string, Untouch'd since it sank to the tomb; But bardic fires still burn In the ashes of the urn, And glimmering back return Through the gloom. For BURNS this spirit lay Is wafted to the earth, In honour of the day That gave the poet birth. * "Rejected Odes," edited by Humphrey Hedgehog, Esq., published by J. Johnston, London, 1813, a dreary little book, which was, no doubt, brought into existence in consequence of the success of "The Rejected Addresses," contains poems which are supposed to bear some resemblance to those of Lord Byron, Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and others. Specimen the Ninth is devoted to the description of the sorrows of Ireland, written after the style of Campbell's Exile of Erin. In "The Maclise Portrait Gallery" (Chatto and Windus) there is an excellent portrait of Campbell, who, comfortably seated in an arm chair, is enjoying a long pipe and a glass of whisky toddy :"THERE'S Tom Campbell in person, the poet of Hope, Brimful of good liquor, as gay as the Pope; His shirt collar's open, his wig is awry, There's his stock on the ground, there s a cock in his eye. Half gone his last tumbler-clean gone his last joke, And his pipe, like his college, is ending in smoke. What he's saying who knows, but perhaps it may be Something tender and soft of a bouncing ladye.' W. MAGINN. Robert Burns, Born January 25, 1759. Died July 21, 1796. HE date of the birth of Burns has been variously given as January 25 and January 29, the former date is probably correct judging from the lines: "Our monarch's hindmost year but ane. Was five and twenty days begun, 'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' Blew hansel in our Robin." It is now generally adopted, and the celebration of the Centenary of Burns's birth was certainly held at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham, on January 25, 1859. Of all the Poems written by Burns no one is so grand, or so generally popular as Bruce's address to his troops, which Burns is said to have composed as he rode home through a heavy storm. He sent the following draft of it to his friend Mr. George Thomson, in September, 1793, suggesting that the poem might be set to the old Scotch air HEY TUTTIE TAITTIE. Now's the day, and now's the hour, Wha will be a traitor-knave? Wha can fill a cowards grave? By oppression's woes and pains! Let us DO or DIE! Mr. Thompson, in acknowledging the Poem, remarked: "Your heroic ode is to me the noblest composition of the kind in the Scottish language. I happened to dine yester day with a party of your friends to whom I read it. They were all charmed with it, entreated me to find out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid of interest or grandeur as 'Hey tuttie taittie.' I have been running over the whole hundred airs, of which I lately sent you the list; and I think Lewie Gordon is most happily adapted to your ode; at least with a very short variation of the fourth line, which I shall presently submit to you. There is in Lewie Gordon' more of the grand than the plaintive, particularly when it is sung with a degree of spirit which your words would oblige the singer to give it. I would have no scruple about substituting your ode in the room of 'Lewie Gordon,' which has neither the interest, the grandeur, nor the poetry that characterize your verses. Now the variation I have to suggest on the last line of each verse, the only line too short for the air, is as follows :Verse 1st, Or to glorious victoric. 2nd, Chains-chains and slaverie. 3rd, Let him, let him turn and flee. 4th, Let him bravely follow me. 5th, But they shall, they shall be free. 6th, Let us, let us do, or die! If you connect each line with its own verse, I do not think you will find that either the sentiment or the expression loses any of its energy." Acting upon these suggestions Burns altered his Poem to suit the music, but in simplicity and grandeur the first version was far superior to the second. BANNOCKBURN. Robert Bruce's address to his Army. SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled: Scots, wham Bruce has often led; Or to glorious victory! Now's the day and now's the hour; See approach proud Edward's power- Wha will be a traitor knave? Traitor coward turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or Freeman fa', Caledonia on wi' me! By oppression's woes and pains! |