WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED
I used to singe his powder'd wig,
To steal the staff he put such trust in,
And make the puppy dance a jig,
When he began to quote Augustine.
Alack the change' in vain I look
For haunts in which my boyhood trifled, The level lawn, the trickling brook,
The trees I climb'd, the beds I rifled: The church is larger than before;
You reach it by a carriage entry; It holds three hundred people more,
And pews are fitted up for gentry.
Sit in the Vicar's scat: you'll hear
The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, Whose hand is white, whose tone ib clear,
Whose phrase is very Ciceronian. Where is the old man laid ? look down,
And construe on the slab before you, 'Hie facet GVLIELMVS BROWN,
Vir null a non donandus /auru.'
GERALD GRIFFIN Q _
6ji Eileen Aroon
WHEN like the rising day, Eileen Aroon! Love sends his early ray,
Eileen Aroon!
What makes his dawning glow, Changeless through joy or woe? Only the constant know: Eileen Aroon!
79*
�� �
