Volume Ii Part 13 (1/2)
Thus, when the gentle Spina found The thorn committed to her care, Received its last and deadly wound, She fled, and vanish'd into air.
But from the root a dismal groan First issuing struck the murderer's ears: And, in a shrill revengeful tone, This prophecy he trembling hears:
”Thou chief contriver of my fall, Relentless Dean, to mischief born; My kindred oft thine hide shall gall, Thy gown and ca.s.sock oft be torn.
”And thy confederate dame, who brags That she condemn'd me to the fire, Shall rend her petticoats to rags, And wound her legs with every brier.
”Nor thou, Lord Arthur,[4] shall escape; To thee I often call'd in vain, Against that a.s.sa.s.sin in c.r.a.pe; Yet thou couldst tamely see me slain:
”Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow, Or chid the Dean, or pinch'd thy spouse; Since you could see me treated so, (An old retainer to your house:)
”May that fell Dean, by whose command Was form'd this Machiavelian plot, Not leave a thistle on thy land; Then who will own thee for a Scot?
”Pigs and fanatics, cows and teagues, Through all my empire I foresee, To tear thy hedges join in leagues, Sworn to revenge my thorn and me.
”And thou, the wretch ordain'd by fate, Neal Gahagan, Hibernian clown, With hatchet blunter than thy pate, To hack my hallow'd timber down;
”When thou, suspended high in air, Diest on a more ign.o.ble tree, (For thou shall steal thy landlord's mare,) Then, b.l.o.o.d.y caitiff! think on me.”
[Footnote 1: A village near the seat of Sir Arthur Acheson, where the Dean made a long visit. The tree, which was a remarkable one, was much admired by the knight. Yet the Dean, in one of his unaccountable humours, gave directions for cutting it down in the absence of Sir Arthur, who was, of course, highly incensed. By way of making his peace, the Dean wrote this poem; which had the desired effect.]
[Footnote 2: Sir Archibald Acheson, secretary of state for Scotland.]
[Footnote 3: Drummond of Hawthornden, and Sir William Alexander, Earl of Stirling, who were both friends of Sir Archibald, and famous for their poetry.]
[Footnote 4: Sir Arthur Acheson.]
TO DEAN SWIFT BY SIR ARTHUR ACHESON. 1728
Good cause have I to sing and vapour, For I am landlord to the Drapier: He, that of every ear's the charmer, Now condescends to be my farmer, And grace my villa with his strains; Lives such a bard on British plains?
No; not in all the British court; For none but witlings there resort, Whose names and works (though dead) are made Immortal by the Dunciad; And, sure as monument of bra.s.s, Their fame to future times shall pa.s.s; How, with a weakly warbling tongue, Of brazen knight they vainly sung; A subject for their genius fit; He dares defy both sense and wit.
What dares he not? He can, we know it, A laureat make that is no poet; A judge, without the least pretence To common law, or common sense; A bishop that is no divine; And c.o.xcombs in red ribbons s.h.i.+ne: Nay, he can make, what's greater far, A middle state 'twixt peace and war; And say, there shall; for years together, Be peace and war, and both, and neither.
Happy, O Market-Hill! at least, That court and courtiers have no taste: You never else had known the Dean, But, as of old, obscurely lain; All things gone on the same dull track, And Drapier's-Hill been still Drumlack; But now your name with Penshurst vies, And wing'd with fame shall reach the skies.
DEAN SWIFT AT SIR ARTHUR ACHESON'S IN THE NORTH OF IRELAND
The Dean would visit Market-Hill, Our invitation was but slight; I said--”Why let him, if he will:”
And so I bade Sir Arthur write.
His manners would not let him wait, Lest we should think ourselves neglected, And so we see him at our gate Three days before he was expected,