Chapter IV: Part 4

Th' Ascidian tadpole, young and gay,
Doth Life with one bright eye survey,
His consciousness has easy play.
He's sensitive to grief and pain,
Has tail, and spine, and bears a brain,
And everything that fits the state
Of creatures we call vertebrate.
But age comes on; with sudden shock
He sticks his head against a rock!
His tail drops off, his eye drops in,
His brain's absorbed into his skin;
He does not move, nor feel, nor know
The tidal water's ebb and flow,
But still abides, unstirred, alone,
A sucker sticking to a stone.
And we, his children, truly we
In youth are, like the Tadpole, free.
And where we would we blithely go,
Have brain and hearts, and feel and know.
Then Age comes on! To Habit we
Affix ourselves and are not free;
Th' Ascidian's rooted to a rock,
And we are bond-slaves of the clock;
Our rock is Medicine--Letters--Law,
From these our heads we cannot draw:
Our loves drop off, our hearts drop in,
And daily thicker grows our skin.
We scarcely live, we scarcely know
The wide world's moving ebb and flow,
The clanging currents ring and shock,
But we are rooted to the rock.
And thus at ending of his span,
Blind, deaf, and indolent, does Man
Revert to the Ascidian."
--_St. James's Gazette (July 1880)._

A GEOLOGICAL MADRIGAL.

"I have found out a gift for my fair;
I know where the fossils abound,
Where the footprints of _Aves_ declare
The birds that once walked on the ground;
Oh, come, and--in technical speech--
We'll walk this Devonian shore,
Or on some Silurian beach
We'll wander, my love, evermore.

I will show thee the sinuous track
By the slow-moving Annelid made,
Or the Trilobite that, farther back,
In the old Potsdam sandstone was laid;
Thou shalt see in his Jurassic tomb,
The Plesiosaurus embalmed;
In his Oolitic prime and his bloom
Iguanodon safe and unharmed!

You wished--I remember it well,
And I loved you the more for that wish--
For a perfect cystedian shell
And a _whole_ holocephalic fish.
And oh, if Earth's strata contains
In its lowest Silurian drift,
Or palæozoic remains
The same--'tis your lover's free gift.

Then come, love, and never say nay,
But calm all your maidenly fears;
We'll note, love, in one summer's day
The record of millions of years;
And though the Darwinian plan
Your sensitive feelings may shock,
We'll find the beginning of man--
Our fossil ancestors, in rock!"
--_Bret Harte._

THE HUSBAND'S COMPLAINT.

"Will she thy linen wash and hosen darn?"--GAY.

"I'm utterly sick of this hateful alliance
Which the ladies have formed with impractical Science!
They put out their washing to learn hydrostatics,
And give themselves airs for the sake of pneumatics.

They are knowing in muriate, and nitrate, and chlorine,
While the stains gather fast on the walls and the flooring--
And the jellies and pickles fall woefully short,
With their chemical use of the still and retort.

Our expenses increase (without drinking French wines),
For they keep no accounts, with their tangents and sines?--
And to make both ends meet they give little assistance,
With their accurate sense of the squares of the distance.

They can name every spot from Peru to El Arish,
Except just the bounds of their own native parish;
And they study the orbits of Venus and Saturn,
While their home is resigned to the thief and the slattern.

Chronology keeps back the dinner two hours,
The smoke-jack stands still while they learn motive powers;
Flies and shells swallow up all our everyday gains,
And our acres are mortgaged for fossil remains.

They cease to reflect with their talk of refraction--
They drive us from home by electric attraction--
And I'm sure, since they've bothered their heads with affinity
I'm repulsed every hour from my learned divinity.

When the poor stupid husband is weary and starving,
Anatomy leads them to give up the carving;
And we drudges the shoulder of mutton must buy,
While they study the line of the _os humeri_.

If we 'scape from our troubles to take a short nap,
We awake with a din about limestone and trap;
And the fire is extinguished past regeneration,
For the women were wrapt in the deep-coal formation.

'Tis an impious thing that the wives of the laymen
Should use Pagan words 'bout a pistil and stamen;
Let the heir break his head while they foster a Dahlia,
And the babe die of pap as they talk of mammalia.

The first son becomes half a fool in reality,
While the mother is watching his large ideality;
And the girl roars unchecked, quite a moral abortion,
For we trust her benevolence, order, and caution.

I sigh for the good times of sewing and spinning,
Ere this new tree of knowledge had set them a sinning;
The women are mad, and they'll build female colleges,--
So here's to plain English!--a plague on their 'ologies!"

HOMOEOPATHIC SOUP.

"Take a robin's leg
(Mind! the drumstick merely),
Put it in a tub
Filled with water nearly;
Set it out of doors,
In a place that's shady,
Let it stand a week
(Three days if for a lady).

Drop a spoonful of it
In a five-pail kettle,
Which may be made of tin
Or any baser metal;
Fill the kettle up,
Set it on a boiling,
Strain the liquor well,
To prevent its oiling;

One atom add of salt,
For the thickening one rice kernel,
And use to light the fire
The Homoeopathic Journal.
Let the liquor boil
Half an hour or longer
(If 'tis for a man,
Of course you'll make it stronger).

Should you now desire
That the soup be flavoury,
Stir it once around
With a stalk of Savory.
When the broth is made,
Nothing can excel it:
Then three times a day
Let the patient _smell_ it.
If he chance to die,
Say 'twas Nature did it;
If he chance to live,
Give the soup the credit."

A BILLET-DOUX.

BY A COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER, CHIDDINGLY, SUSSEX.

"Accept, dear Miss, this _article_ of mine,
(For what's _indefinite_, who can _define_?)
My _case_ is singular, my house is rural,
Wilt thou, indeed, consent to make it _plural_?
Something, I feel, pervades my system through,
I can't describe, yet _substantively_ true.
Thy form so _feminine_, thy mind reflective,
Where all's _possessive_ good, and nought _objective_,
I'm _positive_ none can _compare_ with thee
In wit and worth's _superlative_ degree.
_First person_, then, _indicative_ but prove,
Let thy soft _passive_ voice exclaim, 'I LOVE!'
_Active_, in cheerful _mood_, no longer _neuter_,
I'll leave my cares, both _present_, _past_, and _future_.
But ah! what torture must I undergo
Till I obtain that little 'Yes' or 'No!'
Spare me the _negative_--to save compunction,
Oh, let my _preposition_ meet _conjunction_.
What could excite such pleasing recollection,
At hearing thee pronounce this _interjection_,
'I will be thine! thy joys and griefs to share,
Till Heaven shall please to _point_ a _period_ there'!"
--_Family Friend_ (1849).

Cumulative verse--in which one newspaper gives a few lines, and other papers follow it up--like that which follows, is very common in American newspapers, which, however profound or dense, invariably have a corner for this kind of thing. It has been said that the reason why no purely comic paper, like _Punch_ or _Fun_, succeeds in the United States, is because all their papers have a "funny" department.

THE ARAB AND HIS DONKEY.

An Arab came to the river side,
With a donkey bearing an obelisk;
But he would not try to ford the tide,
For he had too good an *.
--_Boston Globe._

So he camped all night by the river side,
And remained till the tide had ceased to swell,
For he knew should the donkey from life subside,
He never would find its ||.
--_Salem Sunbeam._

When the morning dawned, and the tide was out,
The pair crossed over 'neath Allah's protection;
And the Arab was happy, we have no doubt,
For he had the best donkey in all that §.
--_Somerville Journal._

You are wrong, they were drowned in crossing over,
Though the donkey was bravest of all his race;
He luxuriates now in horse-heaven clover,
And his master has gone to the Prophet's _em_[Symbol]
--_Elevated Railway Journal._

These assinine poets deserved to be "blowed,"
Their rhymes being faulty and frothy and beery;
What really befell the ass and its load
Will ever remain a desolate ?.
--_Paper and Print._

Our Yankee friends, with all their ----
For once, we guess, their mark have missed;
And with poetry _Paper and Print_ is rash
In damming its flow with its editor's [Symbol]

In parable and moral leave a [Symbol] between, [_Space_]
For reflection, or your wits fall out of joint;
The "Arab," ye see, is a printing machine,
And the donkey is he who can't see the .
--_British and Colonial Printer._

An Ohio poet thus sings of the beginning of man:

EVOLUTION.

"O sing a song of phosphates,
Fibrine in a line,
Four and twenty follicles
In the van of time.

When the phosphorescence
Evoluted brain,
Superstition ended,
Man began to reign."

_SINGLE-RHYMED VERSE._

The following lines are from a book written by M. Halpine, under the sobriquet of "Private Miles O'Reilly," during the Civil War in the United States. They have some merit apart from their peculiar versification, and the idea of comparing the "march past" of veteran troops in war time with the parade of the old gladiators is a happy one.

MORITURI TE SALUTANT.

"'_Morituri te salutant!_' say the soldiers as they pass;
Not in uttered words they say it, but we feel it as they pass--
'We, who are about to perish, we salute thee as we pass!'
Nought of golden pomp and glitter mark the veterans as they pass--
Travel-stained, but bronzed and sinewy, firmly, proudly, how they pass;
And we hear them, '_Morituri te salutant!_' as they pass.
On his pawing steed, the General marks the waves of men that pass,
And his eyes at times are misty, now are blazing, as they pass,
For his breast with pride is swelling, as the stalwart veterans pass,
Gallant chiefs their swords presenting, trail them proudly as they pass--
Battle banners, torn and glorious, dip saluting as they pass;
Brazen clangours shake the welkin, as the manly squadrons pass.
Oh, our comrades! gone before us, in the last review to pass,
Never more to earthly chieftain dipping colours as you pass,
Heaven accord you gentle judgment when before the Throne you pass!"

"About the year 1775 there was a performer named Cervetti in the orchestra of Drury Lane Theatre, to whom, the gods had given the appropriate name of Nosey, from his enormous staysail, that helped to carry him before the wind. 'Nosey!' shouted from the galleries, was the signal, or word of command, for the fiddlers to strike up. This man was originally an Italian merchant of good repute; but failing in business, he came over to England, and adopted music for a profession. He had a notable knack of loud yawning, with which he sometimes unluckily filled up Garrick's expressive pauses, to the infinite annoyance of Garrick and the laughter of the audience. In the summer of 1777 he played at Vauxhall, at the age of ninety-eight." Upon such another nose was the following lines written:

THE ROMAN NOSE.

"That Roman nose! that Roman nose!
Has robbed my bosom of repose;
For when in sleep my eyelids close,
It haunts me still, that Roman nose!

Between two eyes as black as sloes
The bright and flaming ruby glows:
That Roman nose! that Roman nose!
And beats the blush of damask rose.

I walk the streets, the alleys, rows;
I look at all the Jems and Joes;
And old and young, and friends and foes,
But cannot find a Roman nose!

Then blessed be the day I chose
That nasal beauty of my beau's;
And when at last to Heaven I goes,
I hope to spy his Roman nose!"
--_Merrie England._

Mrs. Thrale, on her thirty-fifth birthday, remarked to Dr. Johnson, that no one would send her verses now that she had attained that age, upon which the Doctor, without the least hesitation, recited the following lines:

THIRTY-FIVE.

"Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five.
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five;
Ladies, stock and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five;
He that ever hopes to thrive,
Must begin by thirty-five;
And all who wisely wish to wive,
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five."

Moore, in his "Life of Sheridan," says that he (Sheridan) "had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry; particularly to that sort which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted," a task which must have required great patience and perseverance. Moore quotes some dozen lines entitled "To Anne," wherein a lady is made to bewail the loss of her trunk, and she thus rhymes her lamentations:

"Have you heard, my dear Anne, how my spirits are sunk?
Have you heard of the cause? Oh, the loss of my trunk!
From exertion or firmness I've never yet slunk,
But my fortitude's gone with the loss of my trunk!
Stout Lucy, my maid, is a damsel of spunk,
Yet she weeps night and day for the loss of my trunk!
I'd better turn nun, and coquet with a monk,
For with whom can I flirt without aid from my trunk?

* * * * * * *

Accursed be the thief, the old rascally hunks,
Who rifles the fair, and lays hold on their trunks!
He who robs the king's stores of the least bit of junk,
Is hanged--while he's safe who has plundered my trunk!
There's a phrase among lawyers when _nunc_'s put for _tunc_;
But _nunc_ and _tunc_ both, must I grieve for my trunk!
Huge leaves of that great commentator, old Brunck,
Perhaps was the paper that lined my poor trunk!" &c. &c.

From another of these trifles of Sheridan, Moore gives the following extracts:

"Muse, assist me to complain,
While I grieve for Lady Jane;
I ne'er was in so sad a vein,
Deserted now by Lady Jane.

Lord Petre's house was built by Payne,
No mortal architect made Jane.
If hearts had windows, through the pane
Of mine, you'd see Lady Jane.

At breakfast I could scarce refrain
From tears at missing Lady Jane;
Nine rolls I ate, in hope to gain
The roll that might have fallen to Jane."

John Skelton, a poet of the fifteenth century, in great repute as a wit and satirist, was inordinately fond of writing in lines of three or four syllables, and also of iteration of rhyme. This perhaps was the cause of his writing much that was mere doggerel, as this style scarcely admits of the conveyance of serious sentiment. Occasionally, however, his miniature lines are interesting, as in this address to Mrs. Margaret Hussey:

"Merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower,
With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness,
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly,
Her demeaning,
In everything
Far, far passing
That I can indite
Or suffice to write
Of merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower."

The following national pasquinade we find in Egerton Brydges' "Censura Literaria Restituta," written in commemoration of the failure of Spain by her Invincible Armada to invade Britain. The iteration of metre is all that approaches in it to the style of Skelton, of whose verse it is an imitation:

"A Skeltonical salutation
Or condign gratulation,
At the just vexation
Of the Spanish nation,
That in a bravado
Spent many a crusado
In setting forth an Armado
England to invado.
Pro cujus memoria
Ye may well be soria,
Full small may be your gloria
When ye shall hear this storia,
Then will ye cry and roria,
We shall see her no moria.
O king of Spaine!
Is it not a paine
To thy hearte and braine,
And every vaine,
To see thy traine
For to sustaine
Withouten gaine,
The world's disdaine;
Which despise
As toies and lies,
With shoutes and cries,
Thy enterprise;
As fitter for pies
And butterflies
Then men so wise?
O waspish king!
Where's now thy sting.
The darts or sling,
Or strong bowstring,
That should us wring,
And under bring?
Who every way
Thee vexe and pay
And beare the sway
By night and day,
To thy dismay
In battle array,
And every fray?
O pufte with pride!
What foolish guide
Made thee provide
To over-ride
This land so wide,
From side to side;
And then untride,
Away to slide,
And not to abide;
But all in a ring
Away to fling?"
&c. &c.

EPITAPH ON DR. WILLIAM MAGINN.

"Here, early to bed, lies kind William Maginn,
Who with genius, wit, learning, life's trophies to win,
Had neither great lord, nor rich cit of his kin,
Nor discretion to set himself up as to tin;
So his portion soon spent, like the poor heir of Lynn,
He turned author, ere yet there was beard on his chin;
And whoever was out, or whoever was in,
For your Tories his fine Irish brains he would spin;
Who received prose and verse with a promising grin,
'Go a-head, you queer fish, and more power to your fin!'
But to save from starvation stirr'd never a pin.
Light for long was his heart, tho' his breeches were thin,
Else his acting, for certain, was equal to Quin:
But at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin:
(All the same to the doctor, from claret to gin!)
Which led swiftly to gaol, with consumption therein.
It was much, when the bones rattled loose in the skin,
He got leave to die here, out of Babylon's din.[8]
Barring drink and the girls, I ne'er heard of a sin,--
Many worse, better few, than bright, broken Maginn!"

THE MUSICAL ASS.

"The fable which I now present,
Occurred to me by accident:
And whether bad or excellent,
Is merely so by accident.

A stupid ass this morning went
Into a field by accident:
And cropped his food, and was content,
Until he spied by accident
A flute, which some oblivious gent
Had left behind by accident;
When, sniffing it with eager scent,
He breathed on it by accident,
And made the hollow instrument
Emit a sound by accident.
'Hurrah, hurrah!' exclaimed the brute,
'How cleverly I play the flute!'

A fool, in spite of nature's bent,
May shine for once,--by accident."

The above is a translation from the "Fabulas Litterarias" of Tomaso de Yriarte (1750-1790). Yriarte conceived the idea of making moral truths the themes for fables in the style of Æsop, and these he composed in every variety of verse which seemed at all suitable. Even when the leading idea presents no remarkable incident, Yriarte's fables please by their simplicity.

BOXIANA.

"I hate the very name of box;
It fills me full of fears;
It minds me of the woes I've felt
Since I was young in years.

They sent me to a Yorkshire school,
Where I had many knocks;
For there my schoolmates box'd my ears,
Because I could not box.

I packed my box; I picked the locks,
And ran away to sea;
And very soon I learnt to box
The compass merrily.

I came ashore; I called a coach
And mounted on the box:
The coach upset against a post,
And gave me dreadful knocks.

I soon got well; in love I fell,
And married Martha Box;
To please her will, at famed Box Hill
I took a country box.

I had a pretty garden there,
All bordered round with box;
But ah! alas! there lived next door
A certain Captain Knox.

He took my wife to see the play;--
They had a private box:
I jealous grew, and from that day
I hated Captain Knox.

I sold my house; I left my wife;
And went to Lawyer Fox,
Who tempted me to seek redress
All from a jury-box.

I went to law, whose greedy maw
Soon emptied my strong box;
I lost my suit, and cash to boot,
All through that crafty Fox.

The name of box I therefore dread,
I've had so many shocks;
They'll never end; for when I'm dead
They'll nail me in a box."

THE RULING POWER.

"Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammered, and rolled;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold,
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled;
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old,
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Good or bad, a thousandfold!"
--_T. Hood._

NAHUM FAY ON THE LOSS OF HIS WIFE.

"Just eighteen years ago this day,
Attired in all her best array--
For she was airy, young, and gay,
And loved to make a grand display,
While I the charges would defray--
My _Cara Sposa_ went astray;
By night eloping in a sleigh,
With one whose name begins with J,
Resolved with me she would not stay,
And be subjected to my sway;
Because I wish'd her to obey,
Without reluctance or delay,
And never interpose her nay,
Nor any secrets e'er betray.
But wives will sometimes have their way,
And cause, if possible, a fray;
Then who so obstinate as they?
She therefore left my house for aye,
Before my hairs had turned to gray,
Or I'd sustained the least decay,
Which caused at first some slight dismay:
For I considered it foul play.
Now where she's gone I cannot say,
For I've not seen her since the day
When Johnston took her in his sleigh,
To his seductive arts a prey,
And posted off to Canada.
Now when her conduct I survey,
And in the scale of justice weigh,
Who blames me, if I do inveigh
Against her to my dying day?
But live as long as live I may,
I've always purposed not to pay
(Contract whatever debts she may)
A shilling for her; but I pray
That when her body turns to clay,
If mourning friends should her convey
To yonder graveyard, they'll not lay
Her body near to Nahum Fay."

THE RADENOVITCH.

A SONG OF A NEW DANCE.

"Are you anxious to bewitch?
You must learn the Radenovitch!
Would you gain of fame a niche?
You must dance the Radenovitch!
'Mong the noble and the rich,
All the go's the Radenovitch!
It has got to such a pitch,
All must dance the Radenovitch!
If without a flaw or hitch
You can dance the Radenovitch,
Though you've risen from the ditch
(Yet have learned the Radenovitch),
You'll get on without a hitch,
Dancing of the Radenovitch.
If for glory you've an itch,
Learn to dance the Radenovitch;
And, though corns may burn and twitch,
While you foot the Radenovitch;
In your side though you've a stitch,
All along o' the Radenovitch,
You will gain an eminence which
You will owe the Radenovitch!
Therefore let the Maitre's switch
Teach your toes the Radenovitch!"

FOOTMAN JOE.

"Would you see a man that's slow?
Come and see our footman Joe:
Most unlike the bounding roe,
Or an arrow from a bow,
Or the flight direct of crow,
Is the pace of footman Joe;
Crabs that hobble to and fro,
In their motions copy Joe.
Snails, contemptuous as they go,
Look behind and laugh at Joe.
An acre any man may mow,
Ere across it crawleth Joe.
Trip on light fantastic toe,
Ye that tripping like, for Joe;
Measured steps of solemn woe
Better suit with solid Joe.
Danube, Severn, Trent, and Po,
Backward to their source will flow
Ere despatch be made by Joe.
Letters to a Plenipo
Send not by our footman Joe.
Would you Job's full merit know,
Ring the bell, and wait for Joe;
Whether it be king or no,
'Tis just alike to lazy Joe.
Legal process none can show,
If your lawyer move like Joe.
Death, at last, our common foe,
Must trip up the heels of Joe;
And a stone shall tell--'Below,
Hardly changed, still sleepeth Joe.
Loud shall the final trumpet blow,
But the last corner will be Joe!'"
--_G. Hebert._

TO A LADY

WHO ASKED FOR A POEM OF NINETY LINES.

"Task a horse beyond his strength
And the horse will fail at length;
Whip a dog, the poor dog whines--
Yet you ask for ninety lines.

Though you give me ninety quills,
Built me ninety paper-mills,
Showed me ninety inky Rhines,
I could not write ninety lines.

Ninety miles I'd walk for you,
Till my feet were black and blue;
Climb high hills, and dig deep mines,
But I can't write ninety lines.

Though my thoughts were thick as showers,
Plentiful as summer flowers,
Clustering like Italian vines,
I could not write ninety lines.

When you have drunk up the sea,
Floated ships in cups of tea,
Plucked the sun from where it shines,
Then I'll write you ninety lines.

Even the bard who lives on rhyme,
Teaching silly words to chime,
Seldom sleeps, and never dines,--
He could scarce write ninety lines.

Well you know my love is such,
You could never ask too much;
Yet even love itself declines
Such a work as ninety lines.

Though you frowned with ninety frowns,
Bribed me with twice ninety towns,
Offered me the starry signs,
I could not write ninety lines.

Many a deed I've boldly done
Since my race of life begun;
But my spirit peaks and pines
When it thinks of ninety lines.

Long I hope for thee and me
Will our lease of this world be;
But though hope our fate entwines,
Death will come ere ninety lines.

Ninety songs the birds will sing,
Ninety beads the child will string;
But his life the poet tines,
If he aims at ninety lines.

Ask me for a thousand pounds,
Ask me for my house and grounds;
Levy all my wealth in fines,
But don't ask for ninety lines.

I have ate of every dish--
Flesh of beast, and bird, and fish;
Briskets, fillets, knuckles, chines,
But eating won't make ninety lines.

I have drunk of every cup,
Till I drank whole vineyards up;
German, French, and Spanish wines,
But drinking won't make ninety lines.

Since, then, you have used me so,
To the Holy Land I'll go;
And at all the holy shrines
I shall pray for ninety lines.

Ninety times a long farewell,
All my love I could not tell,
Though 'twas multiplied by nines,
Ninety times these ninety lines."
--_H. G. Bell._

We give the following curious old ballad a place here, not only on account of the iteration of rhyme, but also as the original of the macaronic verses on p. 95:

THE WIG AND THE HAT.

"The elderly gentleman's here,
With his cane, his wig, and his hat;
A good-humoured man all declare,
But then he's o'erloaded with fat.

By the side of a murmuring stream
This elderly gentleman sat
On the top of his head was his wig,
And a-top of his wig was his hat.

The wind it blew high and blew strong,
As this elderly gentleman sat,
And bore front his head in a trice
And plunged in the river his hat.

The gentleman then took his cane,
Which lay on his lap as he sat,
And dropped in the river his wig
In attempting to get out his hat.

Cool reflection at length came across,
While this elderly gentleman sat;
So he thought he would follow the stream,
And look for his fine wig and hat.

His breast it grew cold with despair,
And full in his eye madness sat;
So he flung in the river his cane,
To swim with his wig and his hat.

His head, being thicker than common,
O'er-balanced the rest of his fat,
And in plunged this son of a woman
To follow his wig, cane, and hat.

A Newfoundland dog was at hand--
No circumstance could be more pat--
The old man he brought safe to land,
Then fetched out his wig, cane, and hat.

The gentleman, dripping and cold,
Seem'd much like a half-drowned rat,
But praised his deliverer so bold,
Then adjusted his cane, wig, and hat.

Now homeward the gentleman hied,
But neither could wear wig or hat;
The dog followed close at his side,
Fawn'd, waggled his tail, and all that.

The gentleman, filled with delight,
The dog's master hastily sought;
Two guineas set all things to right,
For that sum his true friend he bought.

From him the dog never would part,
But lived much caressed for some years;
Till levelled by Death's fatal dart,
When the gentleman shed many tears.

Then buried poor Tray in the Green.
And placed o'er the grave a small stone,
Whereon a few lines may be seen,
Expressive of what he had done."

_ANAGRAMS._

Anagrams are curious and frequently clever examples of formal literary trifling. Camden, in his "Remains," gave to the world a treatise showing that in his day anagrams were endowed with an undue and superstitious importance, being regarded as nothing less than the occult and mysterious finger of Fate, revealed in the names of men.

"The only quintessence," says this old writer, "that hitherto the alchemy of wit could draw out of names, is _anagrammatisme_ or _metagrammatisme_, which is the dissolution of a name, truly written, into the letters as its elements, and a new connection of it by artificial transposition, without addition, subtraction, or change of any letter, into different words, making some perfect sense applicable to the person named." Precise anagrammatists adhere strictly to these rules, with the exception of omitting or retaining the letter _h_ according to their convenience, alleging that _h_ cannot claim the rights of a letter; others, again, think it no injury sometimes to use _e_ for _æ_, _v_ for _w_, _s_ for _z_, _c_ for _k_, and contrariwise, and several of the instances which follow will be found variously imperfect. Camden calls the charming difficulty of making an anagram, "the whetstone of patience to them that shall practise it; for some have been seen to bite their pen, scratch their head, bend their brows, bite their lips, beat the board, tear their paper, when the names were fair for somewhat, and caught nothing therein,--yet, notwithstanding the sour sort of critics, good anagrams yield a delightful comfort and pleasant motion to honest minds."

Camden places the origin of the anagram as far back as the time of Moses, and conjectures that it may have had some share in the mystical traditions, afterwards called the "Cabala," communicated by the Jewish lawgiver. One part of the art of the cabalists lay in what they called _themuru_--that is, changing--or finding the hidden and mystical meaning in names, which they did by transposing and fantastically combining the letters in those names. Thus of the letters of Noah's name in Hebrew they made _Grace_, and of the Messiah's _He shall rejoice_. Whether the above origin be theoretical or not, the anagram can be traced to the age of Lycophron, a Greek writer, who flourished about 300 B.C.

Among the moderns, the French have most cultivated the anagram. Camden says: "They exceedingly admire the anagram, for the deep and far-fetched antiquity and mystical meaning therein. In the reign of Francis the First (when learning began to revive), they began to distil their wits therein." There is a curious anecdote of an anagrammatist who presented a king of France with the two following upon his name of Bourbon:

Borbonius, Borbonius,
_Bonus orbi_; or _Orbus boni_;

That is, "Bourbon good to the world;" or "Bourbon destitute of good;" while on another celebrated Frenchman we have--

Voltaire,
_O alte vir_.

Southey, in his "Doctor," says that "anagrams are not likely ever again to hold so high a place among the prevalent pursuits of literature as they did in the seventeenth century. But no person," he continues, "will ever hit upon an apt one without feeling that degree of pleasure with which any odd coincidence is remarked." In that century, indeed, the artifice appears to have become the fashionable literary passion of the day--the amusement of the learned and the wise, who sought

"To purchase fame,
In keen iambics and mild anagram."

While Andreas Rudiger was yet a student at college, and intending to become a physician, he one day pulled the Latinised form of his name to pieces, Andreas Rudigeras, and borrowing an _i_, transposed it into _Arare Rus Dei Dignus_ ("Worthy to cultivate the land of God"). He fancied from this that he had a divine call to become an ecclesiastic, and thereupon gave up the study of medicine for theology. Soon after, Rudiger became tutor in the family of the philosopher Thomasius, who one day told him "that he would greatly benefit the journey of his life by turning it towards physic." Rudiger confessed that his tastes lay rather in that direction than to theology, but having looked upon the anagram of his name as an indication of a divine call, he had not dared to turn away from theology. "How simple you have been," replied Thomasius; "it is just that very anagram which calls you towards medicine--'_Rus Dei_,' the land of God (God's acre), what is that but the cemetery--and who labours so bravely for the cemetery as a physician does?" Rudiger could not resist this, returned to medicine, and became famous as a physician.

An anagram on Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle on the restoration of Charles II., forms also a chronogram, including the date of the event it records--

Georgius Monke, Dux de Aumarle--
_Ego Regem reduxi, anno sa_ MDCLVV.

In this anagram the _c_ takes the place of the _k_.

The old Puritan biographer, Cotton Mather, claims for John Wilson--the subject of one of his lives--the kingship of anagrammatising. "Of all the anagrammatisers," he says in the third book of his "Magnalia Christi Americana," "that have been trying their fancies for the 2000 years that have run out since the days of Lycophron, or the more than 5000 since the days of our first father, I believe there never was a man that made so many, or so nimbly, as our Mr. Wilson; who, together with his quick turns upon the names of his friends, would ordinarily _fetch_, and rather than _lose_, would even _force_, devout instructions out of his anagrams. As one, upon hearing my father (Increase Mather) preach, Mr. Wilson immediately gave him that anagram upon his name 'Crescentius Matherus,' _Eu! Christus Merces Tua_ (Lo! Christ is thy reward). There would scarcely occur the name of any remarkable person without an anagram raised thereupon."

This said John Wilson "forced instruction" out of his own name--first rendering it into Latin, Johannes Wilsonus, he found this anagram in it, "_In uno Jesu nos salvi_" (We are saved in one Jesus). This mode of Latinising names was common enough among those who liked this literary folly; thus we have Sir Robert Viner, or Robertus Vinerus, rendered "_Vir Bonus et Rarus_" (a good and rare man). The disciples of Descartes made a perfect anagram upon the Latinised name of their master, "Renatus Cartesius," one which not only takes up every letter, but which also expresses their opinion of that master's speciality--"_Tu scis res naturæ_" (Thou knowest the things of nature).

Pierre de St. Louis became a Carmelite monk on discovering that his name yielded a direction to that effect:

Ludovicus Bartelemi--
_Carmelo se devolvit_.

And, in the seventeenth century, André Pujom, finding that his name spelled _Pendu à Riom_, fulfilled his destiny by cutting somebody's throat in Auvergne, and was actually hung at Riom, the seat of justice in that province.

Occasionally when the anagram of a name did not make sense, there was added a rhyme to bring out a meaning. Thus, in a sermon preached by Dr. Edward Reynolds upon Peter Whalley, and entitled "Death's Advantage," every letter of the name is to be found in the first line of this verse:

"_They reap well_,
That Heaven obtain;
Who sow like thee,
Ne'er sow in vain."

In this sermon Peter Whalley is also anagrammatised into _A Whyte Perle_--this would not be a bad one, if orthography were of as little consequence as many of the old triflers in this way used to account it.

We read that when Alexander the Great was baffled before the walls of Tyre, and was about to raise the siege, he had a dream wherein he saw a satyr leaping about and trying to seize him. He consulted his sages, who read in the word Satyrus (the Greek for satyr), "_Sa Tyrus_"--"Tyre is thine!" Encouraged by this interpretation, Alexander made another assault and carried the city.

In a "New Help to Discourse" (London, 1684), there is one with a very quaint exposition:

TOAST--A SOTT.

"A _toast_ is like _a sot_; or what is most
Comparative, _a sot_ is like a _toast_;
For when their substances in liquor sink,
Both properly are said to be in drink."

It will be seen, however, that anagrams have chiefly been made upon proper names, and a reversing of their letters may sometimes pay the owner a compliment; as of the poet Waller:

"His brows with laurel need not to be bound,
Since in his _name_ with _laurel_ he is crowned."

George Thompson, the well-known anti-slavery advocate, was at one time solicited to go into parliament for the more efficient serving of the cause he had so much at heart. The question whether he would comply with this request or not was submitted to his friends, and one of them gave the following for answer:

George Thompson,
_O go, the Negro's M.P._!

This clever instance was given in "Notes and Queries" a short time ago:

Thomas Carlyle,
_A calm holy rest_.

The following are additional instances.

Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Keeper--
_Is born and elect for a rich speaker_.

When, at the General Peace of 1814, Prussia absorbed a portion of Saxony, the king issued a new coinage of rix dollars, with their German name, _Ein Reichstahler_, impressed on them. The Saxons, by dividing the word, _Ein Reich stahl er_, made a sentence of which the meaning is, "He stole a kingdom!"

A good one is--

Henry John Templeton, Viscount Palmerston,
_Only the Tiverton M.P. can help in our mess_.

If we take from the words, _La Revolution Française_, the word _veto_, known as the first prerogative of Louis XIV., the remaining letters will form "_Un Corse la finira_"--_A Corsican shall end it_, and this may be regarded as an extraordinary coincidence, if nothing more. Many anagrams were made upon the name of Napoleon by superstitious persons, as--

Napoleon Bonaparte {_Bona rapta, leno, pone._
{_No, appear not at Elba._

Louis Napoleon Bonaparte.
_Arouse, Albion, an open plot._

A very apt anagram is the one founded upon--Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, _I find murdered by rogues_.

EVIL.

"If you transpose what ladies wear, _Veil._
'Twill plainly show what bad folks are; _Vile._
Again if you transpose the same,
You'll see an ancient Hebrew name; _Levi._
Change it again, and it will show
What all on earth desire to do; _Live._
Transpose the letters yet once more,
What bad men do you'll then explore." _Evil._

The following are very apposite--

Sir Robert Peel,
_Terrible Poser_.
Christianity,
_It's in charity_.
Poorhouse,
_O sour hope_.
Soldiers,
_Lo! I dress_.
Notes and Queries,
_A question sender_.
Solemnity,
_Yes, Milton_.
Determination,
_I mean to rend it_.
Elegant,
_Neat leg_.
Matrimony,
_Into my arm_.
Misanthrope,
_Spare him not_.
Radical reform,
_Rare mad frolic_.
Melodrama,
_Made moral_.
Arthur Wellesley,
_Truly he'll see war_.
The Field Marshall the Duke,
_The Duke shall arm the field_.
Monarch,
_March on_.
Charades,
_Hard case_.
David Livingstone,
_Go (D. V.) and visit the Nile_.
Stones,
_Notes_.

_THE ACROSTIC._

Acrostic is the Greek name given to a poem the first letters of the lines in which taken together form a complete word or sentence, but most frequently a name. The invention of this kind of composition cannot be traced to any particular individual, but it is believed to have originated on the decline of pure classic literature. The early French poets, from the time of Francis I. to that of Louis XIV., practised it, but it was carried to its greatest perfection by the Elizabethan poets. Sir John Davies has no fewer than twenty-six poems entitled "Hymns to Astræa," every one of which is an acrostic on the words, "Elizabetha Regina." Traces of something akin are to be found in the poetry of the Jews,--for example, the 119th Psalm,--and also in the Greek "Anthology." Here it may be noted that in Greek the word _Adam_ is compounded of the initial letters of the four cardinal points:

Arktos = north,
Dusis = west,
Anatolê = east,
Mesembria = south;

and that the Hebrew word, ADM forms the acrostic of A[dam], D[avid], M[essiah].

It is hardly necessary to give many specimens of this kind of literary composition in these days, since there are so many periodicals continually giving acrostics and relative verses, and a very few instances may suffice. The following old verses were originally written in a copy of Parkhurst's poems presented by the author to Thomas Buttes, who himself wrote this acrostic on his own name:

"_T_he longer lyfe that man on earth enjoyes,
_H_is God so much the more hee dooth offende;
_O_ffending God, no doubt, mannes soule destroyes;
_M_annes soule destroyed, his torments have no ende;
_A_nd endles torments sinners must endure,
_S_ith synne Gods wrath agaynst us doth procure.

_B_eware, therefore, O wretched sinfull Wight,
_U_se well thy toongue, doo well, think not amysse;
_T_o God praye thou to guyde thee by his spright,
_T_hat thou mayest treade the path of perfect blisse.
_E_mbrace thou Christe, by faythe and fervent love,
_S_o shalt thou reyne with hym in heaven above.

Thomas Buttes
havying the first letter of everie lyne
begynnyng with a letter of his name."

A SONG OF REJOYSING FOR THE PROSPEROUS REIGNE OF OUR MOST GRATIOUS SOVERAIGNE LADY, QUEENE ELIZABETH.

"G Geve laude unto the Lorde,
And prayse His holy name
O O let us all with one accorde
Now magnifie the same
D Due thanks unto Him yeeld
Who evermore hath beene

S So strong defence buckler and shielde
To our most Royall Queene.
A And as for her this daie
Each where about us rounde
V Up to the skie right solemnelie
The bells doe make a sounde
E Even so let us rejoice
Before the Lord our King

T To him let us now frame our voyce
With chearefull hearts to sing.
H Her Majesties intent
By thy good grace and will
E Ever O Lorde hath bene most bent
Thy lawe for to fulfil

Q Quite Thou that loving minde
With love to her agayne
U Unto her as Thou hast beene kinde
O Lord so still remaine.
E Extende Thy mightie hand
Against her mortall foes
E Expresse and shewe that Thou wilt stand
With her against all those
N Nigh unto her abide
Upholde her scepter strong
E Eke graunt us with a joyfull guide
She may continue long.
Amen."

The next is from Planché's "Songs and Poems:"

TO BEATRICE.

"_B_eauty to claim, amongst the fairest place,
_E_nchanting manner, unaffected grace,
_A_rch without malice, merry but still wise,
_T_ruth ever on her lips as in her eyes;
_R_eticent not from sullenness or pride,
_I_ntensity of feeling but to hide;
_C_an any doubt such being there may be?
_E_ach line I pen, points, matchless maid, to thee!"

Mdlle. Rachel was the recipient of the most delicate compliment the acrostic has ever been employed to convey. A diadem was presented to her, so arranged that the initial of the name of each stone was also the initial of one of her principal _rôles_, and in their order formed her name--

_R_uby, _R_oxana,
_A_methyst, _A_menaide,
_C_ornelian, _C_amille,
_H_ematite, _H_ermione,
_E_merald, _E_milie,
_L_apis lazuli, _L_aodice.

The following is an ingenious combination of acrostic and telestic combined:

"_U_nite and untie are the same--so say yo_u_
_N_ot in wedlock, I ween, has the unity bee_n_
_I_n the drama of marriage, each wandering gou_t_
_T_o a new face would fly--all except you and _I_
_E_ach seeking to alter the _spell_ in their scen_e_."

Edgar A. Poe was the author of a complicated poem of this class, in which the first letter in the lady's name is the first in the first line; the second, second in the second line; the third, third in the third line, and so on--

A VALENTINE.

(_Frances Sargent Osgood._)

"For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!--they hold a treasure
Divine--a talisman--an amulet
That must be worn _at heart_. Search well the measure--
The words--the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labour!
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eye's scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets by poets--as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the Knight Pinto--Mendez Ferdinando--
Still form a synonym for Truth. Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you _can_ do!"

_ALLITERATIVE AND ALPHABETIC VERSE._

There are some clever lines which illustrate this style on the Bunker Hill Monument celebration:

"Americans arrayed and armed attend
Beside battalions bold, bright beauties blend,
Chiefs, clergy, citizens, conglomerate,--
Detesting despots,--daring deeds debate;
Each eye emblazoned ensigns entertain,--
Flourishing from far, fan freedom's flame.
Guards greeting guards grown gray,--guest greeting guest.
High-minded heroes hither homeward haste,
Ingenuous juniors join in jubilee,
Kith kenning kin, kind knowing kindred key.
Lo, lengthened lines lend Liberty liege love,
Mixed masses, marshalled, Monumentward move.
Note noble navies near--no novel notion
Oft our oppressors overawed old Ocean;
Presumptuous princes pristine patriots paled,
Queen's quarrel questing quotas, quondam quailed.
Rebellion roused, revolting ramparts rose.
Stout spirits, smiting servile soldiers, strove.
These thrilling themes, to thousands truly told,
Usurpers' unjust usages unfold.
Victorious vassals, vauntings vainly veiled,
Where, whilesince, Webster warlike Warren wailed.
'Xcuse 'xpletives, 'xtra queer 'xpressed,
Yielding Yankee yeomen Zest."

PRINCE CHARLES AFTER CULLODEN.

"All ardent acts affright an age abased
By brutal broils, by braggart bravery braced.
Craft's cankered courage changed Culloden's cry;
'Deal deep' deposed 'deal death'--'decoy'--'defy!'
Enough. Ere envy enters England's eyes,
Fancy's false future fades, for Fortune flies.
Gaunt, gloomy, guarded, grappling giant griefs,
Here hunted hard, his harassed heart he heaves;
In impious ire incessant ills invests,
Judging Jove's jealous judgments, jaundiced jests!
Kneel kirtled knight! keep keener kingcraft known,
Let larger lore life's levelling lesson's loan;
Marauders must meet malefactors' meeds.
No nation noisy nonconformists needs.
O, oracles of old! our orb ordain
Peace's possession--Plenty's palmy plain!
Quiet Quixotic quests; quell quarrelling;
Rebuke red riot's resonant rifle ring.
Slumber seems strangely sweet since silence smote
The threatening thunders throbbing through their throat.
Usurper! under uniform unwont
Vail valour's vaguest venture, vainest vaunt.
Well wot we which were wise. War's wildfire won
Ximenes, Xerxes, Xavier, Xenophon:
Yet you, ye yearning youth, your young years yield
Zuinglius' zealous zest--Zinzendorf Zion-zealed."

AN ANIMAL ALPHABET.

"Alligator, beetle, porcupine, whale,
Bobolink, panther, dragon-fly, snail,
Crocodile, monkey, buffalo, hare,
Dromedary, leopard, mud-turtle, bear,
Elephant, badger, pelican, ox,
Flying-fish, reindeer, anaconda, fox,
Guinea-pig, dolphin, antelope, goose,
Humming-bird, weasel, pickerel, moose,
Ibex, rhinoceros, owl, kangaroo,
Jackal, opossum, toad, cockatoo,
Kingfisher, peacock, anteater, bat,
Lizard, ichneumon, honey-bee, rat,
Mocking-bird, camel, grasshopper, mouse,
Nightingale, spider, cuttle-fish, grouse,
Ocelot, pheasant, wolverine, auk,
Periwininkle, ermine, katydid, hawk,
Quail, hippopotamus, armadillo, moth,
Rattlesnake, lion, woodpecker, sloth,
Salamander, goldfinch, angleworm, dog,
Tiger, flamingo, scorpion, frog,
Unicorn, ostrich, nautilus, mole,
Viper, gorilla, basilisk, sole,
Whippoorwill, beaver, centipede, fawn,
Xantho, canary, polliwog, swan,
Yellowhammer, eagle, hyena, lark,
Zebra, chameleon, butterfly, shark."

Of affected alliteration as used by modern poets, there is a very good imitation of Swinburne's style in Bayard Taylor's "Diversions of the Echo Club,"[9] where Galahad chants "in rare and rhythmic redundancy, the viciousness of virtue:"

THE LAY OF MACARONI.

"As a wave that steals when the winds are stormy
From creek to cove of the curving shore,
Buffeted, blown, and broken before me,
Scattered and spread to its sunlit core.
As a dove that dips in the dark of maples,
To sip the sweetness of shelter and shade,
I kneel in thy nimbus, O noon of Naples,
I bathe in thine beauty, by thee embayed.

What is it ails me that I should sing of her?
The queen of the flashes and flames that were!
Yea, I have felt the shuddering sting of her,
The flower-sweet throat and the hands of her!
I have swayed and sung to the sound of her psalters,
I have danced her dances of dizzy delight,
I have hallowed mine hair to the horns of her altars,
Between the nightingale's song and the night!

What is it, Queen, that now I should do for thee?
What is it now I should ask at thine hands?
Blow of the trumpets thine children once blew for thee
Break from thine feet and thine bosom the bands?
Nay, as sweet as the songs of Leone Leoni,
And gay as her garments of gem-sprinkled gold,
She gives me mellifluous, mild macaroni,
The choice of her children when cheeses are old!

And over me hover, as if by the wings of it,
Frayed in the furnace by flame that is fleet,
The curious coils and the strenuous strings of it,
Dropping, diminishing down, as I eat;
Lo! and the beautiful Queen, as she brings of it,
Lifts me the links of the limitless chain,
Bidding mine mouth chant the splendidest things of it,
Out of the wealth of my wonderful brain!

Behold! I have done it; my stomach is smitten
With sweets of the surfeit her hands have enrolled.
Italia, mine cheeks with thine kisses are bitten:
I am broken with beauty, stabbed, slaughtered, and sold!
No man of thy millions is more macaronied,
Save mighty Mazzini, than musical Me:
The souls of the Ages shall stand as astonied,
And faint in the flame I am fanning for thee!"

The above reminds of the anecdote told of Mrs. Crawford, who is said to have written one line of her "Kathleen Mavourneen," on purpose to confound the Cockney warblers, who would sing it--

"The 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill;"

and again, in Moore's "Ballad Stanzas":

"If there's peace to be found in the world,
A 'eart that was 'umble might 'ope for it 'ere!"

Or--

"Ha helephant heasily heats hat his hease
Hunder humbrageous humbrella trees!"

In the number of "Society" for April 23, 1881, there appeared several excellent specimens of alliterative verse, in compliance with a competition instituted by that paper for certain prizes--the selected verses all begin with the letter _b_:

"Bloom, beauteous blossoms, budding bowers beneath!
Behold, Boreas' bitter blast by brief
Bright beams becalmed; balmy breezes breathe,
Banishing blight, bring bliss beyond belief.

Build, bonny birds! By bending birchen bough,
By bush, by beech, by buttressed branches bare,
By bluebell-brightened bramble-brake; bestow
Bespeckled broods; but bold bad boys beware!

Babble, blithe brooklet! Barren borders breach,
Bathe broomy banks, bright buttercups bedew,
Briskly by bridge, by beetling bluff, by beach,
Beckoned by bravely bounding billows blue!"
--_Sir Patrick Fells._

"Brimming brooklets bubble,
Buoyant breezes blow,
Baby-billows breaking
Bashfully below.

Blossom-burdened branches,
Briared banks betide,
Bright bewitching bluebells
Blooming bend beside.

But beyond be breakers,
Bare blasts brooding black,
Bitterly bemoaning
Broken barks borne back."
--_A. M. Morgan._

"Beverage by bibbers blest,
Balmy beer--bewitching bane,
British brewings, boasted best,
Blunting Bacchus' brandied brain.
Bonny bumpers brimmed by beads,
Barley-born, bring blind relief,
Bubbling Bass-brewed Burton breed
Bland beguilement, bright but brief.
Bar-bought beer--bah! bitter brine--
Barrel-broaching braves, beware!
Bid Bavaria, benign,
Better brews bold Britons bear."
--_W. H. Evans._

Mr. Swinburne, of whose style there has been given an imitation, is not the only poet who is prone to alliteration--in fact, all poets are given more or less to it, though not to the same extent. When used excessively it is as disagreeable as any other excess, yet its occasional use unquestionably adds to grace and style.

Pope says on this point in the following lines, which are also alliterative--

"'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar."

We find this example in Tennyson:

"The splendour falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying."

Crabbe also used this ornament profusely, as: