No moaning of the bards? That were hard lines
For minor line-spinners, imperial TENNYSON!
Owls only have their chance when day declines,
That's why the night-birds crown thee with prompt benison.
LEWIS has wailed and warbled--twiddlingly:
ALFRED has--rootley-tootlely--wailed and warbled;
WILLIAM's young Muse hath wept--then why not Me,
Whose brow, not less than theirs, with woe is marbled?
ROBERT and AUSTIN (DOBSON) took their turns;
There is some talk, too, of Sir THEODORE MARTIN.
Seeing _my_ lips, too, thrill, _my_ heart, too, burns,
Why the great contest should I take no part in!
May be I do not carry guns enough
To epically glorify King ARTHUR,
But I have penned some reams of rhythmic stuff
Concerning (please admire the rhyme!) SIDDARTHA.
(That, as an "assonance," is quite as good
As "_sang_ it," and "_began_ it.") Ornamental
And Eastern Mythos draws me; but I'm good
At "Poems National and Non-Oriental."
I love the Hindoos, I adore the Japs;
I'm fond of scraps of Oriental lingo;
Yet I'm a patriot, and have hymned, perhaps,
As much as most, my native god, great Jingo!
I think a Muse with twinkly almond orbs,
Would--as a change--in England prove most fetching;
Is it not plain Jap Art our Art ahsorbs!
Why not in singing, then, as well as sketching?
I'm sure my "GEISHA" is as good a girl
As _Vivien_, or _Faustine_, or e'en _Dolores_.
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