The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed ::

I have heard of a lamp, whose virtue makes
Pearls of pebbles, and lawns of lakes;
I have heard of a wand, whose mystic gold
Turns lovely to loathsome, young to old;
But there is a Bench, of power to change
Far more rapid, and far more strange,

189

Than ever was given to mortal hand
By the mightiest charms of Fairyland.

A dull lord breathed a bitter curse
On the knaves that were robbing the public purse;
For nobody now, he was bold to declare,
In castle or cot, had a guinea to spare;
And the debt and the taxes made him fear
That the nation would all be starved next year.
But he sits on the Bench, and people say
He has flung five millions of money away.

A Baronet came from the far far North,
And he poured huge rivers of rhetoric forth,
Prating of fetters, and prating of thrones,
With serious looks, and solemn tones;
And quoting bits of Latin lore
To make the country members roar.
But he sits on the Bench, and he's as dumb
As an unstrung lute, or a broken drum.

A little man with a hooked nose came;
His voice was thunder, his glance was flame;
He said he had seen, and he heaved a sigh,
A hero flogged who was six feet high;

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And he thought it a horrid, heathenish plan,
To punish the faults of so tall a man.
But he sits on the Bench, and the drummers vow
He carries a “cat” in his pocket now.

I saw a wise Lord John, who took,
Wherever he went, a learned book;
It treated of Commons, it treated of Crown,
Of building up, and of pulling down;
All cried who could—or could not—read,
The book was a charming book indeed.
But he sits on the Bench, and it's quite absurd,
He has eaten the volume every word.

Many I see who, years ago,
Were as white and fair as the new fallen snow;
But they sit on the Bench, and lo! they're black
As the plumage on the raven's back;
And many whom we measured then,
Were found to be enormous men;
But they sit on the Bench, and it's pretty well known
How very little they all are grown.

Would'st thou go thither? Oh study well
How thou may'st break the perilous spell!

191

Heed not a threat, and hear not a gibe;
Shun no labour, and touch no bribe:
Let the bright dame Honour be
Ever a guard and a guide to thee;
Love not the traitors, and trust not the French;
And so be safe on the Magic Bench!

University of Virginia Library

XX. THE MAGIC BENCH.