Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies including The Chessiad, a Mock-Heroic, in Five Cantos; and The Wreath of Love, in Four Cantos. By C. Dibdin, the Younger |
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THE ORNITHOLOGICAL REVIEW. |
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 | Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies |  |
17
THE ORNITHOLOGICAL REVIEW.
When Vanity sits judge of Wit,
Unsafe from blame is Holy Writ.
Unsafe from blame is Holy Writ.
The Owl, through being part ('tis said)
Of Pallas' helmet, not her head,
Puff'd with conceit and pedant's pride,
Resolved the helm of wit to guide.
Some craniologist ('twas guess'd)
Found on his noddle wisdom's test;
And, though his head seem'd one dull lump,
Saw brains through some congenial bump,
And technically gave assent
'Twas judgment's true development.
But many a head has thus been tried,
And wit's abundance found—outside:
This test gain'd Bubo a degree,
Not A.S.S. but LL.D.,
Which the “half-reasoning” Parrot said
Meant Dealer in lucubrative Lead.
Bub. by diploma thus illumed,
The critic's awful we assumed;
The Daw, or General Advertiser,
Was of the project the apprizer:
Each lay the ordeal must go through
O'th' Microscope, or Owl's Review;
And not one strain by fame be blest
'Till sanctioned by Probatum est.
Of Pallas' helmet, not her head,
Puff'd with conceit and pedant's pride,
Resolved the helm of wit to guide.
Some craniologist ('twas guess'd)
Found on his noddle wisdom's test;
And, though his head seem'd one dull lump,
Saw brains through some congenial bump,
And technically gave assent
'Twas judgment's true development.
But many a head has thus been tried,
And wit's abundance found—outside:
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Not A.S.S. but LL.D.,
Which the “half-reasoning” Parrot said
Meant Dealer in lucubrative Lead.
Bub. by diploma thus illumed,
The critic's awful we assumed;
The Daw, or General Advertiser,
Was of the project the apprizer:
Each lay the ordeal must go through
O'th' Microscope, or Owl's Review;
And not one strain by fame be blest
'Till sanctioned by Probatum est.
(The microscope, 'tis known enough,
Proves the “smooth alabaster” rough;
And well with hidden faults it grapples,
Since it can atoms swell to apples).
Proves the “smooth alabaster” rough;
And well with hidden faults it grapples,
Since it can atoms swell to apples).
The birds, apprized, now sang in fear,
Except morn's clarion, Chanticleer,
Who, having read the announcement through,
Shrill “sang out” Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Except morn's clarion, Chanticleer,
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Shrill “sang out” Cock-a-doodle-doo!
The Nightingale submits her lay,
And thus the critic of the day:—
“This whining, tedious, doleful ditty,
Would raise and must excite our pity!
Jug by her manner may be known,
'Tis all alike, and all her own!
Apollo ne'er inspired her tune,
'Tis only fit to ‘bay the moon.’
(Similes, proved by dictum high,
Need not in all their parts apply).
Such moaning melodies may move,
In lurid groves, lamenting love;
But shall such carols ‘wake the morn?’
Forbid it tact! forbid it scorn!
They may have claims, we can't divine 'em,
So to congenial groves consign 'em:
Such groves with nature may agree,
But cannot academic be.”
And thus the critic of the day:—
“This whining, tedious, doleful ditty,
Would raise and must excite our pity!
Jug by her manner may be known,
'Tis all alike, and all her own!
Apollo ne'er inspired her tune,
'Tis only fit to ‘bay the moon.’
(Similes, proved by dictum high,
Need not in all their parts apply).
Such moaning melodies may move,
In lurid groves, lamenting love;
But shall such carols ‘wake the morn?’
Forbid it tact! forbid it scorn!
They may have claims, we can't divine 'em,
So to congenial groves consign 'em:
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But cannot academic be.”
The morning songster came—the Lark:—
“We've studied long, and in the dark,
To find the merit of this song,
Which may delight the rustic throng
While plodding to their early toil;
It seems ‘a seizen of the soil.’
We've found no tact, for here in vain
We seek the sweetly plaintive strain
Which charms at eve; and for the morn
The cock with bolder notes was born:
Vainly the lark's weak trillings float,
Drown'd by his rival's flood of note.
So thus, presumption to requite,
We bid the bird of morn good night!”
Critics will sometimes playful be;
There's more than wisdom meant by we.
The dulcet Linnet's warbling lay
Thus had its graces growl'd away:—
“This ballad-singer of the bush
Wants the bold tone that marks the thrush;
Her song's nor ballad nor bravura,
Mere trilling and opogiatura;
'Tis not the organ but the spinnet:
Just what one look'd for from—a Linnet.”
“We've studied long, and in the dark,
To find the merit of this song,
Which may delight the rustic throng
While plodding to their early toil;
It seems ‘a seizen of the soil.’
We've found no tact, for here in vain
We seek the sweetly plaintive strain
Which charms at eve; and for the morn
The cock with bolder notes was born:
Vainly the lark's weak trillings float,
Drown'd by his rival's flood of note.
So thus, presumption to requite,
We bid the bird of morn good night!”
Critics will sometimes playful be;
There's more than wisdom meant by we.
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Thus had its graces growl'd away:—
“This ballad-singer of the bush
Wants the bold tone that marks the thrush;
Her song's nor ballad nor bravura,
Mere trilling and opogiatura;
'Tis not the organ but the spinnet:
Just what one look'd for from—a Linnet.”
The lavish Thrush's lays gain this:—
“Here we the Finch's sweetness miss;
'Tis bold we own, and fit, we hold,
For rustic ears of vulgar mould;
But never let such notes presume
To shock the modish drawing-room;
Where the Canary audience gains,
While polish'd ears devour his strains.”
“Here we the Finch's sweetness miss;
'Tis bold we own, and fit, we hold,
For rustic ears of vulgar mould;
But never let such notes presume
To shock the modish drawing-room;
Where the Canary audience gains,
While polish'd ears devour his strains.”
“Safe,” the Canary thought, “am I;
My song he cannot now decry.”
The censor ponder'd, wisely wary,
And thus opin'd of the Canary:—
“Is this the tender plaintive strain
In which the pensive griefs complain;
The elegiac lays that move
When ‘Philomel laments her love?’
Is this the Woodlark's cheering lay?
Thus does the piping Bullfinch play?
This fantasy, or wild effusion,
Some may call dulcet: we delusion.
Let him not in the choir engage,
But, driven from concerts, seek the cage;
There let him solus sing his blisses,
To charm old maids and maudlin misses.”
Thus, most, though true to nature's rules,
He proved at variance with the schools,
For wanting what had they possess'd
Nature's just law it had transgress'd;
Forgot the Nightingale was born
For eve, as was the Lark for morn;
But great wits oft are absent—grinner,
Sir Isaac once forgot his dinner!
My song he cannot now decry.”
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And thus opin'd of the Canary:—
“Is this the tender plaintive strain
In which the pensive griefs complain;
The elegiac lays that move
When ‘Philomel laments her love?’
Is this the Woodlark's cheering lay?
Thus does the piping Bullfinch play?
This fantasy, or wild effusion,
Some may call dulcet: we delusion.
Let him not in the choir engage,
But, driven from concerts, seek the cage;
There let him solus sing his blisses,
To charm old maids and maudlin misses.”
Thus, most, though true to nature's rules,
He proved at variance with the schools,
For wanting what had they possess'd
Nature's just law it had transgress'd;
Forgot the Nightingale was born
For eve, as was the Lark for morn;
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Sir Isaac once forgot his dinner!
Yet some he praised—“The Magpie's theme
Is fancy's rich, delicious dream!
The vigorous song of Chanticleer
Is more than music to the ear;
The mind how vivid he can keep!
Let him sing out, and who can sleep?
Observe of harmony profuse,
E'en to redundancy, the Goose;
Alike her spirit and her grace,
The Sappho of the feather'd race:
Fame, sound her praise to endless date,
Whose siren-song preserved a state!
We trace the Ovid of the grove
Through all the Cuckoo's lay of love;
Untuneful oft to married ear,
But nought to us untuneful here:
Avaunt all senseless, idle, trilling!
These are the strains that set us thrilling;
Let fools fastidious, in dolore,
Condemn, we hail them con amore;
Such, though to egotize were wrong,
Approach to true Bubonian song.”
Is fancy's rich, delicious dream!
The vigorous song of Chanticleer
Is more than music to the ear;
The mind how vivid he can keep!
Let him sing out, and who can sleep?
Observe of harmony profuse,
E'en to redundancy, the Goose;
Alike her spirit and her grace,
The Sappho of the feather'd race:
Fame, sound her praise to endless date,
Whose siren-song preserved a state!
We trace the Ovid of the grove
Through all the Cuckoo's lay of love;
Untuneful oft to married ear,
But nought to us untuneful here:
Avaunt all senseless, idle, trilling!
These are the strains that set us thrilling;
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Condemn, we hail them con amore;
Such, though to egotize were wrong,
Approach to true Bubonian song.”
To nature true, review or write,
Fools will be fools in reason's spite.
Fools will be fools in reason's spite.
| Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies | |