Selected Poems (15 page)

This thing of rhyme I ne’er disdain’d to own –

1040

Though not obtrusive, yet not quite unknown:

My voice was heard again, though not so loud,

My page, though nameless, never disavow’d;

And now at once I tear the veil away: –

Cheer on the pack! the quarry stands at bay,

1045

Unscared by all the din of Melbourne house,

By Lambe’s resentment, or by Holland’s spouse,

By Jeffrey’s harmless pistol, Hallam’s rage,

Edina’s brawny sons and brimstone page.

Our men in buckram shall have blows enough,

1050

And feel they too are ‘penetrable stuff:’

And though I hope not hence unscathed to go,

Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe.

The time hath been, when no harsh sound would fall

From lips that now may seem imbued with gall;

1055

Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise

The meanest thing that crawl’d beneath my eyes:

But now, so callous grown, so changed since youth,

I’ve learn’d to think, and sternly speak the truth;

Learn’d to deride the critic’s starch decree,

1060

And break him on the wheel he meant for me;

To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss,

Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or hiss:

Nay more, though all my rival rhymesters frown,

I too can hunt a poetaster down;

1065

And, arm’d in proof, the gauntlet cast at once

To Scotch marauder, and to southern dunce.

Thus much I’ve dared; if my incondite lay

Hath wrong’d these righteous times, let others say:

This, let the world, which knows not how to spare,

1070

Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare.
¹

‘Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks;

Why all this toil and trouble?

Up, up, my friend, and quit your books,

Or surely you’ll grow double.

Lines to Mr Hodgson
WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET

Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,

Our embargo’s off at last;

Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvass o’er the mast.

5

From aloft the signal’s streaming,

Hark! the farewell gun is fired;

Women screeching, tars blaspheming,

Tell us that our time’s expired.

Here’s a rascal

10

Come to task all,

Prying from the custom-house;

Trunks unpacking,

Cases cracking,

Not a corner for a mouse

15

’Scapes unsearch’d amid the racket,

Ere we sail on board the Packet.

Now our boatmen quit their mooring,

And all hands must ply the oar;

Baggage from the quay is lowering,

20

We’re impatient – push from shore.

‘Have a care! that case holds liquor –

Stop the boat – I’m sick – oh Lord!’

‘Sick, ma’am, damme, you’ll be sicker

Ere you’ve been an hour on board.’

25

Thus are screaming

Men and women,

Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;

Here entangling,

All are wrangling,

30

Stuck together close as wax. –

Such the general noise and racket,

Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

Now we’ve reach’d her, lo! the captain,

Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;

35

Passengers their berths are clapt in,

Some to grumble, some to spew.

‘Hey day! call you that a cabin?

Why ’tis hardly three feet square;

Not enough to stow Queen Mab in –

40

Who the deuce can harbour there?’

‘Who, sir? plenty –

Nobles twenty

Did at once my vessel fill.’ –

‘Did they? Jesus,

45

How you squeeze us!

Would to God they did so still:

Then I’d scape the heat and racket

Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.’

Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?

50

Stretch’d along the deck like logs –

Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!

Here’s a rope’s end for the dogs.

Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,

As the hatchway down he rolls,

55

Now his breakfast, now his verses,

Vomits forth – and damns our souls.

‘Here’s a stanza

On Braganza –

Help!’ – ‘A couplet?’ – ‘No, a cup

60

Of warm water –’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Zounds! my liver’s coming up;

I shall not survive the racket

Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.’

65

Now at length we’re off for Turkey,

Lord knows when we shall come back!

Breezes foul and tempests murky

May unship us in a crack.

But, since life at most a jest is,

70

As philosophers allow,

Still to laugh by far the best is,

Then laugh on – as I do now.

Laugh at all things,

Great and small things,

75

Sick or well, at sea or shore;

While we’re quaffing,

Let’s have laughing –

Who the devil cares for more? –

Some good wine! and who would lack it,

80

Ev’n on board the Lisbon Packet?

Maid of Athens, ere we part

Maid of Athens, ere we part,

Give, oh, give me back my heart!

Or, since that has left my breast,

Keep it now, and take the rest!

5

Hear my vow before I go,

By those tresses unconfined,

Woo’d by each Ægean wind;

By those lids whose jetty fringe

10

Kiss thy soft cheeks’ blooming tinge;

By those wild eyes like the roe,

By that lip I long to taste;

By that zone-encircled waist;

15

By all the token-flowers
¹
that tell

What words can never speak so well;

By love’s alternate joy and woe,

Maid of Athens! I am gone:

20

Think of me, sweet! when alone.

Though I fly to Istambol,
²

Athens holds my heart and soul:

Can I cease to love thee? No!

Athens, 1810.