And yet a strange and horrid curse Clung upon Peter, night and day; Peter was dull-he was at first Dull-O, so dull—so very dull ! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed, Still with this dulness was he cursed, Dull-beyond all conception-dull. No one could read his books—no mortal, Described by Swift-no man could bear him. His sister, wife, and children yawned, All human patience far beyond; Their hopes of Heaven each would have pawned, Anywhere else to be. But in his verse, and in his prose, A printer's boy, folding those pages, Fell slumberously upon one side; Like those famed seven who slept three ages: To wakeful frenzy's vigil rages, As opiates, were the same applied. Even the Reviewers who were hired To dream of what they should be doing. And worse and worse, the drowsy curse A wide contagious atmosphere Creeping like cold through all things near, His servant-maids and dogs grew dull; All grew dull as Peter's self. The earth under his feet-the springs Were dead to their harmonious strife. The birds and beasts within the wood, Love's work was left unwrought-no brood And every neighbouring cottager Yes! all from that charmed district went Who rather than pay any rent, No bailiff dared within that space, A man would bear upon his face, Seven miles above-below-around- A ghastly life without a sound; LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION. CORPSES are cold in the tomb, Stones on the pavement are dumb; And their mothers look pale-like the white shore Her sons are as stones in the way; Then trample and dance, thou oppressor; Thou art sole lord and possessor Of her corpses, and clods, and abortions-they pave Thy path to the grave. Hearest thou the festival din Of death and destruction, and sin, Tis the Bacchanal triumph, which makes truth dumb, Thine Epithalamium. Ay, marry thy ghastly wife! Let fear, and disquiet, and strife Spread thy couch in the chamber of life; Marry Ruin, thou tyrant! and God be thy guide To the bed of the bride. SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND. MEN of England, wherefore plough Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, Wherefore, Bees of England, forge Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, |