2
All in vain I shouted “Hold! and
Elsewhere play those skipping jingles
On jest’s cymbal with the sistrum,
That with sting of satire tingles;
For I crave a song whose rhythm
From the soul of beauty brims,
And with purest ore poetic
Choirs enthusiastic hymns.
Thine’s a troop of drolls fantastic,
With their false and foreign spangles.”
“Nay, but o’er our meadows only
Such a charming flower wreath dangles
For the poet and such heroes
In our own domestic runes,
And this fellow must to Bombay
Trudge in search of his buffoons.”
All in vain still thrums the timbrel
Ceaseless hand and foot as pliant,
Moulds the fulsome dance responsive,
And the sparkling eye defiant
Dares me, and the papery pinions
With sham iris colours pearled,
Flirt and buzz round like a night-moth:
“Let us out into the world.”
“Fly then! on thy gummy vans, in-
augurate a furtive Aden,
Leading souls poetic, slily
To thy jungles, legend-laden.
