We shall quote but one more poem of the witty Bishop's; and this we recommend to the serious attention of that learned body, The Provost and Fellows of Trinity College, Dublin, cock-a-hoop, as they must be, from the Royal visit. Indeed we know how much the slightest hint promulgated in these pages would influence them; and we feel particularly flattered by Dr Kyle's following our advice in discountenancing The Historical Society. I'he important piece we recommend, is entitled “A certain Poem, as it was presented in Latin by divines and others, before his Majesty in Cambridge, by way of interlude, styled Liber Novus de Adventu Regis ad Cantabrigiam, faithfully done into English, with some liberal additions." “ It is not yet a fortnight since

What cries the town? what we ? (said he,) Lutetia entertain'd our prince,

What cries the University ? And vented hath a studied toy,

What cry the boys ? what, every thing? As long as was the siege of Troy, Behold, behold, yond' comes the King !

And spent herself for full five days, And every period he bedecks
In speeches, exercise, and plays.

With Een et Ecce venit Rex.
To trim the town, great care before

Oft have I warn'd (quoth he) our dirt, Was ta'en by the Lord Vice-Chancellour; That no silk stockings should be hurt Both morn and even he clean'd the way;

But we in vain strive to be fine, The streets he gravell’d thrice a-day:

Unless your Grace's sun doth shine, One strike of March dust for to see,

And with the beams of your bright eye, No proverb would give more than he. You will be pleased our streets to dry. Their colleges were new be-painted,

Now come we to the wonderment Their founders eke were new be-sainted;

Of Christendom, and eke of Kent, Nothing escaped, nor post, nor door,

The Trinity, which to surpass, Nor gaie, nor rail, nor bawd, nor

Doth deck her spokesman by a glass, You could not know (0 strange mis

Who, clad in gay and silken weeds, hap!)

Thus opes his mouth, hark, how he Whether you saw the town or map.

speeds! But the pure House of Emanuel

I wonder what your Grace doth here,

Who have expected been twelve year, Would not be like proud Jesabel,

And this your son, fair Carolus,
Nor shew herself before the King

Who is so Jacobissimus :
An hypocrite or painted thing ;
But that the ways might all prove fair,

Here's none, of all, your Grace refuses,

You are most welcome to the Muses. Conceived a tedious mile of prayer. Upon the look'd-for seventh of March,

Although we have no bells to jangle,

Yet we can show a fair quadrangle, Out went the townsmen all in starch,

Which, though it ne'er was graced with Both band and beard, into the field,

*King, Where one a speech could hardly wield;

Yet sure it was a goodly thing; For needs he would begin his style,

My warning's short, no more I'll say, The King being from him half a mile.

Soon you shall see a gallant play. They gave the King a piece of plate,

But nothing was so much admired Which they hoped never came too late ; As were their plays so well attired ; But cry'd, Oh! look not in, Great King, Nothing did win more praise of mine, For there is in it just nothing;

Than did their acting most divine; And so preferr'd with tune and gait,

So did they drink their healths di. A speech as empty as their plate.

vinely, Now as the King came near the town,

So did they dance and skip so finely. Each one ran crying up and down, Their plays had sundry grave wise factors, Alas, poor Oxford ! thou’rt undone,

A perfect diocess of actors
For now the King's past Trompington, Upon the stage ; for I am sure that

And rides upon his braw gray dapple, There were both bishop, pastor, curate ;
Seeing the top of King's College Nor was their labour light or small,
Chappel.

The charge of some was pastoral. Next rode his lordship on a nag,

Our plays were certainly much worse, Whose coat was blue, whose ruff was shag, For they had a brave hobby-horse, And then began his reverence

Which did present unto his grace, To speak most eloquent nonsense ; A wond'rous witty ambling pace. See how, (quoth he,) most mighty But we were chiefly spoil'd by that Prince,

Now pass we to the Civil Law,

But to conclude the King was pleased, And eke the Doctors of the Spaw,

And of the court the town was eased; Who all perform’d their parts so well, Yet, Oxford, though, (dear sister) hark Sir Edward Ratcliff bore the bell,

yet, Who was, by the King's own ap- The King is gone but to Newinarket, pointment,

And comes again ere it be long, To speak of spells and magic oynt- Then you may make another song, ment.

The King being gone from Trinity, The Doctors of the Civil Law

They make a scramble for degree; Urged ne'er a reason worth a straw ;

Masters of all sorts, and all ages, And though they went in silk and sattin,

Keepers, subcizers, lacqueys, pages,
They, Thomson-like, clipp'd the King's

Who all did throng to come aboard,
Latine ;

With " Pray, now make me, good
But yet his Grace did pardon them
Al treason against Priscian.

They press'd his lordship wondrous hard,
Here no man spake ought to the point,

His lordship then did want the guard ; But all they said was out of joint;

So did they throng him for the nonce, Just like the chappel ominous,

Until he blest them all at once, I'the College called God with us,

And cry'd, Hodiissime Which truly doth stand much awry,

Omnes Magistri estote.
Just north and south, yes verily.

Nor is this all which we do sing,
Philosopliers did well their parts,
Which proved them masters of their arts ; Reader, unto your tackling look,

For of your praise the world must ring;
Their Moderator was no fool,

For there is coming forth a book, He far from Cambridge kept a school ;

Will spoil Joseph Barnesius The country did such store afford,

The sale of Rex Platonicus. The Proctors might not speak a word.

my lord."

To this Cantab felicitation we subjoin two effusions from Limerick and Cork, the barbingers of a joyous series, expressive of the loyal commotion which agitates the Green Isle.

ODE ON THE KING'S LANDING IN IRELAND,

TWELFTH AUGUST, MDCCCXXI.

By John Howley, Esq. of Garry Owen.

Ring ye the bells, ye young men of the town,

And leave your wonted labours for this day;
This day is holy ; do you write it down,
That
ye for ever it remember may.

SPENSER. Epithalamion.

PROEMIUM.

anc strange

1. The poet flab- As I was sitting on the Shannon side, bergasted by

Lulld by the sound of that majestic flood, apparition. A horseman on a sudden I espied,

Galloping by as quickly as he could ;
I haild him, but he slacken'd not his pace,

Still urging on his steed, a gallant grey,
Until he past me, then he turn’d his face

Back towards his horse's tail, and thus did say,–
“ I ride express with news to strike you dumb,
“ Our monarch has arrived at last--King George the Fourth is

2.
He scarce had spoken, ere away he pass'd

Out of my sight as rapid as a bird,
And left me there in much amazement cast,

Looking, perhaps, in some degree absurd ;
The noble river rolling calmly by,

The horse, the hasty rider, all did seem,
Even to the vision of my outward eye,

Like the thin shadowy figments of a dream ;
I felt, in short, as Wordsworth did, when he
Chanced the leech gatherer on the moor all by himself to see.

3. By the exertion of judicious thought,

At last I from this mental trance awoke, Marvelling much how in that lonely spot,

Upon my eyes so strange a vision broke ; From the green bank immediately I went,

And into Limerick's ancient city sped ;
During my walk, with puzzled wonderment

I thought on what the rapid horseman said ;
And, as is cominonly the case, when I
Feel any way oppress'd in thought, it made me very dry.

Turneth stargazer.

4. When I arrived in brick-built George's Street,

Instinctively I there put forth my hand To where a bottle, stored with liquid sweet,

Did all upon an oaken table stand ; Then turning up my little finger strait,

I gazed like “Docter Brinkley on the sky,
Whence heavenly thought I caught-pure and elate

Of holy harpings of deep poesy ;
And, ere a moment its brief Aight could wing,
I threw the empty bottle down, to chaunt about the King.

ODE.

He calleth upon Ireland to rejoice in the fashion of a pot of portter,

A very glorious day this is indeed !

This is indeed a very glorious day !
For now our gracious monarch will proceed

On Irish ground his royal foot to lay.
Rejoice then, O my country, in a tide

Of buoyant, foaming, overflowing glee ;
As swells the porter o'er the gallon's side,

So let your joy swell up as jovially ;
Shout, great and little people, all and some,
Our inonarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come!

2. Come down, ye mountains, bend your numbsculls low,

Ye little hills run capering to the shore, Now on your marrow bones, all in a row,

From all your caves a royal welcome roar.

Inviteth the mountains to ane saraband. Maketh of thein ane catalogue most musical.

Howth is already at the water-side,

Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste;
Come then to join him, come with giant stride,

Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste;
In your best suits of green depart from home,
For now our monarch has arrived - King George the Fourth has
come!

3.
Down should dispatch Morne's snowy-vested peaks,

And Tipperary, Knocksheogowna's hill,
Kerry, the great Macgillycuddys reeks,

Cork, the Galtees, studded with many a still,
Gallop from Wicklow, Sugarloaf the sweet!

From Wexford, bloody Vinegart the sour!
Croagh I must be there, from whose conspicuous seat

St Patrick made the snakes from Ireland scour,-
All, all should march, tramp off to beat of drum,
For now our monarch has arrived--King George the Fourth has

come!

A word of advice to the rivers, in the

ter Edmund

Rivers, dear rivers, in meandring roll,

Move to your Sovereign merrily along; style of Mas Ye whom the mighty minstrel of old Mole §

Has all embalmed in his enchanting song;
Spenser, late
of Kilcolinan. Liffey shall be your spokesman, roaring forth

A very neat Address from either Bull,||
While all the rest of you, from south to north,

Shall flow around in currents deep and full,
Murmuring beneath your periwigs of foam-
“Our Monarch has arrived at last King George the Fourth has
come !”

5. Anent lakes. Killarney sulkily remains behind,

Thinking the King should come to wait on her ;
And if he wont, she swears with sturdy mind,

That not one step to visit him she'll stir.
But all the other loughs, where'er they be,

From mighty Neagh,** the stone-begetting lake,
To Corrib, Swilly, Gara, Dearg, or Rea,

Or Googaun-Barra,tt when the Lee doth take

• Which being interpreted, signifies, the hill of the fairy calf; there is many a story about it.

+ Vinegar Hill, where a decisive battle was fought in 1798, with the rebels, who were totally defeated.

# Croagh-Patrick, in Mayo.
§ Spenser, who dwelt beneath old father Mole,

(Mole hight that mountain gray
That walls the north side of Armulla vale.)

Collin Clout's come home again.
He has catalogued our rivers in the Fairy Queen, B. 4. Cant. 2. St. 40-44.

|| In Dublin Bay are two sand banks, called the North and South Bulls. Not far from them is a village called Ring's-End, which gives occasion to the facete to say, that you enter Dublin between two bulls and a blunder. Something Homeric

περί δε ρόος Ωκεανίο

'Αφρώ μορμύρων ρέεν.-Κ. Σ. ** Est aliud stagnum quod facit ligna dunrescere in lapides ; homines autem findunt ligna, et postquam formaverunt in eo usque ad caput anni, et in capite anni lapis invenitur, et vocatur Loch-Each, ac (Lough Neagh.) See Mirab. Hib.

++ i. e. The hermitage of St Finbar, who lived there as a recluse. He was first Bishop of Cork. It is a most beautiful and romantic lakc, containing a pretty island. It is a great place of pilgrimage.

Its lovely course, join in the general hum“ Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has come !"

6. Oye blest bogs,* true sóns of Irish soil,

Lealty of the

bogs. How can I e'er your loyal zeal express ? You have already risen, despising toil,

And travell’d up, your Sovereign to address. Clara has led the way, immortal bog,

Now Kilmalady follows in his train; Allen himself must soon to join them jog

From Geashil barony, with might and main, In turfy thunders, shouting as they roam, “ Our Sovereign has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come !"

weavers of Belfast.

7. Ha! what's this woeful thumping that I hear?

Ane caution Ob! 'tis the Giant's Causeway moving on,

to the Giant's

Causeway not Heavily pacing, with a solemn cheer,

to tread upon On clumsy hoofs of basalt octagon.

the learned (Gigantic wanderer ! lighter be your tramıp,

Or you may press our luckless cities down: 'Twould be a pity, if a single stamp

Smash'd bright Belfast-sweet linen-vending town.) Why have you travelled from your sea-beat dome? “ Because our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has come !"

8. Last slopes in, sailing from the extremest south,

Shewing how Gallant Cape Clear, a most tempestuous isle;

Cape Clear Certain am I, that when she opes her mouth,

Marcus TulShe will harangue in oratoric style. So North, and South, and East, and West combine,

+ Ulster, and Connaught, Leinster, Munster, Meath, To hail the King, who, first of all his line,

Was ever seen old Ireland's sky beneath. All shall exclaim, for none shall there be mum, “Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has

come !"

becometh ane

lius,

L'Envoy.

Mocke com, mendation on various folk.

1. How living people joy, I shall not tell,

Else I should make my song a mile in length; Plebeian bards that theme may answer well,

Chaunting their lays with pertinacious strength: They may describe how all, both man and beast,

Have in the general glee respective shares;
How equal merriment pervades the breast

Of sharks and lawyers-asses and Lord Mayors-
Of whelps and dandies—orators and geese
In short, of every living thing, all in their own degrees.

* Every body has heard of the movements of the Irish bogs.

+ The five ancient kingdoms of Ireland. Vol. X.

N