The Poet And The Critics.

If those who wield the Rod forget,     'Tis truly--Quis custodiet?     A certain Bard (as Bards will do)     Dressed up his Poems for Review.     His Type was plain, his Title clear;     His Frontispiece by FOURDRINIER.     Moreover, he had on the Back     A sort of sheepskin Zodiac;--     A Mask, a Harp, an Owl,--in fine,     A neat and "classical" Design.     But the in-Side?--Well, good or bad,     The Inside was the best he had:     Much Memory,--more Imitation;--     Some Accidents of Inspiration;--     Some Essays in that finer Fashion     Where Fancy takes the place of Passion;--     And some (of course) more roughly wrought     To catch the Advocates of Thought.     In the less-crowded Age of ANNE,     Our Bard had been a favoured Man;     Fortune, more chary with the Sickle,     Had ranked him next to GARTH or TICKELL;--     He might have even dared to hope     A Line's Malignity from POPE!     But now, when Folks are hard to please,     And Poets are as thick as--Peas,     The Fates are not so prone to flatter,     Unless, indeed, a Friend ... No Matter.     The Book, then, had a minor Credit:     The Critics took, and doubtless read it.     Said A.--These little Songs display     No lyric Gift; but still a Ray,--     A Promise. They will do no Harm.     'Twas kindly, if not very warm.     Said B.--The Author may, in Time,     Acquire the Rudiments of Rhyme:     His Efforts now are scarcely Verse.     This, certainly, could not be worse.     Sorely discomfited, our Bard     Worked for another ten Years--hard.     Meanwhile the World, unmoved, went on;     New Stars shot up, shone out, were gone;     Before his second Volume came     His Critics had forgot his Name:     And who, forsooth, is bound to know     Each Laureate in embryo!     They tried and tested him, no less,-     The sworn Assayers of the Press.     Said A.--The Author may, in Time....     Or much what B. had said of Rhyme.     Then B.--These little Songs display....     And so forth, in the sense of A.     Over the Bard I throw a Veil.     There is no MORAL to this Tale.