The Solitary, and other poems With The Cavalier, a play. By Charles Whitehead |
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 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
The hour is come, the feast is set,
Kirke enters with his eyelids wet:
But Jasper doth not see him yet.
So nicely pacing round the board,
Lord of bright wealth to sight restor'd;
Goblets and ewers, great and small,
Of gold that never pass'd the hall,
Salvers and dishes richly wrought;—
To look on them, you would have thought
Such work the Florentine's alone,
Or that Cellini was outdone.
So, thus admiring, placing, peering,
He knows not Kirke stands within hearing,
Nor knowing would have car'd, but cries,
Mocking their brightness with his eyes,
Now, by Saint Paul, the Genoese
Did well when he sail'd thence with these.”
Kirke enters with his eyelids wet:
But Jasper doth not see him yet.
So nicely pacing round the board,
Lord of bright wealth to sight restor'd;
Goblets and ewers, great and small,
Of gold that never pass'd the hall,
122
To look on them, you would have thought
Such work the Florentine's alone,
Or that Cellini was outdone.
So, thus admiring, placing, peering,
He knows not Kirke stands within hearing,
Nor knowing would have car'd, but cries,
Mocking their brightness with his eyes,
Now, by Saint Paul, the Genoese
Did well when he sail'd thence with these.”
| The Solitary, and other poems | |