The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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EUSEBUS,
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
246
EUSEBUS,
A REAL CHARACTER.
I hate the man who builds his fame
On ruins of another's name.
Gay.
On ruins of another's name.
Gay.
Eusebus, fond a patriot to commence,
With self-conceit supplies his want of sense.
In power an ideot, striving still to rise,
Though void of wisdom, arrogantly wise.
A slander fond from whispering lips to steal,
And fonder still those whispers to reveal.
Amid a group of tattling matrons set,
How flows his eloquence! how beams his wit!
With dark suspicion struck, he shakes his head,
Just hints what some folk were, what some folk did;
For nought delights him more than others' woe,
To see them fall, or strive to lay them low.
With self-conceit supplies his want of sense.
In power an ideot, striving still to rise,
Though void of wisdom, arrogantly wise.
A slander fond from whispering lips to steal,
And fonder still those whispers to reveal.
Amid a group of tattling matrons set,
How flows his eloquence! how beams his wit!
With dark suspicion struck, he shakes his head,
Just hints what some folk were, what some folk did;
For nought delights him more than others' woe,
To see them fall, or strive to lay them low.
In wide extremes his judgment loves to dwell,
If not in heav'n you'll find it squat in hell;
Though long each station seldom he can keep,
Yet when he shifts he does it at a leap.
If Spring, more mild than usual, sweet appear,
To wake the herbs and bless the op'ning year,
With words like these our ears eternal ring,
‘Did ever mortal see so blest a Spring!’
But when rude frost, or cheerless rains descend,
When light'nings flash and roaring thunders rend;
He hears the storm, and pale with boding fear,
Declares that great, tremendous period near,
For storms like these no soul did ever hear.
If not in heav'n you'll find it squat in hell;
Though long each station seldom he can keep,
Yet when he shifts he does it at a leap.
If Spring, more mild than usual, sweet appear,
To wake the herbs and bless the op'ning year,
With words like these our ears eternal ring,
‘Did ever mortal see so blest a Spring!’
But when rude frost, or cheerless rains descend,
When light'nings flash and roaring thunders rend;
He hears the storm, and pale with boding fear,
Declares that great, tremendous period near,
For storms like these no soul did ever hear.
Thrice blest are they who gain him as their friend,
Their matchless fame shall far and near extend,
They're saintly, they're angels; but his friendship o'er,
They're poor, curst, vile, a villain, or a whore.
Their matchless fame shall far and near extend,
They're saintly, they're angels; but his friendship o'er,
They're poor, curst, vile, a villain, or a whore.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |