"At _vinegar_ how danc'd thine eyes,
Before thy tongue a want could utter,
And oft the dame to stop thy cries,
Strew'd _wormwood_ on thy bread and butter.
"And when in childhood's frolic hour,
Thou'dst plait a garland for thy hair;
The _nettle_ bloom'd a chosen flow'r,
And native thistles flourish'd there.
"For _sugar-plum_ thou ne'er did'st pine,
Thy teeth no _sweet-meat_ ever hurt--
The _sloe's juice_ was thy favourite wine,
And _bitter almonds_ thy desert.
"Mustard, how strong so e'er the sort is,
Can draw no moisture from thine eye;
Not vinegar nor aqua-fortis
Could ever set thy face awry.
"Thus train'd a Satirist--thy mind
Soon caught the bitter, sharp, and sour,
And all their various pow'rs combin'd,
Produc'd 'Childe Harold', and the 'Giaour'."
* * * * *
(3) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814).
We are very much surprized, and we are not the only persons who feel
disgust as well as astonishment, at the uncalled for avowal Lord Byron
has made of being the Author of some insolent lines, by inserting them
at the end of his new Poem, entitled "_The Corsair_." The lines we
allude to begin "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." Nothing can be more
repugnant to every good heart, as well as to the moral and religious
feelings of a country, which we are proud to say still cherishes every
right sentiment, than an attempt to lower a father in the eyes of his
child.
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